Finished Folds (1101—1120)
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3Or something more" -- he leered at me -- "agreeable?" He squeezed my breast like a bike horn, and I squeaked, humiliated. But something came over me when he caressed my nose, and I
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2gutter "for the experience". Mother was none too pleased. "How do you expect to get into Yale with those ideals of yours?" Tommy glowered. "I HATE Yale!" he screamed, pointing at
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0perfectly capable of displaying three heads, and four under optimal circumstances. I had trained at the foremost circus in the world, after all! Jerry would have been proud had he
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3Truffaut could be resurrected in time. "What about Godard?" the producer squealed in panic. The casting director shook her head. "We seanced him. He's pissed we ask Truffaut first,
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5the Netherlands where those like me are still treated like dirt. As a golem, or gollum as some would have it, dirt is precisely how we wish to be treated. Dr. Phil understood this,
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4a new tailpipe. Why drag races require GPS now is a mystery, a mystery I pondered as my transmission threw and the car leaped off of the track. As I rolled and bounced, the mystery
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7old man who thought his corn cob pipe could tell stories. Stories about crazy snowy wharfs, and warm old men, corn cob men. Wharf-telling stories. Crazy old evenings. He was stoned
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5when you've been encased in carbonite? She returned to the bedroom. "I'll see you in hell, lover," she taunted. I was beginning to think she was right. The front door slammed. Now
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4largest medicine cabinet in the castle." Fergie could barely contain her joy. The idiots! It was like sending a -- a sausage -- enthusiast to -- a -- a sausage place! She pretended
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3grabbed his upper lip and pulled it back over his head, revealing his pulsating brain. Why was I not frightened? "It's not a real brain," the brain telepathed. Now I was confused,
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3-- Blankfein returned from his reverie. "I need help," he told his pet cactus, Cleo. Opening the desk drawer, he retrieved a bottle of pills, a Blunt of the chronic, and a special
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4mustache attached to his forehead. Anatomy was not his forte. "It's a beard," he would lie, making matters worse. But, for whatever ungodly reason, women LOVED him, and in ways
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6the hungry bankers over in the lagoon. They would understand my sorrow, my shame, my financial indiscretions. Perhaps they could recommend a good lawyer. But most likely they would
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7She was silent throughout my three hour tirade in which I detailed every, even the most trivial discomfort she had caused me. When I was through, she calmly responded, "My name is
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4"Tsk Tsk." Venkman eyed the coed hungrily. Ray grasped his shoulder . "Hang on there, cowboy. Remember the last incident. They nearly shuttered the frat." The poltergeist withered
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6such orthodontics! This one was a keeper. "Ma'am," I addressed, impersonating the King,"I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Aristocrat's Condiment Ball and
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7John "David Bowie", causing him to assume his animal form: the platypus. You kick the platypus into pool of lava, your favorite party affectation, and call on the band to strike up
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5"That's the old password." He leaned towards me menacingly, threatening to snarl. Shit. I wanted to panic and flee into the forest, but something like a voice whispered "
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5whip taste-tester as "the next best thing to the Savior". For once, he was almost not wrong; this humble condiment sampler was, in fact, even better than the Savior: she was
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1"Well, who do I complain to?" I complained to my RealDoll. "The BBB? Ha! Those idiots take months to respond. No. This time, no words. Action!" I pounded my palm with my fist,