The weekend again. There are 52 per year

The weekend again. There are 52 per year & I've lived what 50 odd years? So about 2500 weekends & optimistically I can expect around 1500 more . Ofcourse when I retire, every day

would -- The klaxon from my phone jolted me out of my reveries. "We need you to come in, Joe. Wear the riot gear." I was in the Black Friday Reserves, and duty called. The first li

little sign of Bargain Mania and the Black Friday Reserves would have to be pulled back. Last year, several hundred people had been killed as the virus spread. A state of emergency

had been subverted by Wal Mart. They wanted these idiots out on black Friday to buy stupid things at really good prices. But the virus had mutated, it singled out corporations.

The delusion of separateness only survives through the host. Corporations excelled at the culture of separateness. The virus, in a sense, is contained in this invisible fence.

But containment is hardly a credible vector-based solution when we have to be right all the time but the virus only needs to strike once. No, we need extermination and that will be

After the final fold in this story. That is by decree of the High Priestess of Folded Stories. By adding the right last lines, humanity will be saved. Remember that when folding!

Humanity waited breathlessly by their computers, hoping and praying that the last fold would be appropriate enough to save them. But as luck would have it, a troll came loping into

the scene, grunting and drooling. "Hu... man..." he said. His voice was low and gravelly, like rocks grinding together. "Hu... man... write!" He turned and looked directly at you.

Knowing you have little time to do anything before the drooling monster captures you, you simply finish off this story with a single word. "~Fin."