An eternal pox on whomever messes up this

An eternal pox on whomever messes up this story!

I accept the challenge to not "mess up" this story, which means I'm not too bright or I'm stupid...but at least freed from the eternal pox, and defer to the next folder--good luck!

I won't mess up this fold of eternal glory. I'll up hold the folding code of excellence, which means it will be dull as pulling dandelions. But what of the next folder? Good luck!

I hereby pledge to maintain the glory of this fold, notwithstanding any boring qualities it may possess. Ye who take up the mantle, be warned: This is not a task for the faint.

"I pledge allegiance to this Story, for which it's bland," whispered one folder. But the Speaker continued: Taketh thy vow to protect its Glory lest ye anger the Folding Gods.

The other folders cowered together and peered fearfully towards the skies. They heard a great rumbling like a tornado and the Folding Gods came falling through the clouds, drunk.

"I always knew." MoralEnd grumbled,the Folding God's were exposed as a pack of soused word philanderers, their wordsmithing powers no greater than the Wizard of Awz'.The former god

Azerkular floated tits-up, bloated and discoloured, in the Folding Tower moat. Blather McBleh blithered in a corner, hoping MoralEnd would take him through the three steps again. X

Marked the spot where Woab came upon the diaries of MoralEnd's uncle. The sepia ink had not faded yet. Blather McBleh asked if it was a secretly formulated concoction. No one sold

the diary to redire(ct), he was a newcomer. He couldn't be trusted with the deepest secrets of FS yet. But, the diary fell into the hands of redire(ct), the little thief.