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"Feather me this, feather me that. The feather

  • "Feather me this, feather me that. The feather weaver has got your back," the madman chuckled, his arms frollicking and his eyebrows dancing. There were feathers... everywhere.

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  • They watched on the screen until their leader issued a command: "Send in the were-hamster." Silence, until someone said, "You don't mean, GARTH?"

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  • And the Were-Hamster dropped from the ceiling, he was wearing tiny chaps, a cowboy hat and then the DJ punched in, "Low Places" by Garth Brooks. The festive but evil line dancing

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  • was cute, but life-threatening nonetheless. This wasn't the strangest Halloween party that Bob had ever been to, but it was certainly the most realistic. Kind of. At that moment, a

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  • Banshee he had been hitting on a few minutes ago over by the Head Bobber started shrieking loud enough to raise the dead. She woke the ornaments that turned out to be vampire bats.

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  • After about two and ahlf minutes of full throttle shrieking, she stopped and turned to he opponent. "Thank you, HIllary." said the moderator. "Your turn, Mr. Trump. Can YOU imitate

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  • The collective conscious of 500 years of politicians? Trump thought for a moment, pulled out a shotgun and his skewed brains decorated the wall. The moderator was impressed.

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  • "I guess that answers that question," he chuckled. The now deceased, pulp headed Trump once again lost the popular vote but won the election. Strangely, the brainless corpse didn't

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  • seem a bit surprised, even as his Euro-zombie wife dragged his lifeless body across the dance floor at his inaugural ball, leaving an orange trail on the marble tiles. "Make Americ

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  • a safe for the Dancing Dead!" she spelled out in neon orange, gasping when Baryshnikov's corpse swept her up & twirled her about, jarring her entrails in a truly moving performance

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