Finished Folds (401—420)
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4- he always did. Ever since she caught him with the pool boy - he was all to eager to pay her off to ensure his closet door stayed permanently shut. She didn't mind being married
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2.. heck, he made up half of them. But it was a facade, he was having a hard time adjusting to the hook where his hand once was. Worse, his "alone time" was ruined due to
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2were all aflutter, hoping they were next, and got fitted with hip-reinforcement braces as they booked up all the Jiffy Lube dealerships within a five-mile radius of his home. So he
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1Hannah Montana in the ribs, it's barrel still warm from its last victim. She smiled a nervous - but toothy - grin, not realizing
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2her father walked in on her and some random stray fellow she picked up, her bed chambers heavy with the lingering odor of KY and human musk? I shudder to think about it. But I
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5filled it with sulphuric acid. He did it with another, and another, and another after that, continuing until all the paint balls were duly tainted - awaiting the grabby hands of
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1of children lost at sea wailed - a sound to him like a sweet lullaby. He slept soundly that night for the first time in months. His only regret was
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2the hands of the Axis Powers and under control of Austin Powers. At last, he
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1liquor 40-ounce straight down his gullet in one gulp. He belched and waited for Chavez to pick up the phone. It was time for a regime change and he was
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2attempted to make a diamond. Instead, it popped out after 10 minutes and hit the wall across the room, leaving a trail of
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6rushing to their dictionaries. I vowed not to use any words of fewer than three syllables. William F. Buckley would be proud of me if he were still alive. I returned to writing
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3my teeth started to come loose, so I knew it was time to
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2hookers are scheduled to arrive on scene. This time, he made a mental note not to
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2that way. His brain was broken and there was nothing he could do to fix it, short of
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1therapy to no avail. It was about a useful as giving Britney Spears a
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4a friend. After all, my mom always said. "Back door friends are best." I'm not sure she was aware of the dual meaning of that saying; I was hoping they wouldn't either. So I
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2pre-cancerous Tammy Bakker clones, as long as they were authentic. That was the key - an authentic connection to the street. This would give her
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0petitioning them, instead, to use ground autumn leaves as a flavoring agent. Despite initial resistance, the
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2happy hour tab for you, anymore, Bucko. Sitting at the bar, waiting for the buzzer to announce our table, I was forced to drink cocktails with stupid names such as,
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3spaying and neutering every mammal in sight - including the humans. So, she