I Am A Mummy

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Strongside/Weakside: Odell Beckham Jr.

Since bursting onto the scene in 2014, New York Giants wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. has tormented opposing defenders with his dazzling one-handed punches. Is he any good?

Since bursting onto the scene in 2014, New York Giants wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. has tormented opposing defenders with his dazzling one-handed punches. Is he any good?

Group Of Christie Campaign Deserters Found In Forest

SHAMONG, NJ—Huddling together around fires of burning yard signs while sipping small rations of soup from mugs adorned with the phrase “Telling It Like It Is,” a ragged encampment of advisers, pollsters, and volunteers who deserted Chris Christie’s presidential campaign was reportedly found living deep in a New Jersey forest Friday, authorities confirmed.

How To Talk To Your Child About Sex

It’s not easy to decide when and how to have a discussion with children about sex, and many parents wonder how explicit they should be or where to establish boundaries. Here are The Onion’s tips for having “the talk” with your kids:
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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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College Freshman Decides To Be Lanyard-Wearing Kind

ANN ARBOR, MI—Emphasizing that this was not a choice he had made lightly, University of Michigan student Kevin Peterson told reporters Thursday that he had officially decided to become one of the lanyard-wearing kind of freshmen.

I Am A Mummy

In 1968, anticipating my imminent demise and wishing to go to the grave looking sharp, I took the precaution of having myself mummified. My major organs were carefully removed by eminent Egyptian physicians and stored in special alabaster jars. (Except for my spleen, whose jar was knocked over and subsequently consumed by field-mice, and my brain, which I still need.)

The only problem is, I have lived far longer than anticipated, and have, as a result, had to endure years of weekly embalming sessions just to keep up the façade. I am normally very co-operative with the embalmers, except when they attempt to remove my brains through my nostrils with an elongated hook. But, with my hollow chest cavity replenished weekly with preserving spices and emolients, and my withered skin slathered with a rare, fragrant oil from the Orient, I am secure in the knowledge that the embalmers generally know what they are doing, and I try not to get in their way.

My mausoleum, too, is being prepared for my expiration. Artisans are at work painstakingly hand-carving a sarcophagus of solid gold, and labor daily on elaborate wall frescoes depicting key events in my life. That way, I may spend an eternity blissfully reliving such glorious times as when The Onion reached a land-mark 50,000 circulation and when I stabbed Brickton Atlas-Trumpet editor P. Oliver Gummidge 17 times with an awl. Crate-loads of solid-gold tubes and catheters, cod-liver oil, and a platinum-coated iron lung have been placed in my burial-chamber as well.

There is, however, a slight wrinkle in the funeral plans. When I pass on, naturally, a few dozen of my loyal servants will be buried alive with me so that they may serve me in the after-life. But there is no way that I will permit that hideous metallic ro-bot nurse of mine to eternally insert thermometers up my rectum! I will simply have to find another nurse. But whom? Certainly not my previous one, the foul traitoress who up and left me without notice!

Now I live in cold fear, not of my actual demise, but that I shall die, and that they will ship that evil mechanical ro-bot down to my burial chamber to forever stare at me with its menacing red eyes!