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Woman Conducting Ongoing Scientific Experiment On Own Skin

DULUTH, MN—Noting her methodic applications of various chemical agents in carefully controlled combinations, sources confirmed Wednesday that local woman Sara Holloway has been carrying out an open-ended scientific experiment on her own skin.

Earth Ranked Number One Party Planet

FRAMINGHAM, MA—Noting its high concentration of nightlife, droves of attractive singles, and atmospheric conditions allowing liquid alcohol to exist, the ‘Princeton Review’ on Monday ranked Earth the Milky Way galaxy’s top party planet for the fifth year in a row.
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Ghost-Buster

I'm sick and tired of ghosts visiting my bed-chamber. At first, I admit, it was terrifying. Then, it became endearing. But now, it is down-right tire-some.

First, the ghost of my father, Herman Ulysses Zweibel, manifested himself above my four-poster death-bed, cackling wildly and rattling his chains. My horror knew no bounds. Mortified, I begged for his mercy, but he only cackled some more.

He kept cackling. And cackling still. It was so infectious, I could not keep a straight face. So I began to cackle, or at least offer up the closest thing to a cackle my near-ossified vocal cords could muster. We both kept cackling on through the night. It was a charming moment that only a long-dead father and his near-death son could share.

As I cackled, I began to realize that there wasn't a lot that Pater's ghost could actually do except float around, rattle his chains, and cackle. My fear gave way to not a small amount of disappointment. I stopped cackling and drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, Pater's ghost was still there, hovering above the bed and staring at me blankly.

"Can't you at least knock over the armoire or make a window slam shut, or some such haunting-action?" I demanded.

"No," he replied. "The chains limit my mobility."

As the weeks drifted by, Pater continued to hover about my bed-chamber, occasionally moaning or shaking a chain or two. Then, one day, I heard an unearthly moan quite unlike the whimpers emitted by Pater. Suddenly, before my eyes appeared the ghost of my one-time bosom friend and business associate, the ruth-less steel magnate J. Titian McBrodie.

"A WARNING FROM BEYOND, FRIEND ZWEIBEL!" McBrodie's ghost bellowed. "REPENT YOUR EVIL WAYS OR SUFFER AN ETERNITY IN HELL-FIRE!"

My blood ran cold, and my mortal fright returned in full force. "J. Titian!" I cried. "Your ghostly warning has served as a bracing wake-up call to me! In my remaining days, you have my solemn word, I will try my best to make up for my century of sin and wrong-doing!"

"JUST KIDDING!" McBrodie's ghost replied. "THERE'S ACTUALLY NO HELL AT ALL! HEAVEN EITHER! I WAS JUST FUNNING YOU! HOW THE DEVIL ARE YOU, ZWEIBEL OLD CHUM?"

I was so filled with disgust that I could scarcely speak. Instead, I let the two monotonous apparitions hover about and compare boring notes with one another as I received my daily enema.

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