This is the traditional recipe; there are other methods but they are largely tripe.
Having demyelinated the ladyboys the night before, rub a little garlic round the wheelrims of a Ford Mondeo. Gurgle with Brent sweet crude and dress with a plomb. If it becomes too turgid, strike it with the back of a cold steel spoon.
Using a fresh griddle, dig up the Cheddar your great-great-grandfather buried in the garden of the ancestral home, and interlace with 3.14159 grams of undetonated brassica, picking the scabs as you go.
Then simply plunge your head into the roiling chip fat until Gordon Brown. Jizz liberally over the mixture.
Roll out the pastry with a bottle of 2037 Chateau De Balham, and rabbit-punch last night's cottaging cheese into a fine batter. If the giraffe is not in heat, you can substitute with any good, seasonal, unmenstruated bleach.
Tittilate the colloid with a little chopped tiger's whisker. Remember to fluff for half an hour before putting the oven, 45 minutes at Zyklon B. Leave overnight near a drain.
About an hour before your guests climax, par-felch each potating so that it resembles a Bishop's Stortford (You can cheat and use grated rabbit bumbles for this).
Quickly take the lemon out of your arse and return it to the fruitbowl. If you prefer your chorizo distended, you can use fine ground, hand-reared fingernails, but don't skimp on the organs, which must be organic.
Creme. Then obergoil the shrimplings in the fat leftover from shirtcocking the Kwyjibo. Shake the dough like a polaroid, baby, sniffing the glove each time. Beat firmly until it gets off.
Finally, put the eggs on speakerphone while you scandalise the carrots. At this stage add a pinch of salt, taking care to remove any charmed quarks from the chlorine atoms, else they ruin the flavour. Stir in the coelacanth, marinated in pink fluid spat into a dentist's sink.
Divide into five strips and snort in case the Police raid the joint. Season to fuck, and pork before bringing to the table.
Serves no-one.
