Finished Folds (441—460)
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7trying to tell us something via the roulette wheel. It spun, again, stopping at 44, and then one last time, stopping at 13. A woman gasped. 23=H, 57=E, 44=L, 13=P...HELP!
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5All three of them. "But I don't want to fold stories!" the little rat bastard cried, "I want to scare the hell out of people, eat all of their expensive cheese, and leave dropping
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7to not spray any out of my nostrils and onto my thigh-high pink cowgirl boots...something I've been known to do while drinking tea. I studied my now-smaller reconstructed hands and
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4was just beginning; this year it was slower than ever. PSEU...DO...PSEUDO…DO…HY...PO... PAR...A...THY...ROID...IS...M. Nasty Ned sank into a coma and never regained consciousness.
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3unsure exactly what kind of pie has hair in it. Look, I'm sorry but it's one thing to make pies out of dead humans...what? It's too much to ask for the pubic hair to be shaved
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4face, gasped from the comprehension that HIS wife, Tina, the actress, comes home every night with sticky, jelly-like stuff all over her hair, and says, “I hate f__king love scenes!
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5Don't mention it. Oh...but since you did mention it...well...I suppose I owe you a "You're welcome!" response...but don't I deserve to know why I deserved the "Thank you" from you
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4when it was time to clean his files and change his Depends Real Fit for Men Extra Large. He flung the chicken-wire art out the window and it landed on Prudence Pinkfanny’s head.
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3Cochran, down on his knees, taking the piss, a bit sod off-ish, feeling a bit up for it with the Judge, deep bowel sounds oozing from his arse, murmuring, “May it please the Court!
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4all the wrong reasons. All the peaceful and not-so-peaceful protests of the 60s and 70s did little or nothing to improve race relations. Dick Gregory should take out the president
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5but confusing...I mean...Korean?...Really? I'm sorry, but Drs. Moon and Sun, most definitely, spoke the most spoken language on the planet...Rhythm and Blues...the language of King
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6lthough...actually, I wouldn't depend on a cat because they are like the backstabbers of the domesticated animal league.You could rely on a Collie or a German Shepherd, not a cat!
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8to work as a bloody tosser at her Majesty’s pleasure: Crackerbox Palace. For a fortnight, I did little more than catch flies and wish I were in Glopslic…the plan went all to pot.
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5. But the numbers didn’t add up. 1--number of times I rode her bareback. 9—chromosomes I lacked to impregnate a horse. 13—number of days I had been out of the mental institution.
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3All this because of blinding eminence. Ermines weren’t going to permit some numpty, spawny, all mouth and no trousers American drape their Stoat fur across some old biddy’s nape.
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4Slurping with pleasure at the gentleness of mysterious fluff …down...over the mountainous mounds of jiggling embrace...DOWN...to the cavernous cottage masked in thatch haste…found!
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6"Jeeeeeeeesusss!" he screamed. The little man had chumped down on his nut sack and his jaws clamped tight, like a pit bull. Pain turned into palpitations which turned into faint
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4It was the spastic voice of Pee Wee Herman, who, giggled and said, "That was the president again. I've got to steal back the X1 before the Soviets find the secret compartment!"
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4l rights by buying my book “Too Drunk to Choke My Chicken” on sale for $99. at K-Mart. If you’re in Superior Court, read Chapter 13 to the Judge, I guarantee you will be locked up!
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4ped him, wrestling the joint from his grip. "Ha!" Sally cried, “Gimme a match!” He cackled, "Your ass and my face!” And match in hand, he leapt off the comic strip and passed away.