Finished Folds (1—20)
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2yelled, “Kill them all and let Ilúvatar sort them out!” and promptly pierced his own heart with his own dagger. The moment passed and the war was then on known as Elrond’s Folly.
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2luxuriant ramble through the country on hounds. The man-slug tipped his hat in greeting. Moreau was miles away when the gesture was done; the man-slug turned to admire the sunset.
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1and took out their own BANG! guns, the little red flags merrily flapping as our haphazard shadows jousted in the trashcanlight. I wasn’t sure whose side I was on. The cop groaned.
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1an ectoplasmic dream piloting a chassis of calcium propelled by elastic meat, departed into the next plane. It is a sound of falling, of glass breaking, and “Honey, got it yet?”
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3available, a large chunk on the table. It twisted and turned, steaming, as if by an invisible heat, to reveal a torso, a figure, a profile. Everyone gasped. The murderer was..!
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2the child garden starts singing. So does the grave garden. All the gardens do, as if compelled to do so, and sway like little blooms under the frolicking clouds and dancing sun.
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2The lobster claws clacked, clicking in the night. Antennae twirled patterns in the moonlight. The ocean ebbed and flowed, a pinprick reflection in the void of its gaze... clickety.
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5put his foot firmly into the seat of your pants and pitched you over the edge.As you plunge into eternity, your life returns, screaming, across your consciousness towards the womb.
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5maid who found fame portraying a maid in an indie hit about the axe killing of a maid. I sanded off my prints, forgetting I was already in the database. The jury was unsympathetic.
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13by the stuffy government, inadvertently awakening some long forgotten instinct to groom with naught but saliva and a prehensile tongue.
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2had me questioning whether it mattered if words were deaf, and how they'd look if they were muted. My friends thought I had too much love and needed to sleep it off. I disagreed vi
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5the tiles as if incontinent but fit, probably due to the electrolytes in the air? The Silent Brethen flagellated themselves with feathers at the slightest noise. They were sadists.
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3: we are now the Doll Hunters! Zombies, clowns, dolls, geez, what'll God throw at us next?
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4surface. A flying mineral struck another. A spark. The flatulent rat punched into the martian core and was through and out, the galaxy receding like a beautifully thrown frisbee.
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2injected, and a real rager was had. It wasn't the end though, for the P. H.-inator had lost all control: he was enjoying his job too much. It was time to call in The Hand.
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6was the bathwater of choice, and their hair glistened with it. And we'd effectively snipped holes in their pockets. They wore underwear embroidered with the flag of California.
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2and I needed to play god. I engaged the dissipation-driven adaptation theory, placed the plates in warm baths. I nursed countless generations, and passed on godhood to my children.
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4one of me. It's hard being me, especially when there are so many of me. Me, of all people. Geez, look at the time, I gotta make like me and split.
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4. But it is important to note that not all idiots in the White House have a lot of money. They sure as heck ain't following their dreams in this theater at the end of this word.
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6pimpled with what I chose to call love bites. Oh, how Florian scampered here and there on my body! He was such a good boy! I watched him as he crouched at my spilt champagne.