Finished Folds (361—380)
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2Imichangas!" I wandered the streets, my hollow mind and perforated skull human megaphone, my thoughts laid bare for all to hear. When the wind ceased, a silence so profound
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6Folds. Within the boiling mass of viscous narrative an infinity of Folders folded Folds folding Folders Folding Folded Folds folding Folding Folds. And the metadots'd barely kicked
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5cal clime, gathering moss and lichen that spattered his weatherbeaten face with the gravity given only to those well acquainted with Father Time. His sighs were decades long.
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3Ten years later found him living in a closet with an IV drip. Wires ran from his nose (wireless tech came a bit too late) into an impressive set-up. He was a digital cowboy.
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3with a pail on her haid." It was an open and shut case. She had no chance. "Guilty!" the Judge banged a tattoo, 'and watch your tail goin in jail!"
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2walk in place. You may run or dash, but going somewhere, that's where you'll appreciate this, is no distinction from going nowhere. Wisdom is standing still somewhere and nowhere.
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5It was happy accident that two rival gangs of dance school rejects had agreed at that exact time and space to face off.They came popping and krumping to pose at the demarcation,yo.
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4n the poodle let loose of its opinion of the whole matter in great whooping gusts that culminated in me cackling and spraying the room with scatological canid wit.
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5mean? It came to him like thunder. "I shall invade Ukraine," he said. He finished his breakfast bibliomancy with an iron spoon and rode a bear bare-chested through the taiga.
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6He popped the hood, splayed the body of a virgin onto the engine, placing the primary organs in the location of the humours. Convoluted Latin tore itself from his voice. Any horror
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3The bastards from the South had come and gone. All we had to show for it was a funeral pyre adrift on an splenetic sea. We watched our matriarch of Horn and Ice sink, extinguished.
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4like a chef's confection,each chunk rare human meat in a pool of its juices breaking apart on a series of solitary floes into the maw of a mutant snoring polar bear. The crocodiles
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6to put a stop to this. The right hand was fingerwalking in enraged circles, even as lefty wrote of conjugal juices. No, he said. No, he cried, a hand forming fingerguns templeward.
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2great effect in convincing the population with his art of the moon landing's authenticity. A CIA ploy as any I've seen, she remarked while half-heartedly massaging events.
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3uristics inroads crossing a deep-boiling personal cosmology) to Legba and summoned Woland's old friend, Behemoth for a fanged gallop across the town's melusine moonbeam paths.
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4Betty's fingers traced Brownian motion along the Samoan's supple hide. Together they entered a honeyed mereotopology, at whose zenith Betty just didn't see the point of it at all.
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5My ride like a mecha, my hand inched tantalizingly along my thighs. Bosoms, mine, heaved. My lungs expired gasp after gasp. Musk-bound, I was consumed by an obliterating light.
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2flagrant types of le petit morte, administered by slick latex androgynoues seeping nonchalant violence. Outside, greasy pain dealers loitered, clutching illegal algogenies.
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5was who because they'd inadvertently swapped smiles and genitals around so that bits of everyone were bits on everyone else. When they returned home,their loved ones had difficulty
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5Suddenly dashing from under and above the surrounding environs were multitdes of Brony after Brony in full proudstanding plushie regalia. Typhon knew not what he was getting into.