Finished Folds (1—20)
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6gregationists, pulling out binoculars. The horizon was morphed by heat waves, probably from all the magma and tortured souls. Not a Taco Bell in sight...maybe this wasn't Nevada.
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5That sounded real heavy so Death just ditched it all and shuffled together a stack of meat, white bread, sardines, peanut butter, and marshmallow fudge into a big ass sandwich.
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9But he kept talking anyway, viperfish having notoriously big mouths. "And then she slept with the fishes, nyah, see-" Vince floated to the top of the tank, courtesy of Jman's itchy
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6, through the Microwave Caverns, and into Stomach Palace." My gut was an inflatable nightmare- like an above ground pool filled with vinegar or a sex doll with judgy eyes.
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3and found a lake of pimples. No, more like a sea of pimples. Scratch that, an ocean of pimples. Like all pimples from the brow up. All real estate up there was occupied by pimples.
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1ulacrum, or uddered it, whichever. Probably some "got milk?" direct marketing bullshit. He popped out an earbud, did an exaggerated eyeroll, and posted a bad Yelp review in tandem.
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3His opponent was less talk, and quickly did to Niño Gorila what he had done to so many luchadors before- dreaded Piñata Del Caza. Gorila was hoisted above the arena as Líbré Tígré
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9Dad lifted a blind with the rolled Cosmo. I mean, Prom Guy was really going for it, sprawled out on the yard lookin' like a calm Dr. Banner, hoarse, roaring Jenny-Bear. The boombox
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3ripped a fat toot by accident but swore her hooded pursuer smirked. Without skipping a beat Janelle sprung into her 2015 sex-positive open mic routine. "But white people be like,
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3his DIY oatmeal-breadcrumb organic (green!) adhesive, their beady eyes reflected the hunger of a thousand unfulfilled conquests. Their maws sprung open, revealing silvery rows of
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4pants by just, like, USING them." "I'm out."Mark Cuban leaned back in his chair. "I AM JOHN WRINKLE, CEO OF KILL-WRINKLES-IN-THEIR-SLEEP LLC AND I THIRST FOR SEVEN HUNDRED THOUSAND
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1front of a webcam while people watched, providing a concrete finale to the idiom- "If i had $8.99/mo every time someone liked to dress up like an FEC animatronic or school mascot."
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3was equal parts 'smashing success' and 'living nightmare'. It was the incommodious feeling of crusty turd in your tighty whities on a galactic scale. The Space Police had no choice
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2His dragon green-screened the landscape with a big budget CGI layer of hell. Indiscriminate geopolitical hell.
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4memory had been taped over by an especially mundane Packers game. The director explained her dark chocolate son represented a 'modern family'- estranged in every sense. The comedy
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2This insane virtual reality technology has all five of my senses totally convinced that my daughter will be returned to me unharmed
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2They're the worst bees. I bet they don't pollinate or make honey or defend the queen they just fly around stinging shit. Nightmare bees, deadbeats, let's all just get together and
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7wood to change the sign to something less suggestive. When Eeyore heard it was just a dance club, he seemed disappointed. Maybe he always looked like that. Piglet could twerk
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5This was his due process, his Mirandas. Lou took a wild kick at the nearest stool, spraying beer as the man was asphyxiated on his noose. Again, "Let no man stand before the Law."
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1"Booo!" Jeered the crowd as Mary strutted onstage, birds and expletives flying. Joseph pointed at the screen, citing the baby's ears and nose. "God Made Me Pregnant" sent Maury's