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you melon-fucking, Vonnegut-reading, street sign-stealing punk." "I only steal street signs to make a statement on society! The rest you may chalk up to bad taste." Narration broke
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him, but Bruno's alcohol-induced coma and spouting of eldritch beings left him dead as a doorknob to the world. Peggy shook him more, but just then, the Ravers returned! After 20
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mumbled through huge open mouthfuls of "Chinese" food. Somehow, this impressed Jones's superiors, who then began hurling fortune cookies with great force at the other patrons.
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The starship Sparkle was launched at twilight on the nose, but navvy Earth forgot about all the red-shifting and soon they were far off course. Only John Michael Godier could save
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thought to lose easily to Doctor Fate, but Dr. Goodfeel was an experienced soap opera doctor, and could bring all the tropes to the table: Hiatus hernia, amnesia where you forget,
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At any second now, the toilet would overflow! This is what happens when you don't wait until tea time exactly to have tea time. She and the little green creatures would learn the
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which he promptly ordered. He'd always been a fan of eating ends, and he didn't ask for an appetizer to start. He waited, thinking about his diner bill reading "The End, $24".
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grab a sander power tool and grind on my gigantic wart, and just keep grinding and grinding and, like Mr. Owl, find out what was on the inside. It turned out to be a tiny man named
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who doesn't love cramming their gullet full of greasy fat and sodium? Ancient Roman cannibal fetishists used to do it all the time. So I sold a million "Serve Long Pig" t-shirts.
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g how edgy they could truly get. Spicy condiments? Diarrhea? Maybe something to do with the navel? No, their superior eyeball licking was better than everyone else, the cowards.
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ionary within spitting distance of the house. So Jimmy headed over while the fam was on Christmas vacation. He was clad in his swim trunks and on the precipice of the great pool.
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pocket and pulled out my Gaming PC I keep in my pants for FoldingStory emergencies. My name is Kenneth Frequency, and it's my goal as an artiste to prove angry art is the only art.
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like a little pussy, until Khusyairi walked over and stomped his head into the sand. That got Ariq to stop crying, eventually. On like the twelfth or seventeenth stomp. "Lol," said
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But Satan wasn't interested. He just kept looking down at his smart phone, tapping away at Flappy Bird or some Russian virus crap or some such shit that GrayStillPlays faps to.
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did I lost my clavicle? I always kept my instruments in tip-top shape, and now it was coated in salsa. And I thought this was the kidney pool, not kiddy. Still, hunger was hunger,
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chance to watch some freak stores while telling yourself it was sort of okay was popular in West Virginia. Retail chains (and their parent company subsidiaries) competed in events
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fell flat on my ass. Turns out having wings for all of two seconds doesn't make you an expert. How did baby birds do it? I used to drop them out of trees all the time, and most of
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realize what that woman technically did to him. Now he's paying child support despite the fact that her body is her own and she had the right to get an abortion at any time.
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Jim (copyright infringement complaint pending) hussled with the tassle to tussle with the outlaws who'd come to bushwack him. Not wearing most of his clothes was both useful and
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at the top of my caps lock. "HOT NOW HOT NOW HOT NOW!" The nurses strapped me onto the cafeteria table, but just then, Lt. Agumon Friday of the Food Police burst in the door.