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"I think this'll pique your interest, Mr.

  • "I think this'll pique your interest, Mr. Tell. It's a bow and arrow with target lock technology. Now, there's no way to tell it what target you want to lock on to. Let's just say

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  • a word that has absolutely no value, for instance, let's just say, "Gollee." So Mr. Tell and the Bow maker said "Gollee" together. They smiled at each other. Something wasn't right

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  • When the jugged hare turned out wrong and poisoned the chef cooking it on the Food Channel Top Chef competition. The hare wouldn't cooperate from the beginning.

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  • The hare chef was threatening an on air self-immolation by serving Hassenpfeffer. The show's producers were not about to lose so public this game of Chicken. So they called in a

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  • real chicken, eggs and all. The chicken set to work immediately, swearing and attacking the hare chef. "You motherclucker!" The chicken shouted, and pelted the chef with eggs

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  • some were fresh others distinctly rotten. The sulfuric odor filled the room with eye watering sting and the flames of the grille ignited them. *Kaboom!* The whole room burst into

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  • yellow flames that licked around the edges of the walls. The distinct smell of eggs and burning skin was the only thing that lingered amongst the rubble

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  • . "What kinda toast did you want with that?" asked the waitress as she chewed her gum and gazed out at the desert, daydreaming about her no-account boyfriend. Far away, a small

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  • sillouetta of a man appeared on the horizon. My waitress dropped her pen. "Scatamoush!" She cried, tearing off her apron as she ran out the door. "Whole wheat!" I called after her.

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  • As she waiting she began to read this fold as I wrote it. It sounded so familiar. Like the litany of existence the monks taught him so long ago, on that first sunrise.

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