Finished Folds (881—900)
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3ripening at an unnatural pace. Something was different at Burning Man this year, something besides the fact that the Burning Man had tits. Nice tits. And not just big: art tits.
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4decided it was time to cut back on the sauce. "These hallucinations -- they're insipid! And I graduated from West Point with top honors!" The robotic Humpty's cyber-psychonomist
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7"Proper," I replied wistfully. Proper English was dead and buried under a trillion 140-character tweets. Extinct. Incinerated. Un-rescuscitatable. Just like my dead cat, Proper,
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1"No." I shut the door on the vacuum cleaner salesman. Nobody vacuums anymore, anyways, not with these self-vacuuming carpets. God I'm bored. Thankfully, the Midleton was only half
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2results in secret concentration camps being constructed in the Amazonian jungle. Seriously. They go mad and liquidate and make for the Brasilia black market. And the next thing you
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4"Nah," piped in the bird's guardian moth. "He's a purist. He's in it for the joy, for the art. He doesn't care about riches, material gain." Magillicutty darkened. "What? Is he a
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4scribbled suicide note. It took me a decade of sleuthing to decode the vexing symbols. With the help of an autistic newspaper cartoonist, I learned the shocking truth. "This is the
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4For example, we might draw obscene figures on your face in permanent marker, stick a trumpet in your crack, and post images of the scene on Tumblr. This, you freshman maggot, is
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5for Lurch. "You rang?" he asked in a helium-altered voice. "What's'a'matta wit' you, Lurch?" asked Hronek, the most Hungarian of the three. "It took you almost four seconds to get
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5obliterating the row of houses on the other side of the street. That was ok. My limo arrived and out stepped my sugar daddy. We were going to Tijuana to participate in a donkey
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4he pointed his head at the gun and fired a thought. The gun exploded into a bouquet of asps. "Ack!" he screamed, dropping the serpents. "Those were supposed to be the FTD Mother's
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4"Dan," Eitzel Heisenburp said, "we appreciate the work you did in The Blues Brothers. But that's about it. Go home. It's over." Dan lowered his head and drifted sideways off the
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4god-forsaken island. Four guys, three chicks, and everybody white as the beach sand. In truth, MaryAnn and Ginger probably did the stunt 'cause they were tired of the Skipper's
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3cow cow. I got some candy for ya!" The pellets resembled pink Nerdz, but were BGH modules for sub-Q introduction. The Angus eyed Farmer Bart with suspicion. He remembered the last
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3fellow was that Big Ben. He was three km high if he was a cm, and could spin a yarn that would reach Pluto if you got him started! But math -- he couldn't add or multiply to save
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8sea only to find that it had vanished. She crept to the beach and looked over edge; sand slowly slid off and disappeared into the abyss. No planets. No stars. Just nothing. She had
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5inflated her volume rivaled that of the Hindenburg. I tethered her to the bumper, and she swooshed about in the breeze. The bomb detonated, freeing the coffin from the riverbed and
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4only complex opera based on the American frat system mythology. "Just a Little GHB" was popular in Montreal, while the art patrons of Mexico City preferred the more elliptical
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4all Shibari'd up -- a pretty good effort for a beginner I thought -- and redialed the helpline on my cellphone using my nose. It was the same counselor. She guffawed when I told
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5He wasn't. Hauer would make sure of it. "You're a like a discount me," Rutger had once insulted, "found in the wastebin behind a dollar store." Dolph had lunged and they fell into