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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

I was Diana's sex toy: Keating

June 15th 2008 23:14
Hated in the UK for his fondlingness of Her Mingesty but loved in Great Britain for his treatment at the hinds of Phil the Greek, former Australian Prime Monster Paul Keating has revealed all to no one.

"Yes, she loved me. Yes, she adored me." the one time lover of Princess Diana told Elton Johnians.

The revelations come as no surprise to the maniac himself as he, Elton himself, told hairdressers: "There's going to be hell's toupee!" as he watched Keating's hairline.

The Greek Phil, former fish and chopperer to the stars, has told Keating to keep his grubby hands of my wife.

I'm not even married.

"Only I can be her tampon," Phil told Keating in a heated car driven through Dianas's tunnel by the one-time buttlover.

Keating is staying in a cell as the whole thong combs over.

"This isn't quite what we meant by padded," Phil told consumers of his fish sticks.

Watch this spice.
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The playboy, dirty old maniac, womens' lip-operationer and smacking jacket wearer told his mum that he only reads Newsweek for the naked self-interest.

Hef, unashamedly and unreservedly and unapologetically and unrepentantly informed, told his mater that he couldn't imagine a bunny with a name ending in Berg.

"There's no Hebrew word for breast augmentation," Hef crowed as he unveiled his new venture, Playkike.

"I'm bringing the beard back to the bearded clam," he said clasping his clammy ones together.

His mother, totally stuffed and off her rocker, found his stash under his bed as she was hunting rabbis and is believed to have bought his story.

"He could sell Ice to smack-heads," a rabbi told his meddling mother as he posed for the chimera.

Playkike will be on selves very shirtly.

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Kidman Bodyguard Smacks Her Snapper

March 16th 2008 23:43
Nicole's bodyguard isn't kidding about the redness or rawness

Nicole Kidman's bodyguard, a man with a razor-whip and keen eyesores, has hit the headlines after allegedly, supposedly, possibly, whacking Kidman's snapper.

The snapper, red and raw, smelling like seafood except more slippery than an eel, was caught slipping out of Kidman's petticoat while she was out hooking.

The wafer-thin waif, a wily veteran of the wharf, was working at the time.

Her bodyguard, when pressed about his involvement with the fishy business, could only say that he was only after some fish-fingers and didn't really want to dive in the ocean.

"I went to the bottom and found her starfish," he explained, "I never douched her snapper."

Whether he did or he didn't, the smelly object was as clean as if he didn't.

"Snappers are made to be battered," he said with his mouth full.
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