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My Yule-Tide Absolutions

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Hillary Clinton Holds Infant Grandson Upside Down By Ankle In Front Of Convention Crowd

‘Family,’ Candidate Says

PHILADELPHIA—Seeking to make her case to the nation’s voters as she accepted her party’s presidential nomination Thursday night, Hillary Clinton reportedly began her headlining address at the Democratic National Convention by holding her infant grandson, Aidan, upside down by his ankle and firmly intoning the word “Family” in front of the assembled crowd.

Hillary Clinton Waiting In Wings Of Stage Since 6 A.M. For DNC Speech

PHILADELPHIA—Saying she arrived hours before any of the members of the production crew, sources confirmed Thursday that presidential nominee Hillary Clinton has been waiting in the wings of the Wells Fargo Center stage since six o’clock this morning to deliver her speech at the Democratic National Convention.

Depressed, Butter-Covered Tom Vilsack Enters Sixth Day Of Corn Bender After Losing VP Spot

WASHINGTON—Saying she has grown increasingly concerned about her husband’s mental and physical well-being since last Friday, Christie Vilsack, the wife of Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack, told reporters Thursday that the despondent, butter-covered cabinet member has entered the sixth day of a destructive corn bender after being passed over for the Democratic vice presidential spot.

Superfoods: Myth Vs. Fact

Though the media often heralds certain foods as cancer-fighting or immune-building, many of these claims don’t hold up to scientific scrutiny. The Onion separates the myths from the facts regarding so-called superfoods

Cannon Overshoots Tim Kaine Across Wells Fargo Center

PHILADELPHIA—Noting that the vice presidential nominee had been launched nearly 100 feet into the air during his entrance into the Democratic National Convention Wednesday night, sources reported that the cannon at the back of the Wells Fargo Center had accidentally overshot Tim Kaine across the arena, sending him crashing to the stage several dozen feet beyond the erected safety net.
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My Yule-Tide Absolutions

Long-time readers of my column know that I am a vengeful and jealous man gifted with a fear-some wrath. I did not become the great news-paper-man I am today by being soft! Of those miscreants who crossed me, opposed me or served me tepid mutton-broth, none remain; their homes have been washed away by boiling rivers of blood, and the earth where once they walked has been sown with salt.

Yet I now have cause to bury the hatchet, for the world has borne witness to the blessed birth of my son. And though I have not yet decided whether he shall be known as N. Aeschylus, Q. Laertes or, as his mother would have it, Gary, my heart swells in my breast. I may be the fore-most publisher in all the Civilized World, but even I cannot hold a grudge at Christ-mas-time when another of my heirs is newly-spawned!

To that end, I have decided to grant absolution to certain of my enemies. (But not all of them, God-damn it! I still plan to one day sport a gilded truss wrought from the innards of Mr. Tin, my treasonous automaton-servant!) Here goes:

Stella M. Harbaugh, a woman, is hereby forgiven.
I forgive my former table-boy Joseph for his otherwise unpardonable crimes of Irish heritage and Papist faith, as well as for spilling a hot toddy on me during the fabled Winter of '07. I hereby renounce my stated intention to slaughter all of his male offspring unto the third generation.
Though I am probably not much loved there, I shall curb my ire and allow the godforsaken alkali desert of California to become a state.
The Dauphin is forgiven.
Any member of the Flemish race under the age of 12 or over the age of 60 is safe from Hessian mercenaries in my employ.
I shall rescind my practice of purchasing "Black Indulgences" from twisted Anglican vicars, thereby permitting the soul of P. Oliver Gummidge, deceased publisher of The Brickton Atlas-Trumpet, to ascend to Purgatory.
Many of my readers are forgiven and will be notified by the absence of a sulphurous blasting-powder in their Christ-mas supplements.
Posonby H. Balfour, my former homo-sexual lover, is forgiven.

Ah, my heart grows light despite its thick coating of marbled yellow fat! Forgiveness is a benison to the soul. However, if my son turns out to be sickly or does not sufficiently resemble me, all bets are off.

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