Finished Folds (221—240)
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0, an ad man by trade, had a brilliant idea for a product slogan. "Let my peephole go!" he sang as he jumped from his seat and ran onto the stage. Frank's smile faded. This hack was
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3and the mist gasped. Vera, frozen in the doorway. Norm, frozen to his stool, beer in hand. She had never before set foot in this dingy bar, but through the smoky haze she saw
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3the cylindrical apparatus that spun at 4000 RPM for six minutes before releasing the babymaking juice into the Rube Goldberg machine that took 84 steps to simply deposit the fluid
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3became watery as the memories of childhood bullying returned. "Twice as fast!" his classmates would chant, as the headmaster stuffed giant spoons of pudding into his mouth.
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3the hell are you talking about?" Johny said. The crone recoiled, spitting smoke and candy corns. "YEEEAAARRGGHHHH! HERETIC!" she screeched, pointing a bony, yellowed finger at
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3And as most fish out of water stories end, the new person finds a happy niche, which dulls the pangs for home, and the rest of us go home dreaming of Darryl Hannah.
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4the Lonely, Overweight Secretaries Brigade could arrive in time to clean up the mess. The chocolate vats gurgled and belched forth their sweet, deadly contents as the sirens grew
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2Moral of the story: IMDB knows all.
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3a new way: tickling. With a light touch to a particular patch of skin, the cheese yeti could incapacitate a struggling morsel & increase productivity (foodtivity, he called it) by
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5bounced like Kevin James's belly, and as he sobered up, he realized she was no peach; the premature age lines, ashtray heart, lying eyes, and hurled objects clued him in to
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1But enough about me. Back to the story. John Swartzwelder, writer of 59 episodes of The Simpsons, sat in his diner seat and stared blankly at his typewriter. Coffee steamed and
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2that will satisfy determinism. Free will is bunk, but I need those Metallica tickets. The philosopher peered at me, as though considering the ages. "Sad, but true," he crooned.
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6demonstrated zorgophone mastery. The age-old "There's no tutorial on Youtube" excuse did not satisfy the other-worldly visitors. The communication breakdown brought
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0And all I could think about was turning up the contrast and saturating the colors, then hash tagging the shit out of it. Years later, when no one was left to weep, I did.
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5so I'll just say it: I've been calling you Bob all these years because you look like my childhood best friend." "Oh," I said. "So his name was Bob?" The doctor sighed. "No. His
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1until the final scene, blocking be damned. McShay, the director, was a hack, and hadn't made a good Shakespearean regurgitation piece since lucking into one in '73. Summoning bile,
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2for this indignity received cryptic messages about the existence and secret location of the source of the McRib, a legendary fountain that bestows upon those who drink from it
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3margarine bath. The sculpted cows glowered at the dairy free vices of
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5A murmur shivered through the gathered masses. Mendax, the name of those shamed, was nothing new. But banishment to the empire of dirt? Surely, the newly dubbed Mendax would
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1off the deep end by playing parodies of parodies. For whatever reason, people laughed at their own laughter, and soon, we forgot why we were even there.