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I Hate My Next-Door Neighbors

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Diehard Trump Voters Confirm Rest Of Nation Should Stop Wasting Time Trying To Reach Them

‘If Anything Could Change Our Minds, It Would’ve Happened By Now,’ Say Candidate’s Supporters

WASHINGTON—Saying it should be very clear by now that absolutely nothing can change their position on the matter, steadfast supporters of Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump told the rest of the nation Wednesday that it really shouldn’t bother trying to persuade them not to vote for him.

Mom Learns About New Vegetable

MERRILVILLE, IN—Excitedly sharing the news with her husband and two teenage children, local mother Karen Tyson, 49, learned about a new vegetable Wednesday, sources confirmed.

Tim Kaine Found Riding Conveyor Belt During Factory Campaign Stop

AIKEN, SC—Noting that he disappeared for over an hour during a campaign stop meet-and-greet with workers at a Bridgestone tire manufacturing plant, sources confirmed Tuesday that Democratic vice presidential candidate Tim Kaine was finally discovered riding on one of the factory’s conveyor belts.

Why Don’t People Like Hillary Clinton?

Although she’s secured the Democratic presidential nomination, many voters across all demographics are still hesitant to vote for Hillary Clinton. The Onion breaks down the reasons Clinton is having a hard time luring reluctant voters.

Cover Letter Specifically Tailored To Company Even Sadder Than Generic Ones

BEDMINSTER, NJ—Wincing noticeably as they read the applicant’s claim that he has “always wanted to work for the leading midsize pharmaceutical advertising and brand strategy group in the tri-state area,” sources at Percepta Healthcare Communications confirmed Tuesday that a cover letter specifically tailored to their company was much sadder than any of the generic ones they had received for a recently posted job opening.

Who Are Donald Trump’s Supporters?

As Election Day draws near and GOP candidate Donald Trump continues to retain a loyal supporter base, many wonder who these voters are and what motivates them. Here are some key facts to know
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I Hate My Next-Door Neighbors

Not long ago, I was the master of all I surveyed. As I gazed down from my mountain-top estate, I was confident in the knowledge that the fate of the yeomanry that cowered below was firmly in my grasp. I owned all the property in the local village and took 15 percent of the harvest. If a peasant wanted to leave the county, he had to pay a toll on one of my bridges and had to be back before night-fall, lest my feared mastiffs track him down and tear him limb-from-limb. Then the nouveau riche started moving in. Yes, I realize I just used a phrase from the hated French language, but it is the best way to describe the Johnny-Come-Latelies who have decided to pollute my environs with their effete ways. They claim they like to "winter" here, far from the chill and coal-smoke of the city, and hunt foxes, play polo and enjoy "cocktail" drinking-beverages and other silly nonsense.

The worst of these sap-heads are my closest neighbors, the Baintons. They are the heirs to an enormous soap fortune and are easily the worst idlers I have ever laid eyes upon. Rather than responsibly hoard their precious wealth in a large under-ground cave, they fritter it away on lavish parties, fashionable apparel and priceless jewels. And they're about the weakest-minded bunch I've ever seen. Last week, Chauncey Bainton, the paterfamilias, paid an uninvited call to my bed-chamber. "Zweibel, old stick, how the devil are you?" he said. "Care for a few holes of golf?" Now, who in their right mind would invite a 130-year-old man encased in an iron-lung to play golf? Barely controlling my temper, I said I would be in-disposed for the remainder of the after-noon. "What a pity," Chauncey said. "But not to worry—my wife C.Z. is arranging the most absolutely cozy little supper with a few of our dearest friends this evening, and we'd be ever so thrilled if you'd grace us with your presence. And please bring along your delightful great-grand-daughter Livia. Our sons Bubbles and Busby are just mad about her, really they are!" I'll be damned if any great-grand-daughter of mine ever consorts with those balloon-headed Bainton twits! But before I could react, Chauncey had scampered out of my bed-chamber, no doubt to mingle with one or more of my equally fatuous sons, who think the Baintons are, to use a slang term preferred by the youngsters, "the bee's knees." How I despise those neighbors of mine!

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