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San Diego Comic-Con kicks off tomorrow, and this year’s schedule is packed with must-see events. Here are the most highly-anticipated panels of Comic-Con 2017.

Listen, Area Boss Gets It

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Notable Female Writers Throughout History

Jane Austen died 200 years ago today, but she continues to be widely read and influential to today’s writers. The Onion highlights some of the most notable female authors throughout history.
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Get Me Off This Consarned Asteroid!

Boooooooo! 'Tis I, the ghost of Herman Ulysses Zweibel, pioneer editor of The Mercantile-Onion and, to my ever-lasting shame, father of that debauched, laudanum-addicted whelp, T. Herman Zweibel! Boooooooo!

Well, my petition for admittance into Heaven was finally approved by the Lord God on High Him-self. For over a century, I was not allowed to enter the pearly gates because I was not Mormon. Don't let their polygamous, westward-migrating, hand-cart-pulling ways fool you: They are the chosen people.

But our God is a merciful God, and, determining that I had suffered enough, He called me home at last. With legions of graceful, airy, sexually ambiguous angels escorting me, my soul soared into a glorious, golden luminescence that words can-not begin to describe.

My joy at the prospect of being accepted into God's Celestial Kingdom was unbounded. "Rig me up with some devout under-wear and betroth me to a few of these Latter-Day Saints," said I. "Planet Kolob, here I come!"

Sure enough, in a flash, I found my-self enveloped in the black aether. How-ever, the heavenly body upon which I found my-self was but a tiny orb about twice the diameter of a wagon-wheel. "Where am I?" I screamed.

I felt a tug upon my sleeve, and when I looked down, there stood a small, tow-headed boy, dressed in princely robes.

"If you please, draw me a sheep," the boy said.

At first, I thought the boy was some sort of angel, but, as it turned out, he's just this sniveling little bastard who insists on being called a prince, even though he presides over nothing more than a pathetic asteroid. He's always busy cleaning out the little volcanoes on the asteroid's surface, or talking to a miserable little flower, or complaining about the "baobabs," what-ever they are. Worst of all, he constantly blathers some-thing about how one perceives not with the eyes, but with the heart. What folly!

Well, I assumed Heaven was my destination, but now I am thinking I may actually be in Hell it-self! I must find a way off this asteroid. In the mean-time, this precious little prince is going to get shoved head-first into one of his precious little volcanoes if he doesn't shut his pie-hole!

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