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Rest Of Nation To Penn State: ‘Something Is Very Wrong With All Of You’

WASHINGTON—Stating they felt deeply unnerved by the community’s unwavering and impassioned defense of a football program and administration that enabled child sexual abuse over the course of several decades, the rest of the country informed Penn State University Friday that there is clearly something very wrong with all of them.

Strongside/Weakside: Lamar Jackson

After passing for eight touchdowns and rushing for another 10 in just the first three weeks of the season, Louisville Cardinals sophomore quarterback Lamar Jackson has quickly become the frontrunner to win the Heisman Trophy. Is he any good?

Obesity: Myth Vs. Fact

With as many as one in three people in the U.S. qualifying as obese, misconceptions are often formed about what it means to be significantly overweight. The Onion separates obesity myths from facts

A Primer On North Korea

The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea remains largely unknown to Americans due mainly to the secrecy and isolationism upheld by its government. The Onion provides a primer on North Korea’s people and culture
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I Don't Need You People

That's it. I've finally had it up to here. Yet another pitiful excuse for a nurse has been hired for me, again without my approval. She's just a young wisp of a girl, and very sensitive to boot: Scold her in the slightest, and she dissolves into hysterics. Just to-day, I barked at her to pop one of my eyes back into place, and she dashed out of my bed-chamber, tears gushing down her face.

Well, the hell with that. And the hell with you all! I don't need anyone's aid to get by. I'm T. Herman Zweibel, world-famed publisher of The Onion news gazette. I practically invented the notion of self-reliance. So I'm running away from home and will leave no forwarding address. So long, you bastards!

I know what you're thinking: "The man is 127 years old and doesn't even have complete fore-arms. How will he survive?" I intend to live simply and close to the earth, just as I did during my rugged pioneer boy-hood. I'll just take along some flour, some hard-tack, a three-legged stool, and some ocelot-skins for clothing. Didn't think I could do it, did you?

I suppose I'll also need my musket to shoot game. And kitchen matches, too. I'd better summon Standish to get them from the larder. Wait, I can't do that, for he'll wonder why I need them, and, being a sharp man-servant, he'll put two and two together and realize I intend to run away. I will have to make fire by banging flinty rocks together. And I'll need a plough. I'll have to borrow one from a farmer. I'll use my electrically-fired wheel-chair to pull the thing.

I will also require a velveteen cushion on which to rest my boil-covered bottom. And a daguerreotype of my blessed mother. Those will be my sole comforts as I set out alone into the harsh wilderness.

I realize that the out-of-doors is fraught with many a peril. The last time I was out-side, in 1923 I believe, I somehow got caught in a cotton-gin. I don't want to speak of it further.

Fare-thee-well, jokers, and good riddance. The last sound you will hear from me is that of my bed-chamber door closing behind me. That is, when I learn how to work the blasted door-knob.

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