Finished Folds (181—200)
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4glass of absinthe, Picasso saw the reflection of time. He smiled knowingly to himself and ordered the house specialty. Of course, at the Lapin Agile, est un vin de cerise.
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1firm. Little did the populace of today's niche serial killer fandom know, not only was Wayne a Dashing Slasher, but quite a Slosher - if you're familiar with pie-related fetishes
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2him, "Basil! I'm sick of this chicanery. Get back to the inn and greet those guests!" Basil grumbled under his breath. "Yes, my little nest of vipers." "What was that?!"
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3t in us had gone...washed away like so many Listerine dreams and marmalade skies. "Toast points." A voice intoned. "What?" Another voice was heard. "You meant marmalade and toast p
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4few that survived the fall remained locked in this space-time continuum, forever doomed to silently traverse the slow, plodding rhythm and inescapable linear trajectory of time we
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2stashed away a good amount of reserves back at his compound, so he wasn't worried. What did worry him was the ever-so-slightly twist developing in his drawers, probably due
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7I slowly looked up at my Uncle, eyes burning from years of patience and torment. "What did you just say?" I asked in a breathy whisper. I could see him beginning to shrink before m
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3with wonderment, but felt no pain. At this point, after all she had endured, pain was but a distant memory. For now, it was hammer time. In her vernacular, that meant, all bets wer
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1was the word. At least, that's what they agreed to when the Exec Producers had their heads turned. But at night, the claws came out, the whiskers simulcast in unison and it was tim
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7she began to rethink her marketing approach and hired a mariachi band to drum up business. Still, no takers. Next: Whirling Tumble Twins - nothing, then the Fire-Eating Soccer Moms
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5and over in the Dwindling Gardens,one's luck ran darker still. Bleak days turned into abysmal nights only broken by the occasional visit by a terrified and lost soul. Always brief
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4Triad of Trusty Man Servants, were sanctified indeed. Yet, somewhere, off in the near distance, among the pussy willows was a faint benevolent voice saying, "SHUT IT!" And they did
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6venth Hell reaping demon, duh, like you don't know, was a bit of a old Grump, he was. Oh yes! Don't take it from me, ask the Whitmans! They lived next to the old fart for nearly a
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4particular n'er-do-well wasn't sittin' pretty with the status quo no more. It was Smitty, all right. Smitty La Rue. God warned Lucifer 'bout Smitty. Now he's pink-slipped forever.
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6on Barnaby Street, a high stakes grift was about to land its mark. Morty McDoogan and his infamous gang had managed yet another coup against the ruffians from the waterfront, and
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6what seemed an eternity. The undulations of the waves, back and forth were like a mother's arms, rocking him to sleep. The sun-warmed sand felt like a part of him, and he was melti
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2well...we just don't take kindly to that kind of tyrannical parenting 'round these parts." And so, for what became an historical event, also marked the first invocation of
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6Rutherford made a smug snort and a couple snotty notations in his review log and slapped it shut just for emphasis. His fellow diners tittered with self-righteous glee. "Oh my!" an
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2tried to board up. By now George's screams had become gurgles. We dared not look. My eyes still locked on its eyes when poof! It'sGone. And the words "Suck it" lingered in the air.
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2Garcon, who considered his work on the plate more than just food, nay, masterpieces! Unlikely though it may seem, these Monsters of the Culinary Arts went on to fame and fortune.