Once committed to being unpredictable, there

Once committed to being unpredictable, there was no turning forward. Ha! Thought I was going to say "back, didn't you? Enumerating is nix. Using proper nouns OUT. Hanging from my

Ha! Ha! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa.a.a..a..a...a...a....a...aw? Eh.... I see that you are not laughing. You are trying to understand this very fold so that you can type the next one.

You manage a slightly uncomfortable half-grin, because you don't want to let on that you don't understand the joke. You wonder to what extent this thin plot can be stretched before

the next writer gets a crack at it, and wheeze a sigh of relief when your four minutes are up, particularly when it becomes clear that he's bungling it badly and just when you thi

k the story's come to a screaming halt a will languish for two years, a new, plucky folder revives it and there's life in FoldingStoryLand again; that is, until the story publishes

In the Journal of Philanthropy as a shining example of cooperation. Except who reads that journal anyway and the folded story once again languishes, begging to be ended but knowing

Twinkies are not dead and did you know also

that, like rock-and-roll, Twinkies will never die?" It calmed my nerves a little which helped, because we had found a whole stash of Twinkies after we lost the Chernobyl tour group

to the radioactive waste, which was extremely unnerving, but the Twinkies did help a good bit. If anything can make radioactive death more tolerable, it's Twinkies.