adBlockCheck

Local

34-Year-Old Asks For Big Piece

MADISON, WI—Directing the server to the large square in the corner, local 34-year-old Matthew Hinke asked for a big piece of cake during a workplace birthday party, sources confirmed Tuesday.

Mom Produces Decorative Gift Bag Out Of Thin Air

LEXINGTON, MA—Conjuring the item into existence along with several sheets of perfectly coordinated tissue paper, local mother Caroline Wolfson, 49, reportedly produced a decorative gift bag out of thin air Tuesday within a mere fraction of a second of her daughter mentioning she needed to wrap a present.

Cake Just Sitting There

Take It

CHICAGO—Assuring you that there was nothing to worry about and not a soul around who would see you, sources confirmed Tuesday that a large piece of chocolate cake was just sitting there and that you should go ahead and take it.

Roommate Skulking Around Edge Of Party Like Victorian Ghost Child

SEATTLE—Appearing initially in the far corner of the living room and then several minutes later on the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway, local roommate Kelsey Stahl was, by multiple accounts, seen skulking around the edge of a house party Friday like a Victorian ghost child.

Man Praying Interviewer Doesn’t Ask Any Questions

MINNEAPOLIS—His mouth going dry and his palms growing sweaty as he arrived at the offices of Regent Advertising Partners to interview for an open account manager position, local man Devin McKee reportedly prayed Thursday that the hiring manager wouldn’t ask him any questions during their meeting.

Man Had No Idea Cough Was Going To Be Wet One

MUSKEGON, MI—Caught completely off guard by the viscous lump of sputum that was dislodged and sent rocketing upward from his lower respiratory tract, area man Luke Reese confirmed Wednesday he had no idea his impending cough was going to be a wet one.
End Of Section
  • More News

I Just Assumed The Hobo With The Top Hat Was The One In Charge

Should anyone in the hobo camp on the outskirts of the abandoned railyard find this paper, I would ask you to please pass along the following message to your cohorts before you use it to line your shoes, assuming you can read. It would be greatly appreciated.

In regards to our encounter this past Saturday, apologies are in order, the first, and not the least of which to the gentleman, Meat, whom I approached at the hobo encampment last Tuesday night looking to acquire some temporary labor in exchange for a hearty bean dinner. I leapt to certain conclusions about you based on your appearance, and I shudder to think of my rudeness. Primarily, I am sorry that I took for granted that you were the mayor of your hobo village.

I admit, I rushed to judgment. In all honesty, I had previously only read about hobos in books or seen them in movies and maybe a painting or two, usually in clown makeup, and I suppose I had a rather romantic notion of what they were like. So when I saw you, Meat, at what appeared to my untrained eye to be a position of prominence at the fire barrel wearing a top hat and the most striking coat of all the hobos, I assumed you were the leader. But you know what they say about assuming. Assume makes—well, I'm sure you've heard it before.

I don't want to appear to be making excuses, but you were eating from the largest can of beans as well, which only served to heighten my confusion. Had I noticed that your big toe was sticking out of your boot from the start, I would have looked elsewhere for leadership.

I now know that I was to have spoken to Doc, who, it would happen, was passed out at the time of our encounter, and looked nothing like a medical doctor. Maybe it's my naiveté, but I thought that if one were to rise to the level of hobo king, or whatever one would call it—well, there is simply no gracious way to put this—I never imagined that the hobo leader would smell so strongly of old urine.

So to Doc, it seems, I also offer my apologies. Again, I am so embarrassed.

In any event, it was certainly not my intent to slight your president in any way. I also regret waking her in such an abrupt fashion. I suppose that if I had been jarred from my slumber by a sharp blow from someone's boot, I would have lashed out as well. Perhaps not quite as physically, but, all the same, I would have been quite cross. The fact is, no matter how we appear, even if it's in a sunbonnet and woolen blanket mottled with summertime filth and reeking of Sterno and effluvia, we are all human beings.

While I'm at it, allow me to extend heartfelt apologies to both the gentleman in the calico-patched trousers and red-kerchief bindle upon whom I think I poured gasoline in a moment of confusion, and to Boxcar Lucy as well. On reflection, it seems obvious that her name is derived from her preferred means of transportation, and not her size, upon which I made a few unfortunate and poorly chosen remarks. I must confess some amazement that a woman of her means would be so large, but I suppose her size is irrelevant. It is probably because she houses such a big heart, though I wouldn't know, given that she threatened to boil my insides and eat them.

In any event, I hope that we can move beyond all this misunderstanding so that future encounters, should they occur, will not result in the promised blade between my ribs. Please accept my humble apologies, some cigar butts that you can smoke with toothpicks, four cans of stew and two dollars, which I understand is the cost of justice among you people.

I'm sorry. That came out all wrong.

WATCH VIDEO FROM THE ONION

Sign up For The Onion's Newsletter

Give your spam filter something to do.

X Close