Finished Folds (1961—1980)
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6venue. FoldingStory would be a great place for kids to flex and develop their linguistic muscles, if not for the sleaze and smut.
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3as we roared down the dusty highway. We gave some dude in jeans and T-shirt a good bump, so stopped to check on him. "Devils just want somewhere to belong, like anyone." Gone.
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4primal instincts, Uncle Joe's twizzler, and the memory of certain X-Games wipeouts. By the time things settled down, many had gone mad. "Life is grand!" he remarked.
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3permethrin, a few lines of crypt dust, and maybe some Jane Austen and Tony Robbins. But a vaporous lady appeared and said, "Quentin, once you gave me this ..." But the music box
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4it might be a timely caress from the Noumenon, but it was actually a little swarm of letters that arranged themselves into suggestions of things Cheech might say, if he were to
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6a CT scan of my abdominal area and to shave my chest for an EKG. "Traces of immaculance?" What could that possibly mean? Was I adopted? Were pickles my enemy? My paramour,
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8daughter we had raised slapped the squirrel out of his hands. "You're nothing but a weak-willed, unprincipled people-pleaser. Now get lost." Made me proud, she did.
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6The chai-ista smirked. "Pip pip, a Tall Turnip for the antique road show." I buried him and the hipster behind me right there and then, under the linoleum. "Enjoy your turnips."
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2wosome dudesome massage parlor. Carpenter and Allen relaxed and moaned in tandem. Woody filed witticisms in his memory palace, but startled and screamed when Bob from Twin Peaks
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4"Now look, you normative nellies! I'm fed up with your constipated attempts at control. If you want to go around all day twisted up in pigeon script, that's fine with me. But
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3Wolfhead hands swayed aloft. A howling wind began to blow; a gentle rain began to fall. Many were electrocuted. Flames and screams and shredded air rose into a tattered demon.
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2The nearest to the door was the ghost in the geisha's hand-mirror. "One moment, please ... Actually it might be a rather long moment." Eventually the door opened. A teacup fell.
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5"What we have here, gentlemen, is a failure of wit." The airport brainscans showed massive cerebral erosion with activity in the brainstem only. "So why is he still at large?"
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6"Good morning! How are you?" He vibrated with rage. "How in hell would that be any of your damn business?! I'm fed up with your intrusive questions. By the way, how are you?"
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5Hippo vogued back Timberlake-stylie: "Lions can play / in my river / but you know you got to be a pretty giver". B'Chug, Manatee and Citizen Scam crooned the chorus:
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3Penelope was frustrated. She'd been hoping for a chance to try out her parkour and Brazilian Ju Jitsu skills on her night out with Brian, and
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6"Think you're here to set my clock, Manatee?" he sneered. "Think again." His checkered past included working backstage for Criss Angel. He dived into a nearby dumpster and
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5Photomem Fiona and Homeric Hogan. Luckily, Chemical Steve had a truth-serum mister in his vest. We gathered a crowd, Hogan tackled the evildoers, and we made them talk.
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4Of course I'd heard of prophetic chickens, in books at least, but this caught me when I didn't have any rabbinical connections. Luckily I recorded most of the utterance
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4"Thank you, kitty" he thought as he stepped over the blackbird on the welcome mat. When he went out to the mailbox, he noticed dead birds all over the place, and no traffic sounds