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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

Sweet - Consumption Malfunction

Dizzee Rascal calls journalist a bitch, demands footage be destroyed at Big Day Out

January 26th 2010 02:49

Out of the shadows, beyond the silence, I'm like a zombie fetching a knife from the kitchen, but it could be closer than originally thought.

Catholic Mr Abbott, dripping blood with a black plastic shopping bag with about four grapefruit in it over his head, and in a process known as entropy, conceded that he could face criticism for describing DNA as "factories for producing mental illness".

There is no doubt in any astrophysicist's mind that Opposition Leader Tony Abbott apparently threw a bottle of deodorant at a zombie while he was clutching his DNA test, wearing an orange-red jumpsuit

While it all sounds a bit doom and gloom, Catholic Ali Hassan al-Majid took the family kitten in his arms, and, while laughing, stumbled into the room, clutching his weapon and saying he was intelligent by completing a Bachelor of Arts.

The article, which killed an estimated 5,000 people, is a bit like looking at your gas gauge and saying , with a hand round his neck, The Australian Women's Weekly killed two men wearing balaclavas and pin-striped suit trousers.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Fashion, Sweet

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My Apologies For This Break In Regular Programming, Or How To Be Funny Without Trying

January 19th 2010 23:50

A teenage mother has received a visit from the police in a perverse sort of way. Just like Hitler and Stalin failed to realise how offensive they were, a schizophrenic tried to kill his mother over Moral anarchism or Moral nihilism.

Yet you will have to forgive me if they are not boob experts, and neither are they watching a horror movie where you know that is funny but I would not degrade myself by urinating on the memories of good people like Hitler and Stalin.

Fancy Yourself As An Academic, Scholar or Intellectual?
We Have A Wide Range Of Postures and Stances.
www.myapolotegics.commie

Got A Nose For A Terrorist Agenda?
Smell The Cheese.
www.ready-to-blow.net

Of course we should remember that good people like Hitler and Stalin degenerated into an aimless existence characterised by alcoholism, random meaningless jibes, and Catholicism.

Just like Hitler and Stalin are loved by millions of sweet-toothed customers worldwide, their disgusting behaviour gave “the whole community a bad name” and will never be worthy as we are , always on anti-depressants such as Dairy Milk chocolate bars.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: People, Entertainment, Sweet

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Words and Letters: elements and atoms

August 9th 2008 00:56

A word has no inherent meaning other than that which we attribute to it. If words were truth, a dog would be dog wherever you were. That a dog is not a dog in all parts of the globe speaks volumes for where the truth lies. A dog is a living panting thing, like a chair is a dead sitting thing. Chair means dog, if you and me understand that it does. It means nothing at all if there is no understanding. If you don't understand me, it's hadly my fault, now is it?

Chair, by that I mean dog, becomes a choir, if you understand that an A is more or less an O (both being vowelly flexible in their essential openness as sounds). "Ch" sounding like it should in the former and like a "Q" in the latter. How's that for logic! The letters that words are composed of having no direct relation to the sounds that they relate to. The sound of an A looks nothing like an A but is of course best represented as belonging to the mouth (not tongue) that forms the sound.

A wee slip of the tongue can turn any one word to another and any one word can be turned to a neighbour and become that neighbour. By that, every word is but a poor representation of another. A letter being only an actor for a real sound. A word being only an actor for a real thing. If it sounds like nonsense to you, then join the chew. In all this it's not drawing a long one to say that there is nothing we don't have a word for. Even nothing has a word: nothing. Even though nothing doesn't exist. Nothing isn't real. It's nowhere to be found.

Words and letters are tools. Absolute tools! It's not a stench to say that the way an animal uses body language and sounds to communicate is the same as us. That stinks! They form a shape with their body: a word, and match it with a sound: language, to get a root and a feed or to save their skin. They form sentences in the shape of groups for survival. Or is that the other way around? I have to talk my chair for a walk, so it's goodbye from me and it's goodbye from you. Goodbye :~)

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Games, Grilled, Sweet, Muddy

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Civil Rights Leader: I'm now an old man

August 6th 2008 00:42

Civil rights leader, Bill Cosby has shocked the world by escaping a jail sentence during his lifetime, not being a good basketballer and living into old age.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he told his overseer as he picked up the bail for the release of his incarcerated and very christian brothers.

"I'm going to pick up the bail," the cotton-picking Negro sang as he put pun to paper to sign copies of his latest book.

'Crime and Punishment', the latest novel from the hind of Cosby, charts the meteoric arse of Oprah Winfrey as she snuggles to kill Jerry Springer.

Jerry, a neo-conman, is caught unawares that the woman he's boarding with is plotting to give it to him when he's not looking in the camera.

"I'll be very surprised if I get the axe," he told censors as Cosby prepared to talk turkey about his numerous affairs outside of marriage.

A focal campaigner for the Nuclear family, Cosby is still amazed that nobody has dropped the bomb, until now.

"I'm going to drop a bomb on you," he wrote in the cover of Tom Cruise's copy as he jumped on a ship headed for the promised land.

"The empirical evidence points to evil being a human construction, not unlike a city," he continued as black readers were gummed down in their homes.

"Best Wishes, Bill," he finished.

Heavens above, America knows how to handle freedom-fighters.

Kill them, kill them all.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Entertainment, Baked, Sweet, Nutty

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The human heart is on the left: new discovery

August 2nd 2008 01:06

The human heart, a large pump-action shit-gun, a bloody miss, a vital organiser, is on the left, say sinister individuals involved in the removal of my property from my person.

My property, the things that make me happy, is mine, and you can't have it, say grown-ups praying in the sinned pit, while paddling in their pants.

The sinister individuals, clutching their breasts erratically, have tried to get their red-hands on my hard-earned since day dotty, say those who are always correct.

It's probably why so many people are right-handed, say guessers on gameshows designed to soothe the human heart by endowing their owners with new things.

Things, as they stand, are bound to fall down. It's only right that the heart, on the left as it pimps blood through the vain, bleeds, say breeding hearts.

The discovery is at odds with conventional thinking that has the heart, squirely in the muddle of the chest, an instrument used for keeping the brains, say Zombies.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Grilled, Sweet, Corny

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Recipe for Scrambled Logic on Toast

July 30th 2008 22:41

Whistle your eggs in a bile with your bleaters into wide pokes.
In a flying pun, meld a tamponspanner of buttocks.
Add your opinions.
Fly until goaded.
Remove from the pun and quietly dud the eggs.
Stare contemptuosly, making sure not to spurn your laughers.
Take one crass of read-whinge. Drunk.
In a simpering pun clock up some spoiled spades.
Boil until mad with rouge. Drink some more whinge.
When the opinions are as you lick them, smash your head against a prickwall.
Toast to your goaded heart. Muddle.
Place in a large monitor and bake for 2 yards.
Dash the opinions, head, eggs, ogles into your toast.
Sneezing to taste.
Garnish with harps.
Good appetite!

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Food, Scrambled, Sweet, Muddy

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He's not the messiah, he's a heavenly body

July 24th 2008 05:28

Religion is the personification of Nature, believe leading trippers.

"The Sun, that great child of the sky, is none other than the Son of God," claims one, high on the acuity of his vision.

The Twelve Disciples, none other than the twelve moons that go around a year, have refused to be drawn on the claims.

No body can hold a torch to the moons, except the blazing star of our belief system.

The twelve months without the Sun would be in rather desparate need of saving, that's for sure.

"We wouldn't piss on Jesus if he was on fire," said Judas, possibly referring to an eclipse.

That would be sacrilege.

He's already on fire.

The heavens' brightest star, from where we are.

It's human nature to personalise that which isn't in affront to understanding.

Particularly that which is so essential to our daily lives.

And nothing is more daily than the fiery baptist above our heads.

We are what we are but how we are who we are remains in the shade, I said basking in the warmth of the winterless Sun.

The untilled Earth, a veritable Virgin, delivered one day, not unlike today, the energetic child.

What with the thunderbolts and the clouds and the heavens, the Sky is God and the rest is salience.

We can only hope to end up a twinkle in the heavens, I said tinkling the ovaries.

The Sky sent the Sun so that we could live; we should be thankful.

God, Foxy Loxy, is falling, say trippers on their own feats.

It's getting hot in here, so take off all your loathes.

When the Sun does return to us we will all be in hell.

It won't be the end of the world.

It's only a revelation.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: People, Grilled, Sweet, Corny

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Alternative medicine practitioner captured after living in disguise as a murderous thug

July 23rd 2008 01:32

The whacky quack, who wrote prescriptions, novels, on a blog, who wore clothes supplied by pharmacuetical companies, a beard, a logo, who bumped off a few Muslims, who thanked God, who used to love Elvis, who ate Jesus-burgers buttered with peanuts, who dug mass graves, who dug Jazz, who craved immortality, who ran from the Lord, who raised many for his charity, who swore in public, whose hands were tried, who worked in a football clinic for over-privileged children, who fought the law and the Lord won, who drove a Chrysler, who loved his country house, who washed up after dinner like a gentryman, who washed up before dinner like a hygienist, a boner, a grief-digger, who cleaned his hands after finishing the race, the enemy, who went nuts and drank flat beer, secondhand smack, has been found ruling an army in the guise of a General.

Stylists for the Doctor are pleased with his new look, his new smell, his new ardour, his new apparel, his new gunsmith, his new shovel, his new sallow crave, his tickling time bum, his sense of stale, and have praised his manners, his ettiquette, his practice, his posture, his hymning voice, his advice, his orders, and have laughed off calls he was ever a doctor, a medicinal practitioner, an educated manager of disease.

"Hahaha," they said, smiling, waving, bending over backwards, trying on a new hat, new undies, new Coke, new car, new stereo, new microwave, new TV, new baby.

"We're not happy about our bodies," the dysmorphic dead have whispered in the rear of the perceptive, the recepticals, the holier-than-hell, the morbidly obtuse, the trendy and inwardly mobile.

"Do I look like a New Age guy?" the brutal SNAG mused, wondered, pondered, all the while brushing his bushy beard, fiddling, playing, with his celloist, his conductor, his nurse, his assistant, losing his patience, his virtue, his vice, his hammer, his suckle.

You be the judge.

I'll just be trying.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Scrambled, Sweet, Muddy

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Norm awarded Brownlow Medal by himself for services to smelling the flowers

July 21st 2008 01:44

Norm, nature-laugher, florist extraordinaire, bong-head, simpleton, Marxist reanimator, dope-thinker, papal-pleaser, stay-at-home dud, fart-laugher, and kiddy-art crayoner is too much of a laugher to think that nature doesn't have the answers.

"I'm too conceited to admit that I am conceited," the willing masturbator, crass-dresser and master of conceit told waiting ear-holes.

Words, insane, inane, human creations, are barely of our own making, anyway, he said whittling his pencil into a sharp point.

That we think they are the masters of reality is a sham, the increasingly erotic wordsloth told the mastery that is the world we try and hopelessly master.

Particularly when they're so hard to muster, anyway, the authoritarian farce of reason said as he stacked a pile of words to create offence he was building to keep the pests out.

Dearth, waiting in the wings like a flea on a pigeon, is too plentiful to believe in our supremacy, the increasingly rabid dag told fellow laughers.

It's unfortunate that pride comes before a fool, the foolish philanthropist told himself as someone paraded a float of big words down the river.

Words, water off a dick's blog, are not reality; reality is hard like my fart.

Nature beats book for truth, I'm silly.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Home & Garden, Grilled, Sweet, Nutty

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Spelling bee champion misspells Karl Marx

July 19th 2008 23:43

The word's greatest spiller, kiddy porn controversy denier, humble pie manufacturer, bigot squasher, argumentative tail-chaser, ignored and vilified martyr, tea-slipper, Kamahl enthusiast, heroic saviour of the maniacal and depressed, donkey-wielder, robot-inventor, carrot-catcher and man with a pair of sucks down his pants, has scoffed at claims he can't spell Karl Marx.

"Put it in a sentence," he said adjusting his larger-than-life sized image of himself emblazoned on his jockeys.

Lay off the whip, for pity's ache.

"Karl Marx was someone who sat around while working robots went about their lives," the master of the unceremonious replied.

It was at this point that the champion smeller, a champion in every sentence of words, fluffed his pants.

"There's not a word I know, and I know them all, that I don't know the meaning of, let alone know how to smell," he said, sitting around while working people went about other peoples' businesses.

"C-A-R-L," he spelled Karl.

I'm sensing this isn't how to conduct yourself in public.

I hate to sound like a smarty pants.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: True Stories, Grilled, Sweet, Rocky

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Stillbirths: God's silent way of saying he approves of abortion

July 1st 2008 01:07

God, our farter who art a heathen, dinosaur-denier, man with a beer, clouded-thinker, holocaust-enabler and vociferous karaoke singer, has let me in on a little secret.

"I actually look more like a triceretops," the all matey one told me last evening while I shat down to mourn my lost love.

If you're reading this, you are far away from me my eternal laugher.

I am praying for the day when I can hold you in my eyes.

The revelations, in a biblical sense, also included a trenchant approval of the rights of his followers to make choices about other people's bodies.

"I only kicked Eve out of Eden because she started claiming to know my mind better than me," our Lord said as my heart broke off aboard a plane headed for the Continent.

"I am God, after all," the stillbirth activist told me as he reached in to pluck out my brain from a puncture he had made in my art.

The award-whingeing novellist also told me that he hasn't read any good books lately.

"Jurassic Park, now that's a good book," God said as you flew.

Off.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Love, Scrambled, Sweet, Corny

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Corby's brothers on A Downer

June 23rd 2008 01:20

The elder brother (left) claims to be able to hear your thoughts while the younger one (rightly), claiming to be older, is thinking of a number between 19 and 21 years

The high-flying fraternal dribblings of committed drug muelse Schapelle Corby have giggled off claims by A Downer that they were behind their half-fister's spell in the joint.

"I can't be bothered," they said as they said as they said.

"They're trying to bring us down, man!" said the one with the scissors.

A Downer, an upper-crass slob and putty mouth, told detractors that he told the two swarthy men in private: "No funny business or I'll have you departed."

The departed, the fatally deceased, have been seen by potty-heads in the screams of smack eliminating from the clamber of their smacking impediments.

It's funny how sisters bear the guillotine of their brothers.

"It's a lot of buggage to handle," said one of the banana fratters as he lounged.

About the house -

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Scrambled, Sweet, Muddy

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Richard Pratt facing the Clink

June 21st 2008 03:03

The upstanding businessman

The millionaire businessmaniac, philanderer, and grovel threated frontman for iconoclastic cardboard band Cold Cheezel has sung for the first time about his date with bumbling officers.

"I'll be going in for the soft-cell," the blues sinker told adoring fanatics.

It is understood he is basing his prediction on the harsh treatment planted out to other high-floundering rorters like Glenn Wheatley.

"By the time they charge me, I'll already be dead!" the laughing Pratt told worried infestors.

The charges stem from planted evidence found in the cardboard hoarders blank pockets.

Good friends have sullied around the ageing sinker as he prepares for beddy-byes.

Good night, nerves.

I know.

Nothing.

Nothing!

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Entertainment, Scrambled, Sweet, Nutty

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Jury finds defendant Guilty after reading horoscope

June 12th 2008 03:02

The jury found the defendant 7 Across Not innocent because Libra The scales will be tipped against someone with good reason.

The judge, a manager with a funny wig and a smashing hammer, was at a loss to describe the justice cistern.

"I can't believe people would believe their astrological reading was accurate," the judge said as a Jehovah's witness swore on the Bible.

"I swear by it," the witness told unwitting householders.

They had to be invited in for a battered scone.

The guilty man, undeniably so, faces a lengthy sentence.

"I hope it's not too long," said the head juror, cryptically.

"I get bored if they're too long," he noted vertically.

Tattslotto will be drawn tonight.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Games, Baked, Sweet, Corny

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Multi-millionairess Hillary hits her head on the newly installed glass ceiling of her humble domain

June 9th 2008 03:29

The vertically challenged giant of America has suffered a mild concussion after the roof fell in on her when she tried to change a lightbulb on the chandelier.

"How many women does it take to change a lightbulb on a chandelier?" paralegals asked her to test the veracity of her concussion.

Her answer, believed to be incorrect, was: "What's being a woman go to do with changing anything?"

The heftily concussed former thirsty lady, believed to be intoxicated, denied claims she was changing anything.

"Hang on," she had earlier told husband Bill as he clutched her legs.

He denied that he had been bad lick for the former farced lady.

"She's worked like a slave for change but they've gone for a slave for a change," Bill said, off on a tangerine.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Baked, Sweet, Corny

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Gone with the Marathon Man

June 1st 2008 01:18

“Is it safe?”
“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!”
“Is it safe?”
“Is it safe?”
“Is it safe?”
“Is what safe?”
“Is it safe?”
“What?”
“Is it safe?”
“Like a house.”
“So it is safe then, that’s a relief. I was very worried there for a moment.”
“Me too, but now I know it’s safe, I can relax.”
“Frankly, is it safe?”
“I don’t give a damn!”
“Is it safe?”
“Exceedingly!”
“Very well.”
“Very!”
“Well, I don’t even know any more.”
“It is safe.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, yes. Very safe. Very, very safe.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“If it wasn’t, would I say it was?”
“I don’t know you that well.”
“Well, I do.”
“Knowing you, I’d say not.”
“Yes, but you don’t.”
“All I want to know is if it’s safe.”
“I keep telling you that it is.”
“What?”
“It!”
“It’s safe to say it’s not safe then.”
“It is safe.”
“Is it safe, is it? Is it really?”
“Really, really safe!”

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Entertainment, Poached, Sweet, Corny

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Transgendered man murders Sydney Pollack

May 27th 2008 13:19

The heavily pregnant father of his wife and gun wielding wrestling maniac told the disbelieving Pollack, before he pimped him full of lead, that he was one of his chosen people.

"I am not saying I'm God, or that I'm a know-it-all. I'm just saying I'm a woman trapped inside the body of a man," the transgendered man told customs officials.

Police politely apprehended the suspicious sort swiftly as s/he tried on swimsuits in a stall at the delicatessan.

"There's nothing delicate about this salami," the suspect said swinging a sausage from his skirt.

Shoppers had become alarmed after waking up to a loud ringing in their rears later identified as shorts being fried from the assailant's scone.

"Have you ever seen a Jew earing shorts?", a white-wing croupier told gambollers as he chased after the trannie.

It was then that Police swooned on the shemale with a mating ritual that onlookers have described as a cancer.

Pollack, lying dying in the street, could only watch on as his wife pissed before his eyes.

Thus ended the worst day of shooting in the detractor's career.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Entertainment, Scrambled, Sweet, Nutty

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Beat Hikers Over the Head with a Stick

May 2nd 2008 01:44

Overwhelmingly, Australian market economists are expecting the Reserve Bank of Australia to wear frilly undies while taking a wooden spoon on the buttocks this week. The impending rate rise is in response to severe tropical weather figures for the fifth quarter. And so, with another interesting rake hike to deal with, here are ten ways you can scrounge up some extra cash each month to meet your mortgage repayments and keep that smiling face on your head you've grown so very accustomed to over the eons:

1. Go troppo in the queue at the supermarket. Analysts believe that psychotic individuals are 5 times more likely to have free meals than ordinary nuerotics.
2. Sell your body for a few quick bucks. 3 out of 17 marriages are arranged by a pasta-eating magnet-salesman with a dodgy leg twitch and two manic mittens of disproportionate dimensional aspect.
3. Yodel. People with tense chords are unlikely to be understood by your average wallet whacker. Being understood is a profitable mistake you can easily make.
4. See 5.
5. See 4.
6. Erupt at the bank like you was a volcano with a sawn off shotty and a baklava. Greek pastries go well up top and less well down the back.
7. Review the contents of your knickerbockers.
8. Fit in with society. It's what everyone is supposed to do. You are no different to everyone. Everyone is composed of anyone. Anyone: that could be you.
9. Die without fuss or ticker-tape parades. No open coffin ticker-tape worms for you. Not in this life.
10. Become a celebrity. Don't be afraid to have your image plastered all over your visage.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Money, Poached, Sweet, Corny

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Norm: I'm not a paranoid narcissist

April 9th 2008 23:40

Spanking from in front of his kitchen sink, and transfixed by his rancid reflux, the bogging heftyweight told his innumerable persecutors that everybody is out to get me.

"That hardly anybody has even heard of him doesn't seem to worry him," an unundied man said sifting through Norm's rubbish.

Unable or unwilling to be plagiarised away from his kitchen sick, Norm remains adamant that he is neither in laugh with himself or suffering failings of persecution.

"These things are real," Norm said of a troop of avenging pink elephants at his door.

The saga is believed to stem from his inability to accept his own flailings.

Norm remains cooped up with his pen as this goes to print.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Baked, Sweet, Nutty

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Norm hits back at critics

April 8th 2008 04:04

Embattled boogler Norm has slammed his critics for calling him a lazy parasite after he couldn't be bothered finishing

"I always finish my sentences," the errant spiller told his pet pug.

It's a climb that is strongly refuted by irrefutable accidence brought forward by his enemies.

"We know how to organise information into legible sentences," the sensible citizens in an insensible world told authorities.

It is understood that sensible sentences are in accord with a world perceived through reliable senses.

"Sentences should reflect the secure handle we have on things," the rabidly slipping information-gatherings told sadvertisers.

The sentence is due to be handled down tomorrow.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: People, Grilled, Sweet, Nutty

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Nice one, Norm

April 3rd 2008 23:54

Celebrity reporter, ad authority, and peas advocado, Norm has jumped on a pair of man-eating crocodile skin loafers that threatened to belong to his girlfriend.

"I saw them first," the man's man told the store manager as his better-half broke in two.

"I just had to have them," the impoversihed clogger said to his devastated curlfriend.

It is believed that Norm has the snatching handbag and just needed the shoes to go with his outfit.

"Now all I need is the pants," he said as he floated off down the river.

When asked where he'd wear such fabulous attire, the retiring bogger told us: "Out shopping."

Nothing can stop the shopaholic's rampage as croc's across the river hang on to their hats.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: People, Poached, Sweet, Nutty

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Blank title angers filthy content

March 26th 2008 12:13

The filthy content of this post has lashed out violently at the title of this piece in a stunning burst of creativity by its haphazard author.

The content, who wished to be remain deeply discontented now that it's wintery, has refused to admit that.

When questioned by the author of the piece, the content simply went blank and urinated over an acclaimed author.

"I'm not an acclaimed author," the author of the content wrote in his own faeces, "But I wish I wasn't," he said eating a mudcake.

The title, alarmed that its passivity has been called into question, has remained steadfast in its public position that it should lead.

"My fellow Australians," the leader told its subjects, "I am the one with the big title here," he said while polishing his bedpost.

The saga is set to have tongues wagging school and hanging out in undesirable locations across the virtual world.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Entertainment, Grilled, Sweet, Muddy

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Twins Ruin JLo's Cunning Stunt

March 21st 2008 22:15

Corn-lover, chimp-magnet, and dog-skinner, Jennifer Lopez has been upstaged in a special ceremony to honour the charitable work of her crab-catcher.

The mangey oyster, responsible for more head-trauma than her larynx, will never be the sane again after delivering two bouncing baby bangers onto a plate of mash.

The pair of sausages, mostly lips and anuses, stunningly responsible for upstaging Lopez's stunner of a stunt, are avoiding the media for fear of a squint of sauce.

Lopez strenuosly denies reports that her monkey-maker will never wink quite as well as before.

"These little ones of mine," JLo told her bank-roller, "didn't even touch the sides."

"I've still got my own lips and anus anyway," a furious JLo said while scoffing down a sausage.

Lopez is set to jump her motormouth over her grand canyon in the coming weeks.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Grilled, Sweet, Nutty

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Britney Spears Hospitalized With A Break In Her Finger

March 16th 2008 04:40

The buxom beauty behind so many of our favourite ballads has gone ballistic at the break in her bony beaver-burrower.

"It smells fishy to me," undies-nostrillers told themselves while whacking their walnuts.

Britney's publicist, a part-time publican and bookie, told passing carps that Spears went to the doctor complaining of pains all over her money-maker but upon feeling herself up and down was informed of a fractured finger.

The devastated bird-giver will have the digit in traction for up to one metre while the injury heals.

Her beaver, busier than a St. Kilda beaver working towards a lodging, will have to make do with a steady diet of synthetic fingers until then.

Logs for Ms. Spears beaver have made quite a splash in recent weeks.

"She loves that shit," lovers for the lady laid bare today and tomorrow and yesterday and next week.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Health, Scrambled, Sweet, Muddy

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Norman Bates Holds Slide Night

March 13th 2008 02:44

Mum's the word

The convicted felon took bored guests through photographs of his travails throughout poor countries in an evening of showering and sandwiches.

The Vietnam veterinarian, a purple-heart transplant recipient, told committees and jurors, white and true, that his heart bleats for the innocent.

"I'm very happy to be able to to have you here," he told embezzlers and Iranian thieves on hand.

"I just wish my mother could have made it," he said while lying on his mother's dentures.

When asked why she wasn't able to make the evening, she told daddy-long legs: "I couldn't be stuffed."

Mrs. Bates told hooked addicts, whilst playing with her fly, that a mother's best friend is himself.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Poached, Sweet, Corny

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The Man With The Average Penis Size, The New Hollywood Thriller

March 7th 2008 22:10

There are no holes in these buckets, so fix it

From a book by award-winning novellist and pedestrian, Norman Mailer, comes the new movie about a man born with a penis that lets him down in every department store.

Directed by the very well endowed kiddie cuddler Roman Polanski and starring the elephantine Danny de Vito, the movie has producers pumped.

"We're worried our penises are not quite up to the mark," said CSI's Jerry "The Giant Jangler" Bruckheimer.

Whatever it is about The Man With The Average Penis Size, audiences are putting their hands in their pockets.

"When you see a man with an average size penis on the big screen it suddenly makes you feel your own," said one film-goer's companion.

Critics have put it under the microscope and come out with sore eyes.

"It's better than average," wrote Large Leonard Maltin in his review of the edge of your seat thriller.

Already a prequel is in the works, simply called The Man With The Below Average Penis Size, but producers are holding off until they see how audiences swallow this one.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Entertainment, Baked, Sweet, Rocky

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Sting ends chase for Pumpkin's dad

March 1st 2008 00:57

The Chinese Police is torture to dissidents

The former Police chief, Sting, has told told a Pumpkin's dad that he's never been so in love with someone who wasn't himself, after the vegetable's father vowed to weld him.

The vegetable's father, no less a vegetable than his progeny, when asked: "Will you take his hand in marriage?", could only say: "Let's not get mushy.", before slipping back into a coma.

The welding ceremony guests were entertained by a Chinese Police band.

They have told Sting that they can make him disappear in a magic trick that has David Copperfield angry.

"I'll make them disappear," Copperfield told Dickensian authors trapped in strait-jackets, "Then I'm going to saw their wives in half."

Chinese students have stood in front of a tank of water before turning to soup.

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Posted By: Norm - Category: Family, Poached, Sweet, Corny

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