Mankind’s Hubris

2 cloves of audacity—roughly chopped
Juice of one (1) superego (id removed)
¼ cup vanity
14 oz (400g) of canned disdain (haughty)—rinsed and pretentious
½ cup of insolence
1 teaspoon of ignorance

Directions: Place all ingredients in a potent symbol of godless technological materialism (or blender) and process until smooth, scraping the sides occasionally to avoid humility. Variations: If you like a scornful hubris add a dash of gall (diced rakishly) or a pinch of conceit, or try a little chutzpah for a more exotic variation. Tip: Why not prepare extra quantities of hubris—it can be covered with false modesty for up to 1 week and frozen smugness for up to 3 months.

French Onion Diplomatic Tensions

No need to travel all the way to UN headquarters in New York to make this simple yet delicious ambassadorial furore! It’s so easy and so awkwardly creamy; you’ll want to make it every four-year term, regardless of objections from the State Department. Serve with your favourite rhetoric.
Prep Time: 15 Minutes (according to latest intelligence).

Directions: In a medium bowl, blend (using swanking stick) the cream cheese and dry French (Freedom) onion soup until mixture resembles a swampy quagmire. Add milk until your nomination is filibustered by obstructionist partisans.

Carouse Cake

Mix your drinks carefully with two teaspoons of unease, and a tablespoon of forced bacchanalian desperation
Sift and fold in 1 ½ cups of self-raising confidence (roistered)
Add 250 grams of shredded dignity (ensure that no large chunks of dignity are present)
Bake in pre-heated 50 square foot dance floor for 1 hour
(This is my favourite part of this recipe): Add three blocks of cab fare with lashings of dishonour on your family (to taste) for icing on the cake. Leave overnight in a cold and lonely bed. Bellissimo!

Mixed Vegetable Curtailment of Civil Liberties (Politiquant)

This spicy yet scrumptious dish will give your guests a surprising burst of flavour and the tools they need to triumph in the global struggle against extremism. Warning: Not suitable for vegans.

DIRECTIONS:
Make a paste of the Bill of Rights in the blender.

Sauté all enemy combatants in an offshore pressure cooker and set aside without recourse.
Heat oil (preferably light sweet crude) in a pan and fry constitution (pre-sliced to ribbons) until falsely pious.
Slice vegetables narrowly (about the width of a newly defined classification of torture).
Garnish with ersatz stratocracy and serve with temporary suspension of civil rice.

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The human mind is amazing. I can worry about global warming and the ice epidemic all at once and not get confused.

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November 24, 2009

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Pick-up artists: If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put U and I together and get rid of A, V and O.


If you like to curl up with a good book, make sure the book is about reconstructive spinal surgery.

Wyong
Etymology: Combination of “Why so glum?” and “What’s wrong”.

With an aerial concourse, three spacious pre-cast concrete platforms and overhead canopies reminiscent of Fritz Lang’s neo-industrial nightmare Metropolis it’s not difficult to see why Wyong maintains its lofty status as station de jour.

“It’s funny, you know,” says station master Bobby Iambivic, “Commuters travel to all corners of the CityRail network but they all seem to return here eventually.” This is never truer than in the P.M. peak, when the station’s fluorescent lighting and unreliable power supply combine to create an outlandish spectacular, which has even the most discerning epileptics foaming at the mouth for more.

“It has no ticket barriers!” screams depressed local Steven Simms, before hurling himself off the overbridge and landing on the tracks below.

But it’s not all good news: The station is nay impossible to access for the wheelchair-bound making it a veritable Mecca for bigots and charlatans alike. The over 30cm difference between train floor and platform levels often yields the tragicomedic sight of an unsuspecting disabled tumbling violently out of the train, the pathos made more acute by the proximity of the nearby portable wheelchair ramps, locked up and completely inaccessible (a microcosm of the station which surrounds it).

Peter McCallum, senior theatre reviewer for the Sydney Morning Herald, put the station in its full historical context three years ago with a typically caustic review:

“First I need to be honest and say that I found Wyong Train Station the vilest thing I have experienced. Not on account of its garish motif, but because of the hectoring stereotype in the design which left no space to preserve one’s own inner perspective as a viewer. Others had a different view.
Distinguished railway hobbyist, the late Andrew McCredie, for example, placed the station in the context of the European polystylism and Antonin Artaud‘s theatre of cruelty.
It’s difficult to be so generous when one has been visually and psychologically raped, both figuratively and literally, for I left this station understanding exactly why almost half the northbound trains terminate here, for I was nigh on the precipice of terminating myself.

Readers must make up their own minds but for me, I would just say no.
No stars, that is.”

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If you have a station that you would like reviewed, please get in touch.

High-schoolers: If you are described as a “square”, don’t be too concerned. If you are called a “rhombus” start to worry. This more complex polygon, plus the additional syllable, suggests you have also alienated your more intelligent peers.