I Miss My Old Sled

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Siblings Each Hoping Other One Will Take Care Of Aging Parents Someday

CLEVELAND—Explaining that they simply didn’t want to have to deal with the immense time commitment and emotional exhaustion, sisters Katie and Ellen Cattell each privately admitted to reporters this week that they were hoping the other sibling would someday be the one to take care of their aging parents.

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.

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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.
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I Miss My Old Sled

I have been informed that winter has been upon us for a good month now. It is during this long season that my thoughts invariably turn to my childhood so long ago in the Oregon Territory. My dominant memory of those times is of snow, snow and more snow. Snow whirling about in great billows; snow piled in huge, sloping drifts; snow coming to rest against the rough-hewn timbers and window-panes of my mother's boarding-house.

But what was a white hell to most was a fairy wonder-land to me. My fertile imagination knew no bounds! Why, in my child's eyes, the snowy expanse could be transformed into a vast battlefield, electric with sacrifice and heroism for a glorious and noble cause! The Union forever!

Alas, it was all about to end. Immersed in my childish pursuits, how was I to know that the seemingly barren Colorado mine my mother had foolishly purchased long ago was to yield the richest silver lode in North America? Or that I was to be suddenly uprooted from my happy home and escorted to the big city by Mr. Thatcher, the cold and distant guardian my mother had appointed to look after me? That my adolescence and young adulthood would be a glum and endless succession of exclusive prep schools and Ivy League universities, from all of which I had managed to be expelled? That, on a coltish whim, I would purchase an impoverished little New-York fish-wrapper called The Onion and assume its editorship? Or that I would eventually lead this modest little daily to what it is today: the largest news-paper empire in the Republic?

Of course, I knew none of these things. But throughout my long and eventful life, even as I became the esteemed confidant of presidents and kings, I yearned for the cherished item that symbolized my forever-lost youth and innocence: my sled, Daisypetal.

What do you mean, no more moving-pictures before bedtime, Nurse? I'll look at them any time I want, you sow! No, I won't take my sleeping-potion now! Take that needle away from me! No! No, I... urr... glurglhhh...


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