It was a quiet morning company was still sleeping, I took my leisure enjoying the birds inging while I spped my hot vanilla drink. The beautiful mountians now covered in white call

Every hour on the top of the clock, he would drink two fingers of Absolut. Then he would write a paragraph and pace. He passed his deadline by two weeks.

Anpanman scarfed two anpan and felt the ankō power course through him. He grew to a spongy girth and bounced down the street shooting sticky goo at Zillachan and the the hoard of

Sunni Mitchem decided she was going to go for a walk. She threw her golden hair up in a bun, put on her new sneakers, and took off in the autumn breeze. Everything was going well,

The world went on. Nothing unusual happened to them. But I plotted. I plotted my revenge on

"Come out with your hands raised!" WTF?! I exited the john stall, lifting my arms. "What have I done wrong, Officers?" They pointed at TP sheets I left on the floor: "What's that?"

It is said that Picasso, with his last breath, whispered, "Modigliani." Likewise would SlimWhitman expire, issuing the name of his mortal fold nemesis. "MoralEnd..."

In hindsight, my first mistake was walking into the occult shop to begin with. After all, if I hadn't, I never would have met

It takes a village to write a Folding Story.

When I had nearly recovered, I found my way to the bridge, where Captain Nemo was navigating by organ music. He turned stiffly. "Ça va? The Fourier Transform doesn't always produce

There is that one thing that everyone knows you just never do, no matter the situation. What Mike was about to do was one of those things that you never, ever do.

The girl on the radio sang, "He has South Dakota arms," and I have no idea what that could possibly mean. Why not North Dakota arms? Are his arms on the Mt. Rushmore of arms? Help!

on a scale from one to even i can't

If only I could die. If only I could descend into the emptiness of nothing. Then I wouldn't have to listen to my boss talk about the 3 hour procedure of draining his butt pimple.

Elizabeth let out a sigh as she closed her pocket book. She leaned back to her seat and took a sip from her coffee. Tomorrow wasn't going to be a great for she will see him again.

Pleban was no publican. Nor was he a pelican, if you want to be honest. "Not want to be, missy, must." Senior Detective on Homicide and my Nana still had to put me right, in front

The folding demons were approaching, preparing to torture the poor soul for running out of time, she thought she hit enter, but it appeared that she hadn't. Too late, the demons

"This is a story. A story about fish. The end." Susan was never very good at folding stories. She tried so hard to be like the others, but never succeeded. It was only when

From the site he had chosen, the rebel commander could see sixty kilometres of coastline. The place was Broome on Australia's west coast. Beyond was the shimmer of the Indian Ocean

"My plan for a fancy cocktail party for dätist pensioners is dead" I thought. What I didn't know