Finished Folds (1061—1080)
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3of his affection: a solid gold Catherine Deneuve circa 1967! "Goldfinger," he sang, pointing towards the midnight sun. But his face fell when he realized that the gold was in fact
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2and placed it over my head, not wanting to observe anything unsettling. See no evil, blah blah blah. The screaming, however, continued, as did the evil flavor which invaded my
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5This shrinking inspired Pollock to embark on a little known period of his career in which he would dip small earthworms in paint, swallow them whole, and then apply them to canvas
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4and pulping every third dancer with military efficiency. "He's a mole," screamed a half-naked waif who a moment later was but a red puddle on the rotating platform. A panic
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3And then begin. And then quit. And then begin... It would keep her fans interested, the promoter insisted, running his fingers through his leonine mane. Patches of fur clung to his
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4time the wounds won't heal, this time the hurtin's for real." sang Pinkie with all of the earnest soulfulness that Miley Cyrus could muster. She lashed her tongue about and shook
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1onality theory which he had studied in the Kentucky Kindergarten for the Children of Celebrity Geniuses. On the inside he was a cool as the cucumber in his air-condtioned
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6yo yo, I don't think so!" Her hip-hop tactic was clever and effective. I felt insecure, and somewhat effeminate. But my grandfather's angry voice invaded my mind once again. "Hey
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2It was great, for the first week or so. Hell, I was benching 22,420 and the chicks wouldn't leave me alone! But then things began to grow from my flesh, small things, like snails
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4The girl with the tattoo of some mystical creature or other crashed through the sunwindow and dropped onto the table. "I'll tell you what." She shot him three times in the forehead
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8What was the answer? It occurred to me during a sex fantasy: soil proportions! I set up a clandestine lab in the horticulture dept., mixing exotic soils together, toiling, afraid,
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10recanted his earlier praise for hemp fashion. "I was misinterpreted," he lied; but lies from him were as influential as scripture. GQ soon followed, and my ruin was certain. Today,
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3"This is just like that scene in Spartacus," Eleanor whispered into my ear before licking it with her sandpapery tongue. Having a sentient cat is a mixed blessing; her knowledge of
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5TV antenna repairwoman, which would be stupid because nobody uses radio antennae anymore and, besides, such work is really not intended for the fairer
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5Me. This one was going to be a challenge. How can one cook the whole Me when the Me is also the one doing the cooking? This conundrum has puzzled philosopher-chefs since the dawn
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2and it is particularly important at the beginning of the holiday shopping season. She spreads apple butter on a Cheez-it and then tosses it in the trash, she hates apple butter and
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4my nipples with bacon grease and cabling them to her Vespa's battery. To our mutual surprise, the Vespa exploded. We barely escaped the ensuing fire in which seventy-one patients
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1e-beating thug bodyguard of his, the one with the mole on his eyeball. "Diner. The blu-ray disc, not DVD. Now!" The thug slapped a palm with a blackjack and spit onto my Persian
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3as they always do, as they had graduated from the hallowed halls of our very own Art Institute! T produced a bazooka and leveled everything in sight, including the retrospective of
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6or conventional you." Ed produced two amber geltabs from behind his own ear. "Banisteriopsis capii," he grinned. "We won't enjoy this one bit." Stan gaped at the pellets, fearing