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Grandma Looking Like Absolute Shit Lately

VERO BEACH, FL—Unable to ignore the 86-year-old’s dramatic physical decline since they last saw her, sources within the Delahunt family reported Monday that their grandmother Shirley is looking like absolute shit lately.

A Basic Guide To Dream Interpretation

Dreaming is a universal human experience, and many similar themes arise in people’s dreams the world over. The Onion provides some context for interpreting these common dreams:

Bill O’Reilly Tearfully Packs Up Framed Up-Skirt Photos From Desk

NEW YORK—Smiling wistfully as he gazed at the cherished mementos that had sat on his desk for much of the past 20 years, former Fox News commentator Bill O’Reilly reportedly grew teary-eyed Thursday as he packed up the framed up-skirt photos from his work space following his termination by the cable channel.

Family Sadly Marks First 4/20 Without Grandmother

ALBANY, NY—Reminiscing about the departed matriarch while partaking in the annual festivities, members of the Osterman family sadly marked their first 4/20 since the passing of their grandmother, sources reported Thursday.

Report: Store Out Of Good Kind

UTICA, NY—Unable to locate them on their usual shelf, local man George Rambart, 41, reported Thursday that the store was out of the good kind.

Dwight Howard Clearly Doesn’t Know Team’s Name

WASHINGTON—Noting his confused expression and uncertainty while shouting incorrect nicknames throughout the playoff game, sources confirmed Wednesday night that Atlanta Hawks center Dwight Howard clearly does not know his own team’s name.
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Babes In The Woods

It is Day 12 of my precipitous fall into destitution and subsequent flight from justice. Imagine—I, T. Herman Zweibel (or rather, my alias, Herman T. Zwiebel), once the richest and most powerful plutocrat in the Republic, must now fight for survival in the desolate wilderness. Even my liberty is in peril: I am the target of a man-hunt, because, by abandoning my lost estate, I am in defiance of the court-order that confined me there. O Fate! What a cruel mistress you are!

It is a wonder I have survived this long, and for that I must give thanks to my faithful man-servant Standish. Through-out my ordeal, he has been by my side, catering to my every need as best he can in this snow-swept hellscape. He fashioned a crude lean-to out of twigs and pitch, ensnared wild game in a hand-made wooden trap, and divined the coveted secret of fire. All this, and he still manages to transcribe my columns onto birch-logs, which he then floats down-river to the Onion offices.

I must also cite the heroic efforts of a group of uniformed young men who happened upon our camp whilst I lay ill and injured upon the bare ground. At first, I believed them to be a sheriff's posse and ordered Standish to spring upon them and throttle them with a length of piano-wire. "But, sir," Standish replied, "these are Boy-Scouts, members of the movement founded by Lord Baden-Powell to make boys strong of body, clear of mind, and pure of heart."

Boy-Scouts! I prostrated myself at their feet and begged them to aid me in my hour of darkness. They proved more than up to the task. They fed me soup and dressed my wounds with cloth-bandages cut with their trusty pen-knives and a poultice made of chicken-shit. They even managed to jerry-rig an enema-dispenser out of scraps of mole-skin cloth and cat-gut. They restored me nearly to the bloom of health, and in a matter of hours, Standish and I lit out for the Western Mountains, armed with a map, a compass and corn-meal. God bless those brave youths! If I ever regain my vast fortune, they will not go unrewarded! They will receive a paper star, painted gold. I have not yet decided whether it shall be decorated with a red silk trimming.

These inspiring boys helped me recall my own youthful vigor and pluck on the wild frontier! Harness your-self to my wheel-chair, Standish, and forge on-ward! Westward ho-ooooooooooo!

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