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Keys To The Matchup: Packers vs. Falcons

The NFC Championship Game pits the Atlanta Falcons against the Green Bay Packers for the rare chance to play a meaningful game in Houston. Onion Sports breaks down what each team must do to win.

Black Man Out Of Work

WASHINGTON—Joining the ranks of the unemployed at a time when joblessness remains stubbornly high among African Americans, 55-year-old local black man Barack Obama has lost the full-time job he has held for the past eight years, sources confirmed Friday.

Departing Obama Tearfully Shoos Away Loyal Drone Following Him Out Of White House

‘Go On Now, Git,’ Says Former President

WASHINGTON—Stopping and turning around as he made his way across the South Lawn after hearing the unmanned aerial vehicle hovering just feet behind him, outgoing President Barack Obama tearfully shooed away a loyal MQ-9 Reaper drone attempting to follow him out of the White House, sources confirmed Friday.

Jimmy Carter Contemplating Dying Right Here And Now

WASHINGTON—Carefully weighing the pros and cons of each option from his seat onstage at Donald Trump’s inauguration, former president Jimmy Carter is, according to late-breaking reports, currently contemplating dying right here and now.
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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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