Finished Folds (621—640)
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6dissolved into the cosmos. Enter Second Folder. Sits at computer chair, slouches, sips coffee. Looks at blank lines. Draws blanks. Scratches arm, cracks knuckles. Nada. Stands,
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7as the 38th clown approached. A new guy. Nobody knew him. He was quiet, kind of moody. But clowns accept all, as do the Norwegians. He screwed himself in. The Smart car exploded
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3her "spirit ancestors" who dwelled in the local caves. Ryvre would pierce her forefinger and draw trees, streams, and elk on the cave walls for the children of the collective.
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6at the Heaven-7 Casino. But God was a dirty dealer, and he lorded over every gaming table. Steve always drew 22. Bruce had snake-eyes. For Heath, red was black -- and vice-versa.
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2o Antonioni prepared the script for his next New Wave cinema classic, The Inversion of the Senses. "The mustache -- it was real," Charles Nicholet insisted. "Mona Lisa was both."
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7It has been said that hit-man is a discount assassin; unbeknownst to the smug target, the man he left behind knocked senseless was the former, and a decoy. The actual assassin was
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6the early days of witchcraft, the 13th century, before the Malleus Maleficarum took the wind out of the sails of European witchery. "Blueberry waffles," the grandmother ordered.
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3SkyNet. The earliest drones were obnoxious, but limited in destructive capacity; only the occasional innocent citizen was vaporized. But Team America World Police became complacent
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4and within a decade was the dominant global language. The Sims now occupied 92% of all major national political seats worldwide. Old Walrus Face had warned us. The was but one man
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5mirth was soon interrupted. "Beware," hazarded the mystery caller. "We know your whereabouts. There will be justice." He stowed his cellphone in a drawer, and opened the jar of
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5failure," I offered, cheerily patting my abdomen. "The greatest omentum!" The zookeeper was not impressed by my vocabulary. "I will prove you ate the emu." She looked emaciated.
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4I am just losing my mind." Roseanne vanished, and the scene collapsed around Tom. Four white, textured walls -- padded. A strange jacket, his arms bound tightly against his chest.
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8ppiest People Alive!' It was utter poppycock, but...nobody cared to check if the personalities I illuminated even existed (which they didn't) but everyone so wanted to believe...
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6Despair. For some, it is an inescapable reality; despite their best efforts, an intractable sense of doom pervades. This, I realized, was my lot, when I recognized that the avatars
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4er is inversely proportional to the quality of the forthcoming television season. Compelling programming is the bane of the artiste. Likewise, gone are Thatcher and Reagan, muses
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3All was calm, for a time. I stood & watched nothing in particular. Then a nauseous surge, I couldn't breathe, a little bird with bright red feathers burst from my mouth. It circled
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6a sort of detached courage; my degree in anthropology served as some sort of barrier to the horror of the truth. Both hunter and gatherer, I, in this Boca Burger massacre, slicing,
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5are...I must confess...the affair...atmospheric methane...me and Monica...catastrophic...eeiihhhh..." Al Gore exhaled his final CO2. Sliding her fingers into his entrails, Tipper
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4t I had Josh OCD when I happened upon the Josh DSM-V. Reviewing this online Josh manual, I began believing I also had Josh schizotypal disorder, Josh trichotillomania, and Josh
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5and struck ole grandaddy in his artificial hip. Just a few more inches...The bullet deflected, piercing the centerfold's head. "Russ!" he screamed, dropping the mag and pulling up