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Vol 36 Issue 44

Hard Day's Work Fails To Yield Sense Of Job Well Done

EVANSVILLE, IN– After a hard day's work Monday, Cahill Financial Group administrative assistant Janice Croyer mysteriously lacked a deep sense of pride and satisfaction in a job well done. "I don't know what it is," said Croyer, punching out. "I should feel great about the work I did today, but I'm not on any sort of high." It was the 2,076th consecutive work day to produce vocational indifference in Croyer.

Driver Rattled By Brush With Death For Nearly 10 Seconds

DOUGLAS, WY– Following a narrowly averted fatal collision with a weaving semi truck on Interstate 25, motorist Kent Withers was badly shaken for nearly 10 seconds Monday. "My God," said Withers, momentarily pondering the frailty of human life. "I could have been killed." Added Withers: I could go for a bacon cheeseburger."

Freddie Prinze Jr. Fan's Favorite Color Also Green

BURBANK, CA– Reading a profile of teen heartthrob Freddie Prinze Jr. in the December issue of Tiger Beat, 15-year-old Caitlin Rasmussen was thrilled to discover that both she and her favorite actor cite green as their favorite color. "That is so unbelievable," Rassmussen said. "Freddie likes green, and I like green. We have so much in common." As further evidence that the pair are soulmates, Rasmussen noted that she and Prinze share a fondness for ice cream.

Shingles Sufferer Sick Of Explaining What Shingles Is

NEWPORT NEWS, VA– Meredith Burr, a Newport News human-resources administrator who contracted shingles three weeks ago, announced Tuesday that she is "completely fed up" with explaining what the illness is. "For the last time, shingles is a viral infection that causes a painful rash similar to chicken pox," Burr said. "The medical term is herpes zoster, and it usually lasts from two to five weeks. Now will you leave me alone? My skin is burning." Burr added that shingles should not be confused with piles, rickets, scurvy, or the gout.

Gore Calls For Recount Of Supreme Court Vote

WASHINGTON, DC– An increasingly desperate Al Gore called for a recount Tuesday of the U.S. Supreme Court's 9-0 decision in Bush v. Palm Beach County Canvassing Board. "There is reason to suspect that these nine votes were not properly counted and that as many as five justices who sided with Mr. Bush did not intend to do so," Gore said. "It is therefore in the best interest of our democracy for the U.S. Supreme Court to suspend judgment in this case until we can be absolutely certain that this court did, in fact, intend to rule in Mr. Bush's favor." Gore added that if his recount request is denied, he will file an appeal with the Interplanetary Supreme Court.

Youth Sports, Adult Violence

The past year has seen a surge in adult violence at youth sporting events, including the beating death of a hockey coach by a player's father. What do you think?

H-Dog Jr.

Yo, check it out, Gs: Last week, that freaky ho Judy from tha wack-ass Accountz Payabo krew steps to mah fly cubicle, all smilin' an' shit. I thought she wuz straight trippin'.

The Scooter Craze

Across America, millions of kids are cruising around on aluminum Razor scooters. Why are they so popular?
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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?

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