Finished Folds (341—360)
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6ly and said "But you know, we could always reopen the case of the hidden salami..." Frank Hardy nearly sprayed a mouthful of bourbon all over his brother. Just then, Chet's jalopy
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5hash browns is that they only need to be 51% potato to classify. So naturally, as an efficient and experienced short-order cook trained on the back burners of Al's Wine & Dine, I
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6. My main vein. Which I needed to drain. I mean, I needed to make it rain like Dick Night Train Lane on the plains of Spain. So after drying off
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4I figured they wouldn't notice and just drove the bus to Long John Silver's instead. When we got out, Chi Chi Rico went inside to order a Double Western Bacon Burger. I watched as
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4My roommate opened the door. "Dude! Bro! That's awesome!" "Whaat?" I slurred. "You got a frikkin dart sticking out of your neck!" I frowned. "No way." The hog then shot my roommate
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8of coke W did off his secretary's tits was for inspiration; the second was for stamina. W's novel had to be the best. Just really really good. Like so good, that it would make good
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5meant less than nothing and he was ready to begin the board meeting. Putin would call in the waiting board members and begin elucidating on the employee handbook update which
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3I sensed a disturbance in my guts. Suddenly it felt as if hot lava had replaced my insides and just as I entered the pool water at the bottom of the slide I felt
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7A woman with a wooden eye noticed him and asked if he'd like help. "Would I?! Would I?! Hell yes!" "Screw you peg leg! I got it in the war!"
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10atee, and were thus quite stunned when a walking manatee, outfitted with a fedora, eyepiece, magnifying glass, and mask approached them. The Masked Manatee grilled the students
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6he LOVED empanadas. So T Rex stuffed Dora into Backpack, threw in some herbs, & popped her in a kettle of fry oil. Mrs. T Rex came home & said "Oh no you don't! Your cholesterol
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112 meters of packed fill dirt. When I burst out of the ground a roving pack of hillbillies shouted "Zombie apocalypse!" and charged me with pitchforks. "No, no!" I tried to say but
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2with the cybersouls of your competitors. The rules aren't written down anywhere - that would be too easy. But FS fantasy carnage is a gruesome affair. NixonBlack claimed sundancer
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5my life's work. I made a mental note to have each one of them flambéed with a nice béarnaise sauce when this was over. But the Man in the Moon's identity was still unknown and I ne
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11who had a Fu Manchu mustache and answered questions with questions. JMan showed the wise Det the dragon tracks and asked if they had their culprit. The wise Det said "Is it a crime
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6NOT! Ha Hah!" Grandpa never gave up a fad. He still said "Pshyche!" all the time, along with "Whaaaaazzzzzaaaaaaaappp" and "Bitchin!" I was done. We'd been on a 1,200 mile roadtrip
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11Furthermore, let it now be recognized that if you subtract a boatload from a crapton, you're left with somewhere between a smidgen and a chunk. A whole bunch isn't as many as
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5The bastards left me no choice. I pressed the red button. Ketchup sprayed all out the sides and back of the Wienermobile, covering the BLT and tuna melt. They spun off and crashed
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4Jack it choked on his ego and the Ratgod's disguise came off as he heroically Heimlich'd the hungry hippo. It was a show for the ages but the Ratgod's detractors took to Twitter to
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3helping rebuild the home. "Yes, yesss" he said. "Put the lighter kindling, er, I mean, wood at the bottom and the bigger fuel, uh, um, logs up towards the top. Yeah. That looks