Finished Folds (41—60)
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4in the form of a gusty wind from all directions. The bobbleheads, their nodding now disrupted, looked at the sky, and looked at one another, as though to ask, "Who am I?"
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6mattresses that crowded the atmosphere of this strange planet. My alien captor continued, inches from my face on account of the mattresses at both of our backs. "We are descended
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5The memes had almost the longevity of, say, Bad Luck Brian. But success turned sour, as the popular single, "Brimstone Swing", became yet another confusing impasse for the elderly.
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3At last, the penny dropped. "What" was the name of the very popular strain of weed amongst the youths of Baltimore. I felt sickened to see my dog waste his potential like this.
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4that's how we all came to be: nothing, then something. Every animal on earth has a face, after all. And many have five digits. I am humbled by yeast. There, but for the grace of
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3restock their much-in-demand interstitia, I would be without an arm for the Most Beautiful King Charles portion of the upcoming Fair. Unthinkable! My King Charles would be the most
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4monthly ceremonies as the Church of the Holy Cross, at the end of which the congregation would sing a solemn rendition of Wordy Rappinghood. The "cross", however, transpired to be
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5However, fail to pass as one of them, and you will be torn to shreds in seconds. Luckily they have poor observation skills because of their peculiar retinas. Do not imitate this.
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4and sounds became chunks of boron flying through the air. I could get used to this life.
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2slipped him a covert dose of rohypnol and shaved the goatee in despair. But the rohypnol was too strong, and he woke thirty years later to find his peaceful Dutch colony vanished.
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1His unchecked optimism taking hold, he proposed to his long-unrequited love interest, Winona Payne. Together, they founded Acheson-Payne's Marriage Counselling Service, which
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3But it all went sour in the ill-advised live Christmas Special of '98, when tens of food network viewers learned of her habitual racist rants. Without her editors, she was ruined.
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3In fact, I wasn't so sure if I did either. But I always wanted to go to Bali, and the second-most likely location was Pakistan. So the choice was obvious to me. I packed my case,
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7the filthy gamin. "Sacré bleu!" shouted Roro. "Let me smoke in peace, and not in'ale your disgusting second-'and smoke, dirty orphan." The American tourists nearby were appalled,
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3Marge let out an anxious "Mmmmm" before steeling her resolve and jumping out from behind Mr Hand. "Milhouse, I'm taking you home." "Uh. Okay, Mrs Simpson" said a downcast Milhouse.
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4knew the depth of his sorrow, and gawking tourists uploaded videos of the hilarious monkeys to Vimeo. Enraged, he would wait hours for the 30-second clips to load, then weep alone.
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5rubber boots with at least an inch of pragmatically adhesive sole on the bottom. What philosophies were there left to turn to? Anti-natalism? Zionism? Hopeless, all.
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4Every shepherd knows the intense scrutiny of lambs. Those that don't learn quickly. They will pounce at any sign of weakness. Many shepherds' nightmares are filled with bleating
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3Their polluted droplets fell in torrents, as though the clouds themselves cried at their exile. "No more will our rain be looked down on!" you cry, above the crashing thunder.
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7ne, and Flaming Mantle (my street poetry gang members) might have put more than milk in my coffee. They were always experimenting with new perspectives on their art: salvia, DMT,