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Area Dad Thinks Refs Should Just Let Them Play Football

DOYLESTOWN, PA—Facetiously questioning how the game had suddenly become a non-contact sport, local father Aaron Harper confirmed his belief Thursday that referees officiating a Thanksgiving game between the Philadelphia Eagles and Detroit Lions should just let them play football out there.
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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  • Father Apologizes For Taking Out Anger On Wrong Son

    ELIZABETH, NJ—Moments after losing his composure with an unwarranted emotional outburst, local father David Kessler reportedly apologized to his son Christopher Thursday for erroneously taking out his anger on him and not his older brother Peter.

My Play

During my years as a hard-bitten newspaper-man, I rarely had time for culture. But after a court order forced my retirement, at last I was free to indulge in artistic pursuits and to pen gripping works of drama. With that in mind, I now present to you my latest play in two acts, The Happy Bed-Chamber.


MR. SWEEBUL, elderly invalid plutocrat

BLANDISH, his faithful man-servant

NURSE, his mechanical ro-bot nurse

THE IRON LUNG, his mechanical breathing device

PRESIDENT WOODROW WILSON, leader of the Republic

(ACT 1. A vast but ill-lit and urine-smelling bed-chamber. MR. SWEEBUL is in his bed, being cared for by NURSE. Enter BLANDISH.)

BLANDISH: Forgive my intrusion, sir, but I have a cable here from the President of the United States.

SWEEBUL: Wilson? What in the name of God does he want?

BLANDISH: Nothing specific, sir, but he does mention that he will be visiting the Estate to-day to give you something special.

SWEEBUL: I do hope it is a vial of Dr. Klimpt's Poultry Liniment, as my anus is as hot as Hades and burning-red besides, and it will soothe it.

BLANDISH: Very good, sir.


(ACT 2. The bed-chamber again. SWEEBUL still abed, with NURSE attending. Enter BLANDISH.)

BLANDISH: Sir, the President.


WILSON: Sweebul, old stick, how the devil are you?

SWEEBUL: Get down to brass tacks, Wilson, I'm a busy man.

WILSON: I myself cannot tarry, as I must capture that wretched Pancho Villa. In the meanwhile, here is a small gift to you from me, with my warmest compliments.

(WILSON hands SWEEBUL a small, gaily-wrapped box. With great difficulty, SWEEBUL manages to lift the lid.)

SWEEBUL: A vial of Dr. Klimpt's Poultry Liniment! Glory be! My anus shall be as smooth as velvet once again!