FoldingStory is a group storytelling game.
Enter the fold.
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A Poem About My Mother - Humble,sweet,but often dreary/My mother is a soulless fairy/Beneath her lips,color of cherry/Three blackened teeth,a tongue so hairy/ -
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twisted coils around his feet as he crept out of bed for a midnight snack. The ghostly felines pounced and purred after hovering over a bowl of milk. Turgo took charge -
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Scene 4: Exterior Diner. Man with slight limp walks from stage left to right. Vagabond enters holding small rucksack. VAGABOND: Wait! Can you spare a dime? MAN: -
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Well. . .not miserable enough to make Trump stop communicating to the world via Twitter. He probably sits on the John all night long, passing horrid gas, and twittering about his -
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" they moaned ironicly. "Good one." I repled unenthusiastically. "Rude!" said the Mrs, Zombie as they shuffled away. I loooked up and shouted at them, "Hey! Your STENCH is rude!"