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Obama Resigns From Presidency After Michelle Lands Dream Job In Seattle

‘It’s Time I Made Some Sacrifices For This Family,’ Reports President

WASHINGTON—Saying his wife of 24 years had already sacrificed so much for the sake of his career and that it was time to return the favor, Barack Obama announced Wednesday his resignation as president of the United States of America, effective immediately, following news that Michelle Obama had landed her dream job in Seattle.

High School Nurse Getting Pretty Good At Spotting Morning Sickness

FAIRFIELD, ME―Having seen more students than she can remember come into her office with complaints of nausea and vomiting over the years, Fairfield High School nurse Sarah Bromti told reporters Wednesday she’s getting to the point where she can identify morning sickness without much trouble.

Jogger Clearly On First Run Of Plan To Turn Life Around

CHICAGO—Taking note of the man’s beat-up tennis shoes, sweat-drenched shirt, and ill-fitting pair of sweatpants as he made his way down the sidewalk, witnesses reported Tuesday that area jogger Dan Andreychuk was clearly out on his very first run of a plan to turn his life around.

What’s At Stake In New Hampshire

With the New Hampshire primary election Tuesday poised to impact the course of the 2016 presidential race, The Onion examines what’s at stake for the candidates
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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Ugh, This A Place Where Bartenders Wear Bow Tie

PITTSBURGH—Saying they should have known from the moment they walked in the unmarked speakeasy entrance and spotted the extensive wood paneling, customers confirmed Friday that, ugh, this is one of those places where the bartenders all wear bow ties.

All's Right With The World

Huzzah and greetings to the fine Onion reader-ship! All is well with you, I hope! You have a crust to gnaw upon and whale-oil aplenty, I trust? No more boils than usual? Excellent! Now, be not misled by my unaccustomed cheer. My concern for your welfare is genuine, I assure you, for everything is splendid to-day.

Yes, that's right, I am full of good-will this morning for reasons upon which I cannot put my finger. No, it is not the tincture of laudanum I placed in my thin gruel. If anything, I took less than usual. It is not the ceaseless flow of money into my coffers, for I have yet to affect the sale of the Typesetter's Stone, let alone that of the Middle-West, and I am currently rather light in the pockets for a multi-millionaire.

And, no, it is not my physical well-being that prompts this unusual display of glee. In fact, my iron dentures rusted shut under a cascade of vinegarish drool last night and had to be unseized by black-smith's torches just minutes ago–they are cooling to a dull cherry-red even as I dictate this–and I bloodily shat some vaguely spleen-like organelle into my bedpan during break-fast. Physically, I feel as miserable as ever.

But if my heart is light within its sheath of crackling gray fat, who am I to question it? All is right with the world. The birds sing and the fawn frolics. Cherubs sing and play upon airy spinets. And God is in his counting-house, counting out his money. I haven't felt this good since just before the influenza outbreak of 1918, when I myself contracted the disease.

And before that, I had not felt light-hearted since the Great Black Season of 1894, when many ill events coincided across the Republic. That was the year Red Indians ate every man, woman, and child in Weehawken, NJ, the year Mother Zweibel died of hysterical lycanthropy, the year base-ball gained wide-spread acceptance. Come to think of it, I only experience times of buoyant mood when disaster is about to bring the shit-hammer down upon my head.

Menstruating Christ! Does this magnaminity of soul fore-shadow some horrible disaster awaiting me, perhaps before the New Year? Should I take this lightness of heart as a sign to post my Swiss guard six deep around my death-bed, to summon my food-tasters three?

Ah, bull-shit! What could go wrong? After all, I have my millions, my news-paper, my 632-room estate, and my strapping young son N. Aeschylus by my side.

What could possibly go wrong?

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