Get Me Off This Consarned Asteroid!

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Area Dad Thinks Refs Should Just Let Them Play Football

DOYLESTOWN, PA—Facetiously questioning how the game had suddenly become a non-contact sport, local father Aaron Harper confirmed his belief Thursday that referees officiating a Thanksgiving game between the Philadelphia Eagles and Detroit Lions should just let them play football out there.
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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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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!