Finished Folds (221—240)
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5Dearest Caleb, [enter][tab] Missionary work blows. The natives of Heekum Holkum won't stop poking my laptop. It's like they've never seen a non-touch screen before. I prayed for
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2"I would never punt my son," she claimed. I chuckled at her naieveté and said, "What if a maniac sets up a doomsday device, and he'll only shut it off if you punt your son? Hmmm?"
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6"The tag says this sweater vest is made from '100% mountain goat beard,'" Matthew boasted. Tch, that mountain was probably a pile of dirt, a dwarf mountain at best. What an ugly
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6She handed me a slice of pizza and said, "This means we're going steady now."
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4Aiden was in the fetal position on my couch. "The Falcons win whenever I sit like this," he said. No fair - I wanted superpowers too. I found some dusty texts at the library about
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1The Grammar Police just placed me under arrest for using a double negative, that's all. And yeah, the Grammar Wizard is applying a red brand to my thigh, but don't go thinking that
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5play a time signature that isn't all square roots, or at least a song less than 8 minutes long; these Montségurian moshers are exhausted. I stole Tool's acid, hoping their sobriety
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4'd played too many anime visual novels and was titillated by school. Dialogue options flanked his vision. He chose: "Yo, shrink, you don't make me shrink." Wrong choice, W-R-O-N-G.
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4hunky ring bearer absconding with her and the ring (and Gloria's wedding cake). She rolled around as she played it out in her mind. They would dance... No, no. Cake first, then
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3that she could kill concepts. Evil? What a small fry. The Red Devil was just evil in the form of an angry sausage. He had a x1.5 power multiplier against good, but she fretted not.
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6I swore I'd put a nose in the pot. Hmmm, no nose, no demonic summonee. I had some store-brand pickled nose; would that deform the demon? "Scooch, bebe, the nose needs to boil too."
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5But the cashier insisted that the bonus bucks were in fact redeemable. The patron bowed her head in thanks, catching her hair in the checkout conveyor belt. "Don't scan me, save my
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1by ramping across the grooves Knievel-style. It's the closest to airtime these she-elephants ever got, what fat fat fatties they were. It's a shame they held positive self-images.
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4But now prison was the superior experience. Shanking >>>> 8-letter words + Uncle Rick boggling past the timer. Really, I did the math, double-checked and everything. My boggle gang
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2doesn't cripple your memory, but playing in the NFL does, so he took his machismo to the gridiron. A few helmet-first hits took his ex off his mind. 15 yards lost, and 15 years.
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10leap into his Josh-isms, like "Love is just propinquity with sex thrown in. Let's throw in the sex." I'll haul my iPad and chips to the lady's room, to safety!, and fold in peace.
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9Biden stammered forth in his drunken heroism, "Yo, Hillary, find me a secretary to have a steamy affair with and take the spotlight off that Barack guy... whuu? No takers?" He fell
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4score some genes, no doubt. A scientist pulled up to him, cracked open her tinted window, and inquired, "If I rub your magic lamp will the gene come out?" 3.5 uncut grams
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6above for the loud curtain calls that rattled his otherwise stable gator sewermates, costing him ~3 toes. He plugged the alligators' ears with slime, but oh how they missed music.
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3"Your Roman witch soul is non-flammable newt blood" appeared in my diary, written with the aforesaid newt blood. Hey, my soul isn't a bottomless inkwell, Diary. Quit it! More words