Finished Folds (801—820)
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7-b kicked my infant toward the ball pit. The ketchupless ball pit. "Quick, arm the ketchup cannon for emergency lycopenation," the McD clerk commanded. Such poise, such service,
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4ner's dilemma essay haunting my thoughts, trying to fold. "Hm, something about love. Love is nice." A voice beckoned. "PurpleProf, stamp me with an F." The essay wouldn't cooperate
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3britches. Bailiff Byrd, prepare the Wooden Spoon of Justice and issue 20 spankings." Bailiff Byrd gulped. "Judge Judy, ma'am, the Spoon is stuck in a rock like Excalibur. No one
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6gosphere with its biting social commentary. "Pack mentality is really cramping my individualism," the wolf typed. Its camper-turned-editor nodded approvingly and rubbed its belly.
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3and Bug's Life was pretty bleh." Starbug summoned his grasshopper friends to the Starbucks HQ, where they drove off the assless-chapped workers with their incessant chirping. Butts
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3lots of money at the Costco across town. Stig blew his earnings on his Ferrari, so he had to buy goods at the common folk stores. His teacher's salary couldn't support gas or
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4But his happiness was too strong, so she had to make average people below average enough to accept him. She started with basic insults: "You bathe your feet in piss!", "How stupid
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4, tikied, or idoled? Text 16865 for cursed, and some other number for the others. "I do love the viewer participation in this Brady Bunch reboot," I said. I texted 16865 and cursed
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3The bug was in too thick an existential fog for a sugar rush. "Will nothing please it?" a doc asked. "What *is* nothing?" I said, "It is that which nothings. The nothing nothings
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5a straw hat short of a farmer's market up in here, and no one laughs at the pig joke. Should I indulge in some sinful dance or get a whoopie pie? Whaddaya know, Cheryl ate them all
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4"I spy with my little eye something green." "Is it money?" I asked. "No, it's a planet you've never heard of." Grrrh. "Dammit, christian god, I'm going to Durga's to pay Twister."
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7'aheMtcb', it's Macbeth scrambled up?" "This isn't the word jumble, Hector?" "Olivia, how 'bout rbeDtli, it's Dilbert scram..." *smack* "This is why I can't commit to you, Hector!"
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3The residents of Car Carpet City hid in their houses, too afraid of all the giant speeding cars to venture out. The children had severely bruised arms from playing Punch Buggy and
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5unplump. A system of Oktoberfest cranes transported Dieter to the sausage table when his autobahnmobile broke down from a lack of not exploding. "Dieter" was said with a long "e"
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9with bulging biceps crushed my glass to a pulp by accident. He had made a habit of sip stealing from athlete's drinks spiked with HGH. The cocktail waiter's neck blocked my view of
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3by showing salesmen the supply and demand curve upside down. Another strategy was to talk about equilibriums until their head exploded. No more car-selling dads, no more
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3macslipped on a puddle of ale. If only there were some potato-y way out of this bar. Beyond those stereotypes, Roger had no plan of action. Luckily, a potato salesman drove by and
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2son being gay when there were all these bucks to hunt. Ken Starr mumbled to himself from atop a tree as he reloaded, "No son of mine will wear boots for fashion and not function."
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3and beatitudinal runoff from the Mount. The golf course had been inherited by the meek, and God Tebow saw to it that they had plenty of Hanes shirts to wear. Patrick Willis tackled
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6Operation Sabotage, which consisted of playing Lopez Tonight reruns 24/7. "But it's not tonight, it's daytime," confused channel surfers complained. With Ch. 2 in the crapper, gigg