Finished Folds (281—300)
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2freak!" However, this tactic has been frowned upon by Better Homes & Gardens and I wouldn't want my lifetime subscription (won in a wet t-shirt contest) to be canceled. My nephew
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5The night after Cyndi Lauper moved into the condo adjacent to mine, she began slamming into the connecting wall while screaming "SHE-BOP!", a performance which would prove a habit.
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432 serious men scuttered about his compound, studying the layout, the escape routes, the defenses. The hired hands, independent agents with no known affiliations, had the look of
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1the blood of the befuddled masses who sent in samples as the price of entry to a phony contest whereby the supposed "winner" would spend a weekend serving Kim Kardashian and hubby
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6And thus, with a single word uttered from perfect infinite nullity, the Universe (Alpha) was born. This is the universe we inhabit; although we consider it "real", it is but a pre-
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4and into oblivion. The void is quite dark. Maybe it was route 666 we were on. We should be dead by now. Is this Hell? We pass time pretending: we are space travelers; gods; lovers.
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6only confused him further. He rued the day the "Choose Your Own Adventure" notion had popped into his noggin. He was rich, yes - but miserable. He eventually succumbed to catatonia
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10I ran up and down the middle of the street, throwing high passes to myself, sometimes catching them, silently chanting "My marriage is not on the rocks." I didn't see the BMW until
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1each of the past 3 Xmases. When his daughters opened their gifts, cream pies propelled out of the boxes and coated their faces. The Unabomber was a closet clown. In her memoir "My
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5In place of the steering wheel was a human head. BillyJoe puked into the passenger's street. After catching his breath, he pushed on the brow to look at the face. Its eyes opened.
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4There can be only one!" Seven bold contestants emerged from the crowd, drawing their swords. Alex Salmon reached for his scabbard only to find it occupied by a large salami.
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7and declare my undying love for the "plumber". I arrived to late. G. Gordon Liddy was filling the tub with piranha bath. I wept as I kneaded his strong shoulders. Did you have to?"
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3constructed from damaged military hardware. That's when he went native. Soon, he was leading the informal Afghani Basketball League in assists. He never heard the drone that wasted
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3stomped off into the forest. Within an hour he was hopelessly lost. For weeks, Kenny wandered the national park, trying to locate a highway. His scouting skills were pathetic.
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6seemed a paranoid delusion. We drank and drank, drink after drink, until we were sodden. Happy Hour turned to bitter nostalgia. As he recalled a lost love, my daughter's locks fell
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5d finish my ST:TNG fan-fic collection, inspired by the solar winds and the ghosts of ancient aliens. To date, it ran over 18000 pages, with particular emphasis on Commander Ryker's
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6with him, explaining that "Middle Earth" was simply an allegory -- but a not so clandestine community was in fact trying to seize control of the Middle East. Gandalph vehemently
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3toaster. Stupid smart appliances! "Stupid landlady!" I screamed at her. "Toasters are for..." I thought about it. I had forgotten the true use of toasters!. Dropping the fire axe,
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2into an oncoming train in order to end my misery only to discover I am immortal. The derailment caused 127 fatalities. When the sentence was conveyed -- forever, in solitary -- I
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6aurelius -- a rare, but devastating strain of neurobacteria -- had invaded my nostalgia cortex. "It's bad," said Dr. Oooo. "There's a 98% chance of permanent nostalgia." I was