Finished Folds (81—100)
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2a random strip-search of residents with hopes of catching the pickpocket, but things quickly grew out of hand when only women with shapely legs and firm booties were being searched
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1don’t care about that shit. Horses occasionally care about the human on their back, but mostly they care about running free and hooking up with a horse or two or three and then
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3Chief Bromden stood statue-like. Cheswick was the first to curse, “Damn you, Nurse Ratched! Mac is not a flamingo!” “Mr. Cheswick, “Nurse Ratched’s death-like calm turned into rage
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3, if, for some inexplicable reason you came, raw, uncut, the Oaxaca mole negro, with its fruits and nuts, I would devour you with passion, and allow your chocolate sauce to dribble
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1Apparently, Reach for the Sky had multiple meanings since Manny did a belly flop to the floor and Shabby jumped onto the sofa, reached up high & was decapitated by the ceiling fan.
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5“YES, SIR!” Kayleigh squealed, “I’ll show them hundreds of huge binders filled with signed affidavits from PROMINENT IMAGINARY FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, each claiming you easily won
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2the inner back waistband. I asked Pa why the skid mark was there, and he told me a story of passion, ass whooping, and unabridged carnal obnoxiousness, which sailed over my head.
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1exposed the TRUTH to Termagro & XLT & they turned a shade of pistachio ice cream, they both barfed, they both fainted. Monique grinned & danced the Funeral Dance of the Marionettes
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2dance; he realized the mouse was playing Elephant Walk on his Occipital Lobe, & his dance turned into a Jungle Boogie. The ground quaked, as Otto sneezed the mouse out of his trunk
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4lubricated latex sheath, it might send an unsuitable message. Slowly and calmly walk away, and don’t look at the bone. Don’t get a rise out of it, even though it’s happy to see you
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2I’m no connoisseur of starchy Italian dishes, although I am fond of fondue bagna cauda, but Mushy & Pilaf wouldn’t last a millisecond with Sal the barber & “Two Ton” Tony Galento
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2shit hit the fan, or was it when the smoke cleared? No matter. She wasn’t heiress to the Whitney fortune; hell, she wasn’t even a Whitney, and her Havana gigolos gave her the clap.
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2selling my bare bear bottom at the Hundred Acre Wood House of Ill Repute. “I’ve found the honeypot,” cried Donald, a fat man with an orange face and pee-stained cotton candy hair.
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2with Sprinkles for Men edible hair spray & he immediately convulsed & sweated profusely while I smothered him in chocolate kisses and let him bob for my maraschino cherry. I won.
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3erwise joyfully stoned patrons were gagging & suffocating on their own cannananas vomit, which was not at all good for business. So, Jeremy moved away from banana-flavored hybrids
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3ber and Dr. Gomer reminisced about the days when everybody’s fridge-freezer came with a full water bottle and boxes of chocolate Turkish taffy and chocolate-covered bananas. Mrs.
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3069, done upon a Rubenesque woman actress dressed like Frannie the fat Irish cop, turned out to be an Exploder belly-to-belly Suplex, resulting in a statutory rape/paternity suit.
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3trouble is those lemons sure do sting the hell out of your gouged eye socket. Now, I surely do consider myself a tough guy but I ain’t no masochist. If you ask me, and I know you’r
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3cut off his head with a scythe. Luckily, Sherman and Mr. Peabody took the WAYBACK machine an hour or two back, and stopped Honey Bucket from killing the moose, or that was the plan
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2and then she strolled away slowly stripping away her fashion as she vanished into the dark end of the passageway, my jaw plainly touching the ankle weights at the tops of my feet.