Finished Folds (1—20)
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3into beautiful dresses. "Oh, no," he groaned. "I don't want dresses, I just want my sackcloths. What do they take me for, a fairy princess?" He sighed and put one on anyway. Might
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2shoes knowing that they would be arriving. When the sheisters got to Wilmington, they were alone. "Glenda?" one called. There was no answer, of course. Wilmington was gone.
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7The tiger began to nibble gently on the kind man, lulling him into a false sense of security. Then he drew blood. The man, still trusting, held out his hand. The tiger consumed him
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8that somebody, somewhere could hear my screams. Her stilettos clicked behind me, red heels masking knives. She was a girl you'd like to have on your side. She wasn't on mine. I had
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4She was secretly an Italian spy who used sex, drugs, and murder to keep her Mafioso daddy in the know. Her kids shouldn't know something like that... should they? She grew more an
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8that I couldn't tell who it was. But I could tell. It was Ant Chango-- my weird aunt who ate nothing but bugs for like, a year. The odor was stifling. I had to leave-- but she was
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5. "Meow," he said to the lovely specimen of human femininity. "Meow, mew. Meow meow mew meow purr." She laughed and clapped, "Kitty!" She hugged him tight. Tom was good-- too good
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2stomach. "The Individual is the God and Ruler of himself," he whispered. Then he shed his skin and ascended to heaven as Ayn Rand, shining in the red, red sun. Objectivism is the
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6Mother Goddess," said the sperm whale. "But if I can hear you, and you speak truth, how can you not be-" "Shut up, kid," the whale snapped. "Take your meds and go home. No one
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3Wedding bells were ringing. The priest's face was burning. In his sanctioned, sacred inbox on his immaculate iPhone were the words: "lol u mad faget?" In the middle of the wedding,
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6friend, Jake'. I left it on the table, where she'd be sure to see. I hope she saw it. I hope she knew how much I hated her. My head hurt. I stumbled to the door. She was there. She
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6I bowed my head and ran. He followed me-- I could hear his footsteps echoing off the walls. It sounded like a hundred men- a thousand. I couldn't speak. I could never speak. I was
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4it." He tossed him the phallic grinder and the two men were the picture of male camaraderie. Coach patted Norm on the back and laughed testosteronefully. "You know, Norm, I've
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5waiting for you to step on it, for you to peel you foot away and feel its hairs and gastric acid tickling your sole. For every one of these hairballs is a foot. Your foot, maybe?
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6"It would appear," said the doctor, "That your tongue is erupting with pustules. The patient gurgled in assent. The doctor frowned, "My prognosis is... witchcraft. It's the only
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5crouched in fear and hope that he would be allowed to stay, that he wouldn't be sent back. The Circus was Bennie's green light, his John Galt, his Amerika, his MacGuffin. He was a
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4Bob had so much potential. He was high on life. He killed Anakin and took his place, all without making a sound. He was going to be the God of all time forever. He was Bob, King of
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5establish some kind of organization. This is the beginning. This is how the Gastolympics began. Every gaseous contest started here, now. This is your history. Long live the burp.
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6that she knew about his horrible secret. He was addicted. Addicted to frogs. His mother looked at him questioningly. "You can tell me anything, honey," she said. He gulped. "Mom, I
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1any kind of poison plant you could cook up. But they didn't, assuming I was just another whiny hipster girl. It was the perfect crime. No one would ever find out that is was me