Finished Folds (381—400)
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2whip out his tail and spin it around, shouting, "check out my tail, baby!" on the first date. Or the second. Or third. Or fourth. Or fifth. Simon was now 35 and re-thinking his
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3was IT. VEGAS, baby. He married a drunken woman that night. She continued to drink the next morning. By lying like scumbags, they managed to adopt 27 children. The welfare checks
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4fondue stick which he wielded with deadly effect. The cheese yeti nodded with satisfaction. Humans make fine sausage. As he removed the man's clothing he discovered
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2fidgeted nervously. That's exactly what he thought. "Trick or treating requires a coordinated effort," continued the crone, "weapons, intel, tactics…" She glanced at Johny, "What
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4"Balderdash!" Blurted Bob, "I'm done bein' hornswoggled & bamboozled by flimflammers like you." Bob began to squeeze, hard. "Bob, you're a rootin' tootin' yahoo." "Don't I know it"
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4It was a wet & bedraggled literary critic. "What was Bulwer-Lytton thinking when he penned the opening lines of 'Paul Clifford'?" He said rhetorically to Trumpet. The head rooster
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4Kenny's deeper, darker secret was that his fanfiction was about a single song, "Doki Doki Morning" by Babymetal. His latest novel, "Ohayoo, WAKE UP!" was about a Japanese girl
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4and mud. I shall now pass decrees." Medax had eaten 27 decrees for breakfast the day before. "Send in the court jester!" he bellowed, his fattiness splashing the sloppy sludge.
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3The lobsters shambled towards me, trying not to draw attention to themselves, for their business suits and 50's house dresses didn't well hide the fact that they were lobsters.
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2building in his bladder, he watched the fold-clock tick down for a full minute before carefully typing his most magnificent fold yet. This Golden Fold would win the sweepstakes:
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3a grizzly maul me. So I said, "emergency room," but nothing happened. "Paramedic." Nothing. "Anti-bear?" A small hairless thing pounced on me, biting and slashing away my wounds.
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1I would finally get to sneak into one of the rides, build a hut behind the scenery, and fulfill my dream of living life as an animatronic banjo playing possum.
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1unconvincing zombies squirted us with quarts of goopy gore. "This haunted house is poorly constructed!" I shrieked as I kicked a rotted plank intended to brace up a teetering
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2could construct a delicate assembly of rods & wires, a multi-purpose contraption that could not only capture the imagination of the unwashed masses but also serve to depilate their
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1Ah yes, Mr. Kumalo, the Nigerian prince who emailed me requesting help transferring an enormous inheritance to a US bank before it is illegitimately confiscated by his government,
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1Nothing ever did compare, and Mrs. Froggles wasted away slowly in her sorrow, becoming pale and emaciated, rarely speaking, and only seen outside her home on every other washday.
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3And as wet and glossy as crude oil, flowing down the limbless torso in the nocturnal meadow I had chosen for my latest act of artistic expression. The insects joined me in my
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5it was not a pretty sight, nor one I wish to keep recounting to my grandchildren repeatedly like I do every night, but their free online psychotherapist says it builds character.
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10only had two miracles up his sleeve - heal cleft palate and "saintly glow while praying for the end of famine" so he was stationed in a dark corner before the statue of Our Lady of
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5rose above the choppy surface. Wickfelt placed a huge bowl of porridge at the shoreline. "Morning, MacGregor. Morose as ever, I see," said Nessie. He nodded and sipped whiskey.