Surrealism

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For those without comedic tastes, the so-called experts at Wikipedia have an article about Surrealism.

This page is about the spotted rear end. For other uses see ambiguation (ambiguation).

Ceci n'est pas un chat.

“Arguments are to be avoided; they are always from spain and often blue-witch (spade gardain)”

~ Oscar Wilde on Surrealism

“Surrealism is really just a surplus amount of realism”

~ Knucmo2 on Surrealism

“This is surreally silly.”

~ Noel Coward on Surrealism

“In Soviet Russia, phlegm bark KANGAROO!!!”

~ Russian Reversal on Surrealism

Surrealism, having a shelf-life of 8 million clicks, is the artichoke of mysterious bongo-bongos, graciously sneezing craftware all over the eastern front with pillowcases of desire, remembering that a pretzel in the sock is worth none inside a giant turtle. Thus runs the slimy horse wing, through caterpillar-laden synchronicity.

Bumpersticker Library Recycler:

Cyclist mounting points play sideways with irrational exuberance without corresponding direct flatuations.

Organically siphoned toad stumpers rake in massive omnipotent orangutans while still functioning inside doughnut machines.

Monkey boner scarf tricycles.
Horny owners run mingled yams.
Magnetic refrigerator poetry memory.
Wimbledon massacre whitewash intensifiers
Possible.

Four scores along the way.

Mushrooms have many healing properties.

1 The toes of my toad
2 Jimimimim
3 In the Darkness there is Light
4 Purple monkey dishwashers
5 When Billy strikes gold, hit those caravans.
6 But wait for the Flash, Gordan
7 Flinging juicy mooses for Quasimodo's Uncle Edna
8 Arctic antipropulsion kiwis
9 ?
10 Molecular sandstorms which Oswald would or would not grok
11 The Highwaymen of Pimpleton and their socks
12 Famous Mortimer's wild big putty rides again
13 Context
14 Grok again

[edit] The toes of my toad

Coagular milk settles in the eastern regions of your soul as you read this. Stay where you are, we will come and get you. Like a goose on stilts, I am your aunt. Tangled morsel of my childhood dreams alive in trepidation of deep blue sea. Falling all the way to town on the back of a mouse riding forever through the basement of osmosis until further is no longer than a piece of string with out beginning or end. Only a clergyman looks on as his pockets brim with cheese and flatulence prevails over dark streets. The almonds begin to stroke their clammy spongecake, as the stout, orange weasel watches on in shame. He likes his spatula, but can't help using it as a time-shoe for his moon flakes. Perhaps those beer crumbs weren't so terrible, they helped my outside-in pumpkin preacher repay his pastel-mink eye foam for good.

[edit] Jimimimim

Jimimimim was the inventor of surrealism. He was born in the year 2222, on July 45th, on the coast of Arizona. His story began in Moscow England, when he was 34/0 years old. He was walking down the road, when suddenly the sky grew a mouth and ate him. After being spat back out 3 months later, he yelled out of annoyance. He yelled so loud that he was transported back in time to the year 1234. Once there, he decided to invent surrealism, and then he turned cyan and exploded. He will always be remembered as the weirdest person in history, and also the most terrifying, for because of him, we know that sometime between now and the year 2222, the whole world will be as nonsensical as he is.

[edit] In the Darkness there is Light

In the darkness there is light that you cannot see because it is dark in the darkness... too dark to see naught but the face of the clock itself, and the clock is melting, MELTING... MELTING!!! Melting like the face of time itself. At four o'clock and twenty minutes (17:45 GM), the Black Cat™ flew into the darkness and caused the light to have an allergy attack upon time itself.

[edit] Purple monkey dishwashers

Unlike rabid underwear, surrealistic gravy needs to have been eulogized into slower morphologies. However, unlike Oprah Winfrey, non-isomorphic bananas require a more fluidic gaggle of milkduds to accentuate nonlocal and non-equivocal surrealities.

[edit] When Billy strikes gold, hit those caravans.

Upon reading the meaning of butterscotch, please attempt to heavily flatulate upon all the world's joy and yodelers. If this is not done, a small but largely porcupine-based pastry will emerge from the depths of said n^th pterodactyl and slowly emanate a thrusting kind of lasagna, intent on licking my antimatter. Washing machines is no longer cool (neither is washing a slight blip in the graph of omnipotence), but a shade of pig-flavoured vomit known only as Gregory, the Fourth but Last Emperor of All Watermelons. Touch it softly, and you may be gutted by the depressing amount of cheese-grating oxes confronting your family, demanding that pens should not be considered a foodstuff, but an igloo, climbing the ladders of justice for the greater good of waffles.

Waffles.

Plus, the Dancing Monkey Four.

[edit] But wait for the Flash, Gordan

If one is indeed aspiring to cream the three dwarf twins, then you should aspire to do so in velvet style without the repercussions of a self-organised totalitarian landing craft. But wait, there's more! It's green, tall, and won't listen when you ask it politely to blow your bifurcated noodle. So please friends, eat fried potatoes only when not necessary to tangent the triangular math teacher.

It is always the secret of existence to not sound the form arrival.

Butter screams, if you touch it on the lower ear.

Please excuse me while I am off to water the cat. Tabbies necessitate cogito faster than Dada embraces imperfection.

[edit] Flinging juicy mooses for Quasimodo's Uncle Edna

fruit is examined in that morgue by the lazily reaching wench.

In 1903, Eucalyptes of the Left Ventricle pontificated on whether the magnetic charges instigated by surreal crabgrasses had any meaning whatsoever. Consequently,

And if your Motorpsycho explodes with Seth Green forebodings too, I'll see you on the Darth Hitler of the Moon. (Mr. T)

his pet penguin inflated to nanoscopic proportions of mellifluousness and joyously bit his seventeenth toenail off. This incidental interlude was then subsequently knitted into a vice-presidential speech, and almost won a transfinite number of Academy awards in the intermediate vicinity of Luxembourg.

[edit] Arctic antipropulsion kiwis

When once there lay a metal glass sitting on the floor, pikemen fought a transitive boulogne in timespace with little effect. The subsequent visits from Xenu brought little malign to the corpulous meshing of fielded vermilion.

Pink quagga began to quickly hatch indecision, subsequently antificating alternative medicines with great discretion.

Later errors brought little ease to the righteous flurry of stabbing ingestibles. Enemy lasagna robust below wax. Semi-automatic aqua accompany slacks. Why coffee? Gymnastic motorcycle unibrom. Existential plastic extra nightly cow.

Surrealism is hidden somewhere within this picture, alongside with a grossly oversized carrot.

[edit] ?

[edit] Molecular sandstorms which Oswald would or would not grok

Pneumatic gingersnaps
Liquefied buffalo feathers
A pail of distressed lizard cheese in Glastonbury, England
Subjective fragrances

[edit] The Highwaymen of Pimpleton and their socks

Dancing in the shallows, they coughed up hairballs begrudgingly. No mountain was too tall for the scissors. You shall be my mother when you grow up. Cheeze whiz will be made by Duracell. Colorless green ideas sleep furiously. See your eyelids for commentary.

[edit] Famous Mortimer's wild big putty rides again

"Hark". So says the great director of my sins, the Mustard Man. His eyes weep with her hymns, the celestial moon rising - no! It can't be what I say not what you! What? Christmas! "She's drunk." Dostoevsky, Fyodor translation by Pevear, Richard and Volokhonsky, Larissa (1990). The Brothers Karamazov. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. Give me time, I will grow, comma, comma, que sera que sera sue sera.