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Lone Superdelegate Voting For Martin O’Malley Feels Like Total Fucking Idiot

PHILADELPHIA—Sheepishly raising his hand to nominate the man who suspended his presidential campaign back in February, unpledged delegate Bob Shiefke told reporters Tuesday he felt like a “total fucking idiot” for being the only person at the Democratic National Convention voting for former Maryland governor Martin O’Malley.

Man Entirely Different Misogynist Online Than In Real Life

CHATTANOOGA, TN—Explaining how his subtle belittlement and disrespect for women in face-to-face interactions had little in common with the bold, outspoken manner in which he degrades women when he’s on social media or website message boards, sources reported Tuesday that local man Colin McManus is a totally different misogynist online than in real life.

Michelle Obama: ‘Well, There Are 8 Years Of My Life I’ll Never Get Back’

PHILADELPHIA—Her face fixed in an expression of apathetic detachment as she took the stage Monday night to raucous cheers and applause, First Lady Michelle Obama reportedly began her address to the Democratic National Convention by exhaling audibly and remarking that she would never get the past eight years of her life back.

Revelations From The DNC Email Leak

Last week, WikiLeaks posted 20,000 email exchanges among DNC officials, the content of which led to DNC chair Debbie Wasserman Schultz’s resignation on the eve of the convention. Here are some of the key revelations from the leak

CNN Producer On Hunt For Saddest-Looking Fuck With Convention Button Collection

PHILADELPHIA—Weaving his way through the crowd of patriotically dressed attendees excitedly milling around on the floor of the Democratic National Convention, CNN segment producer Jeff Raskin reportedly went on the hunt Monday for the most pitiful-looking fuck willing to speak on camera about their political button collection.

How The IOC Plans To Address Doping

In light of its recent decision not to bar Russian athletes from competing in Rio despite their use of performance-enhancing drugs, the International Olympic Committee is working to establish more effective protocols to keep the Games drug-free. Here are some ways the IOC plans to address doping:
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Home At Last

For the first time in several months, I woke to find my-self back in my dank, urine-smelling bed-chamber at the Zweibel Estate. How glorious a sight to be-hold! For a second, I almost believed that my horrific experiences were but a terrible night-mare, yet I was almost mad with joy to be reunited with the many possessions I had once so taken for granted. Hello, big stuffed moose head! Hello, chafing-dish! Hello, meerschaum pipe! Hello, blotting paper! Hello, armoire! Hello, cupsidor! Hello, iron-lung! Hello, enema-bulb! Hello, socks!

I wished to find out the latest developments in the wake of my rescue, so I summoned my man-servant Standish. I was pleased to receive the news that my nemesis and kidnapper, Black Scarlet, or as he is better known, "Freddie Mercury," had already been convicted in a swift trial and sentenced to 4,800 years in prison with no possible hope of parole. Apparently, this crushed his legions of fanatics and hangers-on, who had learned only recently that he was still alive. But I was jubiliant. Haven't I always insisted that all enemies of the Zweibels meet ignoble ends?

How-ever, to my deep chagrin, the wicked ro-bot Mr. Tin, who supplied Black Scarlet with the where-abouts of my fortune, is still at large, and has not been seen since he fled the law with the assistance of fire-shooting propelling devices on the bottoms of his massive metal feet. Who knows what nefarious plans for revenge are whirling in his sinister metallurgical brain!

Standish also told me that there was a victory parade in the village near the estate commemorating my triumphant home-coming. There were marching bands, horses, balloons, and ticker-tape, and I my-self was propped up on a float gayly decorated with magnolia boughs and colorful ribbons. Unfortunately, I was comatose at the time, and have no recollection of the event. A pity, as I love parades.

I have decided to write a book about the traumatic events of these past few months. Standish suggested I give it the some-what droll title of Zweibel's Travels, but I prefer A Shocking True-Life Account Of My Sudden Plunge Into Poverty, My Grievous Exile, And My Subsequent And Thrilling Recovery And Restoration Of My Wealth, And How You Never Lifted A Single Finger To Help Me Even When I Was On Death's Very Door-step, You Filthy Cock-suckers. Yes, I'm talking about you! I learned many important lessons during my wanderings, but the one I shall remember most is that you are all a bunch of heart-less swine. Screw you all to the last man!

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