Finished Folds (21—40)
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4hammer and began delicately tapping at the number of cellphones he had placed on the table in front of him. "Music will answer this question!" he exclaimed with a flourish, and
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6and listen to Japanese noise-rock at all hours of the night. This latter phenomenon was documented by Professor Hickenabaugh in his seminal paper, Ladybugcore: Listening Habits of
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2Mars, my wildest dream and my darkest prison. Hilda loved it here, though everywhere I looked I saw red. It didn't help that without a rocket, we were obligated to keep our condo
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4a band of geese, sidetracked from their southern flight, walked straight into the auditorium. Amidst shrill honks and quacks, they filed down the two aisles as the singer
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4"If only I'd punched her with my punch," I cried into spectral fires, bemoaning the immediate ghostly devaluation of my home's once-solid property value.
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3at Cal-Tech, but her degree meant little when she turned to mass-producing those little shock buzzers you wear and shake people's hands. Emmy's empire was small, but she ruled
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4For it is difficult work we are about to embark upon, and let us not forget those brave men before us who died picking Washington's boogers on the slippery slopes of Mt. Rushmore
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4other mesmerizing hypnotic suggestions. Queen Victoria adjusted her sleeves and peered into the Obsidian Plinth. "What does it do?" she asked the gypsy, who nervously laughed.
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2tward in impressive radials. Was now the right time to claim my ancestry as foresworn Knight of the Chocodile? In the Great Little Debbie War, I'd renounced my brethren for Snack
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3exacting exact revenge on the Revenant. Urhuum aged slowly, and though the years were unkind to Tigma & Fugg, her hairspikes never grew brittle. On that Feastday of Rharkuum, she
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7the memory of his heartfelt cover of Terrapin Station, though he was sure it was at his wrinkled tortoise pecs. It would take years for him to recover, but he had them. Around 90.
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3I mean, who cares if I have at least two hundred framed photographs of you in my bedroom, and they're connected in grids of colored yarn symbolizing your inner thoughts in each
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2of time before the yellow chalk smudges on Susie Quark's pantsuit were noticed. I was the only mathematician in the building who used that seasick yellow chalk. Solving for ex
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1I mean, Uncle Jim has that series of risqué jokes and my younger brother regularly joyrides with his goons, smashing mailboxes of those they'd heard "got the C." My diagnosis was
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6the garden hose spiraling at his feet. And as I peered through rage and tears at his hairy back receding into the Hollywood hills, I vowed to never, ever carry on the family name.
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4was an artistic paean to the powers of genetic engineering, but it was also my son. As my grav boots crunched onto the Martian soil, I held the dog-eared Hop on Pop book tightly &
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5ermeneutical scholars. "Come grab a crunchy burrito and argue over obscure interpretations of gnostic texts!" In my clouded judgment, I had even made signs. She just couldn't
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2assorted pranks: the crumpled newspaper filling Susan's office, using my best Malik impression to call him in sick for work ten minutes before he got here. Oh how I wished that
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1his lapsteel guitar. Those slick slides the old mystic master had taught him couldn't hurt, and Rusty tore into the solo from Ramblin' Man as the chaos monsters whirled about.
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4to the writhing sentient ground, poisoned by my chitinous spikes. Eventually the throng of spectators demanded my release, which is how I'm sitting by you on this bar in Ohio."