This is a test. Testing how to start a story. Hello, my name is Jefforama. That's not my real name. If you knew my real name, I'd have to kill you. Just kidding. Test confirmed as successful! Story begun. Hello Jefforama, welcome to the club! Now let's hope things get rolling in Fold 3 because so far, well, so far we ain't got much. A va riety of folds can be expected from now on in. I would be a fool to predict, but I predict that by fold 7 we could be in the grip of an alien infestation on a scale previously unim agined nor faced by the fiercest lions on the savannah of the cyber literature. The form followed concept and in cutting the words in two, we developed a new way to pi O h no, the mach is alrea workin tr ing t typ a sent over the wall but not before I was assured that pi would keep it's value throughout the crisis. "What if inflation goes sky high like in Argentina that one time," I asked aplombly. That jogged their memories just enough to silence them. Whew! You can't reveal all you know. This way you avoid the thought police. They cannot be trusted any more than acrobats. My sister married an acrobat and sure enough, he ran off with a plumber and a case of VD. But I've said too much... I just wanted to sign up for a class called Nuclear Physics and Interpretive Dance. I had always been enamored by the way my brother-in-law could move, and wanted to push the boundaries in ways no one had ever imagined. Nuclear Dance Battling. 1987 Main Event: two figures face off in the dance arena. Ronnie in his signature All-American tutu, and Gorbachev, of course, in red. This is it. The Cold War is about to heat up.



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Took us almost six years to write this one. I miss Jefforama!

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