Finished Folds (141—150)
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4as he deflected the dagger-like fangs of the 102nd head with his lance. The Last Dragon was making sport of him, his courage. With a prayer he hurled a potion, his secret weapon,
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3the owner of the quarry was not pleased. "If I grind your giant watermelon into bite-sized pieces," he said, "melon-pebbles will mix in with my candy quartz. Cleanup fee applies.
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5"A figurative Will, Helen," said somewhat comely John. "Never again will you ask me what-is-the-meaning-of-this or other pompous things no one else says! Show some respect, or I
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2with a quick clawed finger the rat "shush"ed her. "Let's not play games," the strangely handsome space-alien rat said to Cynthia. "If you don't have a leader to take me to..."
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5lunged and lunged, stoking his metabolic superpowers. Grasping his superheroine partner by the leotard, he deadlifted Fisher out of the tide of mayonnaise with a schlorp. "One!"
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5The crime? Murder. The motive? Life insurance. The time? Breakfast. The weapon? Cheese knife. The plan? Dubious. The victim? Obnoxious. The police report?
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4ly horny neighborhood. "Just as I suspected!" He cried. "A buried line of liquid Viagra piping in with the city water." Turning the shut-off valve (mostly) off, he exhaled.
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3p finding a contact lens was kind but hopeless in this cave. "Curse your superior vision," he muttered and swung something heavy at me in the dark. It crashed against a huge
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3to me - take off the tinfoil hat." "It's NOT tinfoil!" "Okay, the magic helmet. Take it off - see if the danger is real. You can always put it back on, right?" Hands trembling,
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3or see the harpoon launcher poking out of my backpack. "Get in," said the kraken behind the wheel. We packed into the front seat of the fish-smelling truck, headed for the next