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Area Man Convinced He Could Have Been NFL Bust

DES MOINES, IA—Insisting that he possessed the physical and mental attributes to be one of the most disappointing draft picks of all time, local man Keith Parker, 34, was reportedly convinced Thursday that he could have been an NFL bust.

Nation’s Sanitation Workers Announce Everything Finally Clean

‘Please Try To Keep It This Way,’ Say Workers

WASHINGTON—After spending years sweeping and scrubbing across all 50 states, the nation’s sanitation workers announced Thursday that everything was finally clean and asked Americans if they could please keep it that way.
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A Day At The Senior Center

Last Thursday, I woke to discover enormous clothes-moths flapping about my bed-chamber. Horrified, I screamed for Standish, who valiantly tried to slay the winged brutes with a can of Flit. It was soon determined that other rooms were similarly besieged with moths, and that the entire mansion had to be evacuated for fumigation.

As I was wheeled to the court-yard, there was a danger that the exposure to the out-of-doors would cause me to contract pneumonia. So Doc McGillicuddy, my personal physician, recommended that I be taken to what he called the "Senior Day Center" down in the village. There, I could relax and enjoy the companionship of other elderly citizens until the mansion was freed of pests.

As my carriage pulled up to the center, I was aghast at what I saw. "Take me back immediately!" I ordered. "This is the County Home For The Destitute & Infirm! This is no place for a Zweibel!" But Doc explained that the Home was closed in 1947, and that ever since then, the building has served as a sort of recreational meeting-lodge for the elderly.

Wheeled inside, I was soon thrust into a group of people who were not elderly in the slightest. Looking to be in their 70s or 80s, they were young enough to be my grand-children! One of these whipper-snappers dared to speak to me. "Mr. Zweibel, sir!" he said, his face grotesquely contorted into a toothless smile. "As a lad, I used to shine your shoes! You had my out-of-work father jailed for vagrancy! We starved for months! Do you remember me?" I tartly replied that I did not.

Then, a woman in a nurse's outfit beckoned us into an adjoining room for what she called "exercise time." She switched on a gramophone, which played a horrendous, cacophonous nonsense involving a great deal of trumpets and trombones, which I later learned was known as "swinging" music. And, indeed, the youths began to clap their hands and rock feebly in their wheel-chairs. Preferring the menacing of enormous clothes-moths over the undulations of pagan savages, I loudly insisted that I be delivered from this coven of Satan immediately. The youth of to-day have definitely gone to pot!

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