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Man Either Sick Or Just At End Of Workday

CINCINNATI—Overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue, local man Will Markowski told reporters Tuesday that he was uncertain whether he was getting sick or if it was just the end of a normal workday.

A Timeline Of Abraham Lincoln’s Life

Every February, people across the the nation celebrate the legacy of Abraham Lincoln, widely considered to be one of America’s finest presidents. The Onion provides a timeline of the key moments in President Lincoln’s life:

Most Valuable Sports Memorabilia

Sports collectibles have skyrocketed in popularity over the past several decades, with sales of such items as game-worn jerseys and autographed rookie cards generating billions of dollars each year. Onion Sports examines the most sought-after and highly valued sports memorabilia in the world.

Nation Leery Of Very Odd Little Boy

WASHINGTON—Noting that there was something distinctly unnerving about his mannerisms, physical appearance, and overall demeanor, the nation confirmed Friday that it was leery of very odd 8-year-old Brendan Nault.
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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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