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My Son! My Son!

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Obama Resigns From Presidency After Michelle Lands Dream Job In Seattle

‘It’s Time I Made Some Sacrifices For This Family,’ Reports President

WASHINGTON—Saying his wife of 24 years had already sacrificed so much for the sake of his career and that it was time to return the favor, Barack Obama announced Wednesday his resignation as president of the United States of America, effective immediately, following news that Michelle Obama had landed her dream job in Seattle.

High School Nurse Getting Pretty Good At Spotting Morning Sickness

FAIRFIELD, ME―Having seen more students than she can remember come into her office with complaints of nausea and vomiting over the years, Fairfield High School nurse Sarah Bromti told reporters Wednesday she’s getting to the point where she can identify morning sickness without much trouble.

Jogger Clearly On First Run Of Plan To Turn Life Around

CHICAGO—Taking note of the man’s beat-up tennis shoes, sweat-drenched shirt, and ill-fitting pair of sweatpants as he made his way down the sidewalk, witnesses reported Tuesday that area jogger Dan Andreychuk was clearly out on his very first run of a plan to turn his life around.

What’s At Stake In New Hampshire

With the New Hampshire primary election Tuesday poised to impact the course of the 2016 presidential race, The Onion examines what’s at stake for the candidates
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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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Ugh, This A Place Where Bartenders Wear Bow Tie

PITTSBURGH—Saying they should have known from the moment they walked in the unmarked speakeasy entrance and spotted the extensive wood paneling, customers confirmed Friday that, ugh, this is one of those places where the bartenders all wear bow ties.

My Son! My Son!

The Zweibel Estate is no longer merry and gay. The weeping willows droop even lower to-day. The milk-maids' tears mix with the milk in their buckets. Even the lowliest, most tooth-less field-hand is rending his thread- bare garments and howling in the most abject agony. Miss Bernadette Fiske, my fiancée and mother of my child, is no more! Having perished from the very femininity that I treasured above all else, she now belongs to the ages.

I, the bereaved swain, whose once-tender heart is love-sick, shall for-ever don a mourning shroud. Curse this moribund, woeful orb, where all that is beautiful and good is so cruelly ephemeral! t

So wracked with anguish was I that I begged to be buried with my deceased beloved. I wished to share her very coffin and be placed on top of her eternally slumbering corpse, ideally with her legs drawn apart a little. Alas! I was denied my request, and Miss Fiske's earthly remains were, I was told, interred at sea, as stipulated by her last will and testament.

I retired to my death-bed, determined to join her in short order in Heaven above. My attempt at expiration was short-lived, how-ever, when I learned that Miss Fiske's will granted me custody of the son I have never seen, N. Aeschylus. My son! My son! The sole product of the love between Miss Fiske and I would finally be coming to the Estate at last! From the grim sepulcher of Death emerged the promise of Life!

When Standish entered my bed-chamber to announce that my son was in the main sitting-room, my melancholy heart was leavened with joy. "Bring the dear tot to my bed-chamber, Standish, perambulator and all! I wish to hold him in my lap. But since my lap was surgically extracted long-ago, perhaps you could balance him on my shoulder!"

"Sir," Standish said, "I'm afraid that N. Aeschylus has rather out-grown his perambulator, or any other trappings of infancy, for that matter."

Before I could respond, a seven-foot-tall man in a black suit lumbered in. He was very broad in the shoulders and stiff in gait. His skin was bluish and looked as though it was stretched to the breaking-point over his squarish head. His gait was very stiff, and I could have sworn I heard a metallic squeaking noise every time his joints bent.

"My son!" I cried. "How you have grown since your December birth! But there's no mistaking it: From your piercing red eyes to the heavy iron feet emerging from your trouser legs, you're every inch a Zweibel!"

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