Finished Folds (61—80)
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1tangy scent, a lot like sweet baby ray's. I always save a bit for later; as long as it's charred, no brain infection. Russian Roulette, zombie-style. I tossed the remaining grenade
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3fancy cross stitch flower pots. Claude thought their steely glares were signs of coy acceptance into their knitting circle, so he never read the sly winks or slow nods as warnings.
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3could spout "S'il vous plaît" just as easily as "Ça ne me plaît pas." In fact, he often said the two together just to confuse the part-time farmer, part-time masseuse who sold eggs
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2He concentrated, picturing her deep blue eyes, focusing on the nose ring and the flashing teeth. Without fuss, he was in. Now he could read her thoughts. But wait. It was too dark.
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6I was picked up for backward jaywalking at 16 and 2 months. But i saved the big one for my 17th birthday. There was no way I'd be charged as an adult and I needed this last blast
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2as if the combination of Seinfeld reruns and too much Christmas fruitcake had this kind of power. But the octopus cows gained on him, no matter how hard he pressed the accelerator.
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6tuck it into my sleeve cuff, the way old ladies carry their tissue. Regardless, I'm good at what I do, and I do it with a straight face. Even the Home Depot guy says I
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3barnacle. The sea urchin delicately dabbed his facial orifice before devouring the entire head of the richly scented cod. "But what about the sheep's lower intestine?" inquired
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5clutched at his cherry juice, calling a truce between all things uric and acid. "Hide these," he gasped, thrusting a small baggie of mushrooms, anchovies, and asparagus into my
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4the downright laughable probes were all he had now. Why the aliens had allowed him to return to Earth with them, he didn't know - but no reason looking a gift horse & all. He slid
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4failed to use proper labeling techniques. Yes, he was cold, but he was good at what he did. Those knees shattered like so much candy glass. "Why, you little..." she sputtered
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3no one would think to use the Inspector Magee magic decoder ring. Perhaps her secret was safe. She dialed in the temperature and waited, fingering the
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4to enrage him. Who did they think they were, anyway, waving their saucy tails around? This is it, he thought, wrapping his paw around the detonator. "I shall be avenged!"
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3of them upstarts were twinkles in their grandpappy's eyes, and she wasn't going to stop now. She penned an elegant 7, then signed the check w/ deliberate slowness. Her eyes were
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1The union workers to quit sniveling. The teachers to stop whining about testing. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could die "death by ACLU" if he threw caution to the wind.
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4The sound of shattering glass told the whole story. He'd found the pictures. The ones of Aunt Shirley and the postman. Er. men. Why had she insisted on framing them? They only
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2all I had to worry about was whose turn it was to be sober enough to drive the forty miles into town past three police stations and a fire department. Ah but her smile drove me
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0thick pine-needle-encrusted branch and snuck up behind the raccoon. "Take that!" she pronounced after culcocking him upside the head. "Magic, my arse! Who needs it when you've got
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3Most eschewed it, however, due to bad taste (theirs, not the drink's), bad smells (okay: it did smell like dried vomit), and bad luck. My bad luck. If someone didn't drink this
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2the air bubble that bobbed around my head would suffice. Once it popped, I would be at the mercy of any passing mermaid. Or merman. That thought buoyed me a bit.