Finished Folds (961—980)
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2The BEATles. Not Beetles, B E A T les. They changed the name to incorporate something musical. Some kind of group of musical insects or something. Why some ass had to kill one
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3Piotr, Pedro, Peder, Peter...none of these rhymed with psychopath, but that's the first thing Pete thought of when he said his own name. Was it his fault he had a talent for
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1"Sparklicious!" exclaimed Poodlefoo as he hopped over the rainbow trellis and onto the flowery peaks. It wasn't often one got to meet a flying kadoodle, but here he was, soaked in
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0Degeneration. The word didn't exactly roll off the tongue, especially now that his mind was pulling a Flowers for Algernon and nose diving into oblivion. The only cure: blood.
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2The halloween candy bucket still lay at his feet as he gazed over the array of corpses that lay in a pattern consistent with the general arc of his scream. Banshee? What did that
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2Temporary insanity is one of those things you kind of have to lean into, even if you really are insane. You can't afford to have a good day on the stand when going for nuts.
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4I can't remember the moment it came to me...that I would be the last one. It should have been obvious and a conclusion easily derived from the first misstep, but for whatever
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5Undeterred, he set about his work. With such high standards, surely someone would realize the perfection of it all. All he needed was enough time and attention to detail.
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4disappear entirely, but that might just appease the wrong people and somehow taint even my absence. I resolved to dress without color-to fade away and let my brilliance be a beacon
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6It was covered in plastic, cat fur and my discontent. How was it that guests would ever enjoy that damn thing anyway? It was a shrine to my mother's life. Beautiful, but separate.
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5"Timber!" he shouted, reaching for the chain saw. Ten minutes later the voices were gone. The jagged and bleeding ruptures at his temples had quieted . "Feel better?" nobody said.
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4At least she would have felt original. All of the hearkening back welled up a kind of anachronistic bile that seemed wrong, but oh-so-right when spewed onto tie-die-bell bottoms.
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4There spirited display and scant translucent frocks had me daydreaming of midnight dalliances. Tens of them gathering around a may pole, wrapping it in silken ribbons, dancing on
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4William Shatner and his spoken word miracles. I have longed for decades to remix them to a rolling bass and the towering talent of Nimoy's Ode to Bilbo Baggins-Alas I am not worthy
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6Scholars from seventeen countries donated their time, for the nuanced inflections of an Esperanto love sonnet require a disciplined eye and the resolve of a mother searching for
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4when he fell through my bedroom window with a trunk full of money and a finger monkey in a tiny cage. "Did I say I'd deliver?" he asked. The monkey was perfect, and just in time
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3I gobbled them down, my neck stretching and chins dangling. I could feel my toe nails scratching at the floor as they fell through my gullet. The coughs disappeared, but not the
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4the largest penis I'd ever seen. Out of modesty I blushed, and refused to compliment its regal, yet penetrating monocular stare. It expressed itself in the only way it knew how
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3Two baker's dozens minus one sat around stone faced, reflecting blankly all that they saw. They were polished, if nothing else, but sedentary and unmoved. Nothing affected them
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2His deliberate delivery of absolutely nothing to anyone marked the first time in the history of time that a man turned everything to shit-but withheld even that from his own toilet