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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.
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I Wish To Go To Heaven

Booooo! It is I, the ghost of Herman Ulysses Zweibel, founder of The Onion, or, as it was known in my day, The Mercantile-Onion. Booooo!

As you know, my ghostly wraith roams the earth, chained to a printing-press. Every now and then, I haunt this space, whether to complain about my son T. Herman's abysmal incompetence, Henry Clay, or the skyrocketing price of calico. But this time, I am delighted to bear wonderful news: After a century of purgatorial wandering, the Lord is reviewing my petition for admittance into Heaven!

I was first up for membership shortly after my death in 1891. I was confident that my good deeds were plentiful enough to easily usher me past the golden gates. By jiggledy, I was the first white man to bring the cotton-gin into the Nebraska Territory, I played host to the annual barn-dance, and I once rescued a turkey from a raging cyclone! I also played the spinnet very well.

Unfortunately, my sins were perceived as overshadowing my good works. The Lord did not look well upon the time I threw a Franklin stove at Daniel Webster. But the fiend deserved it! He said I was a common rabble-rouser who twisted the truth. Besides, I missed, and he escaped unscathed.

There was also that troublesome matter of my decimating 970,000 bison for their hides. But upon what else was I supposed to print copies of The Mercantile-Onion? That fancy store-bought paper was costly back then!

What really tipped the scales against me, however, was the fact that I wasn't Mormon. Turns out, the Mormons are God's chosen people. Land o'Goshen, how was I supposed to know that?

I hope and pray I shall be allowed to shrug off this massive printing-press and enter heaven at long last. If so, I will flutter about the clouds with nary a care in the world. I will once again see my blessed mother and meet my child-hood hero, John C. Calhoun. I will have slaves and a fine coach with gilded wheels. Best of all, I will be able to rain fire and pestilence upon that bastard Henry Clay, on whom the Roman tyrants have nothing. Wish me luck!

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