Finished Folds (81—90)
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4but Tom didn't know that. How could he? He had slept through his Isangani course at the community college and was now paying for it dearly. Suicide was now his only option and he
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2given to the interceding party. This of course angered them beyond belief - and they decided that if they couldn't get seats at Dorsia, then nobody would. Tom grabbed a gun and
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0his delicious Chex-Mix with the plebeian scum that grabbed his ankles and refused to let go. He had nothing but contempt for the bootlicking parasites. They would have to learn
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1small Sub-Saharan embassy - which is to say it was actually quite large. They staggered a bit, holding each other for support, and then collapsed to the floor. It felt good to die.
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2and pouring strychnine into Pixy Stix. Strychnine was a better choice than cyanide (which is what most folks used) because its taste and smell were much more
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3and dripping womanhood. Garfield disembarked somewhere near the Zanzibar salt-flats and began walking north, following the smell of malt and lasagna to a grim conclusion where he'd
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5The starfish blinked with one, glazed-over eye. It stood on two of its points and hissed before leaping back into the sea, spinning end-over-end and casting a spray as it hit the
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4junk into the membrane under his tongue. He staggered about near O'Hannigan's for hours after that - feeling a heavy warmth in his stomach and wishing he had a place to sleep. He
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2and collapse into a writhing pile. Slop was one thing, slime an entirely different one - and neither was something you'd want to see at your 4th of July barbecue.
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4some odd piping tunes, not unlike one might hear in a barbershop. The music sounded like potpourri smelled and the Blue Man Group rode the high of its own histamines. Vile people.