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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 Wrote Another Play

For years now, I have fancied myself a bit of an amateur dramatist, and you may recall that about a year ago, I wrote a play entitled The Happy Bed-Chamber. I have now written another play, a three-act drama called The News-Paper Man And The Elves. Enjoy!

Dramatis Personae:

C. ERMINE ZWEEBOL, wealthy news-paper publisher of The Radish.

QUICK-SILVER, King of the Elves.

SPRY, an elf.

D. TOLLIVER RUMMIDGE, editor of The Frickton Globe-Clarion and Zweebol's hated rival.

(ACT 1. A news-paper office at night. C. ERMINE ZWEEBOL is at his desk.)

ZWEEBOL: This is awful! I just received word that City Hall is on fire, but it's an hour till dead-line, and all my reporters are at home with the typhus! I would cover the fire myself, but I fear it is too late, and The Frickton Globe-Clarion will scoop us!

(Enter RUMMIDGE.)

RUMMIDGE: Ah, Zweebol, old boy! As you can see, I bear a ledger-tablet filled with details of the great fire, which I will shortly have type-set in my very own news-paper. Sorry for your bad spot of luck, old boy, but that's the way the cake, or should I say The Radish, crumbles!

(Exit RUMMIDGE.)

ZWEEBOL: I am ruined! Ah, me! (Falls asleep.)

(ACT II. Same news-paper office. Enter QUICK-SILVER and SPRY.)

QUICK-SILVER: Poor C. Ermine Zweebol! We must help him in his time of need. Spry, gather up the other little elves and get to work.

SPRY: Yes, your majesty!

(Exit both.)

(ACT III. Same news-paper office, morning. The two ELVES sit atop stacks of newspapers. ZWEEBOL awakes.)

ZWEEBOL: Ah, what's this? (Reads Radish newspaper on desk.) "Exclusive! City Hall burns to the ground." (Looks at ELVES.) But who are you? And how–

QUICK-SILVER: It was simple. We little elves found and killed D. Tolliver Rummidge, stole his notes, and used them for your own front page!

ZWEEBOL: Dear little friends, you have saved me from ruin! For your troubles, I shall give you each a cup of rain-water and little hats fashioned from flower-petals!

ELVES (In unison): Huzzah for C. Ermine Zweebol, friend of the elves!

(CURTAIN.)

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