Finished Folds (1—20)
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2Heinz and had them send several cases of their best dills. And all those popsicle sticks I had saved since third grade would come in handy in this new venture. Milk Maid was the
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2dexterity. in this new century car manufacturers had understood people want to actually drive in a reclining state and had adjusted the pedals and steering columns. So I ate
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2and out stepped Dick Cheney. He had just been to Bethesda for an artificial heart upgrade, and he said to me, pointedly, "how's your Aunt Betty, anyhow? She's a helluva dame."
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11going to teach them a thing about goat, teen boy, and goat-boy etiquette. "And dammit, pick up that mess," I said. "The pottery is bad enough, but grandpa's ashes need to be
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4and started to sniff at that big baggie of white powder. The cops could come for me, but I would be able to talk my way out of anything, at something like 5000 words a minute.
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3had gone to Archie McPhee's website like I told him to. Now he wouldn't be standing there with an ineffective extinguisher, thinking of Robert Duvall cuing "Ride of the Valkyries"
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2them basking in their newfound love, but in the reflection of the Newbury Comics window I could also see the cold glint of the barrel of the .357 their pusuer was raising to take
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6rough role-playing. "That spleen could pop at any time, and I want you intact, whole." At least until I get you to meet my mother. A second opinion was definitely in order.
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1stiff-armed the sleepy stoner who he had been following and took off in chase. This was some weird game of Ultimate they were engaged in, and as he closed in on disk and quarry,
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2the right mixture of countervailing drugs we might just make it through the night. Concerts like this were hard to
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2the end, finally, having gotten more jewel sand from the monks at Wisdom's Goldenrod. He kept whistling that angry tune
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3Bart. She wanted, with irony, to name it "Bark," or maybe "Stay," in order to confuse the beast. Still she named me Brad
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2deep funk like this? Those kernels just get stuck in your teeth, making you even more despondent. But it popped on
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1those little butterfly bandaids to hold his nostrils open at night, anyway. They kept him from annoying his partner as
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1sorry soul who had gone into the club looking for something and come out finding something very different. (S)he leered
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0these thugs had become tiresome. Sure, there were plenty of diversions amid the trash but I didn't need that gun here
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2to take the cat by the tail and swing it, hard, round and round your head until you launch it deep into the backyard.
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3-- such were the travails of the confectioner's son. It made no sense sometimes, and cream -- whipped, folded, curdled,
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2That was the last we saw of that infernal character. Or so we thought, until one day, heartburnt, he arrived back to
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2I had a form of anxiety that expressed in dope-slapping the forehead, and every time he said that, Steve deserved