FoldingStory is a group storytelling game.
Enter the fold.
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I approach the temptress from behind. I must not! but her undraped shoulder pulls me. My finger taps lightly. Debbie McRoberts turns. "Do you want to dance?" I stammer. (No!) -
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Plus, with Uncle Lenny's colostomy bag right there next to me, I could deposit any other collected meal detritus directly into there, thus saving the typical hassles affiliated -
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message of hope, an epitome of the clarity that follows a season of weathering - like Mum told me I was purposed to be. "We all carry a bit of dirt in our lives, Mudd," she told me -
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Wilfred Brimley scowled at the children at the table. "Eat your Goddam oatmeal!" he spat, spraying bits of Jimmie Dean sausage & scrambled egg across the table into their terrified -
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right into a Puerto Rican family reunion. That was just mean. Three days later my Aunt Gracy skipped town with the sparkling jewels. She was in Prague, selling them to a fence