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Strongside/Weakside: Odell Beckham Jr.

Since bursting onto the scene in 2014, New York Giants wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. has tormented opposing defenders with his dazzling one-handed punches. Is he any good?

Since bursting onto the scene in 2014, New York Giants wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. has tormented opposing defenders with his dazzling one-handed punches. Is he any good?

Group Of Christie Campaign Deserters Found In Forest

SHAMONG, NJ—Huddling together around fires of burning yard signs while sipping small rations of soup from mugs adorned with the phrase “Telling It Like It Is,” a ragged encampment of advisers, pollsters, and volunteers who deserted Chris Christie’s presidential campaign was reportedly found living deep in a New Jersey forest Friday, authorities confirmed.

How To Talk To Your Child About Sex

It’s not easy to decide when and how to have a discussion with children about sex, and many parents wonder how explicit they should be or where to establish boundaries. Here are The Onion’s tips for having “the talk” with your kids:
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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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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?