Finished Folds (61—80)
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2An idea came to him. He would deconstruct one of his low rise briefs and resew it into a panty for grandma. Not for nothing was all those years he interned with Christian Dior.
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5Capella is to them what Stephen Hawking is to Cambridge: a star professor who attracts bright students, enhances the university's prestige, and, more important, pulls money.
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4I had with me Dad's prized Katana, a gift from when I told him about these bullies. With a look of confidence, I strode into the forest, expecting an easy win. When I reached the
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5head, shoving him away. Just six more months, she thought. It wasn't her idea to get a husband with Alzheimer's this advanced, and with a body this crinkled, no matter how rich.
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4And in a move considered by some to be in bad taste, they deboned her corpse, scraping every bit of flesh, and had it minced into a fine slurry. A three-starred Michelin chef was
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3his indecision. Before long, with the diamond skull in tow, he was heading West on an end around road trip to evade his nemesis. The plan was to fence it to the Abscess Boy gang.
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3An hour later, Voltaire was looking around for a waiter when he spotted a sinewy man sitting two tables away. The man got up and picked his way through the crowd toward Voltaire.
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3I got paid. War may be the mother of invention, but I felt this tortuous way to write was invented not to hide messages from our enemies as much as it was to pressure me to quit.
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6his face was known to people living eons apart. Neanderthals drew him on cave walls. Da Vinci painted him materializing in Florence. To find solace, he decided to leave Earth.
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4plication, glanced up, and saw God in front of his desk--- looming, barechested, with a machete in one hand ---poised. "Congratulations, God! Your loan is approved", Godfreid said.
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3flank. Blood gushed out of the wounds, painting the sea red. "Darn!", the captain said. Succubus Whale it was not, for its blood must be like oil, thick and black, with devilry.
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4up, walked over, took the machete, then started sharpening the pencil. The absurdity wasn't lost on her, but it's her way of honoring her late father: using his weapon to hone hers
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5name was Dark. A Mr. Dark Grey. He has a sister whose first name was Light. His parents must be called Black & White, I thought, forgetting for a while the pain in my cuffed hands.
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4The Times ran a piece that touched on why, as much as NBA coveted me, players don't want me in their mix. The concern was my medical condition which caused me to fart constantly.
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2"You want me to write an essay", I said. "Principle, I may look like another stupid student in this shitty school, but I'll have you know that I regularly write for the New Yorker"
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3The monks kneeled down, each placing a slice of pepperoni on the tongue and taking a zip of diet coke. They took the oath, embracing the world, the flesh, and the shuffle dance.
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5I slumped to the ground, disheartened. The machine should have spirited me to the future, but now I was standing in the middle of nowhere, in what appeared to be an ancient Mayan
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5adultery, with none other than the Queen herself. The news threw England into chaos. The King, enraged and desperate for a revenge, made the senator's noseless widow his mistress.
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5his scarred beer belly, which is growling. His breath stinks, reeking of something I couldn't quite put my finger on, something meaty. I am confused. He looks at me, grinning.
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3lled my cup. Nietzsche was a required read for every gentleman. Yet for every Nietzsche, we have ten Dan Browns who churns out what amounts to methamphetamine for the minds.