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What Is Trump Hiding?

As The Onion’s 300,000 staffers in its news bureaus and manual labor camps around the world continue to pore through the immense trove of documents obtained from an anonymous White House source, the answers that are emerging to these questions are deeply unnerving and suggest grave outcomes for the American people, the current international order, Wolf Blitzer, four of the five Great Lakes, and most devastatingly, the nation’s lighthouses and lighthouse keepers.

Deep Blue Quietly Celebrates 10th Anniversary With Garry Kasparov’s Ex-Wife

PITTSBURGH—Red wine and candlelight on the table before them, Deep Blue, the supercomputer that defeated reigning world chess champion Garry Kasparov in 1997, and Kasparov’s ex-wife, Yulia Vovk, quietly celebrated their 10th anniversary on Wednesday at a small French restaurant near Carnegie Mellon University, where Deep Blue was created.

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Zales Introduces New Line Of Casual Dating Diamond Rings

IRVING, TX—In a move aimed at reaching the millions of Americans just having a little fun for now, jewelry retailer Zales announced Thursday that it has expanded its product line to include a brand-new collection of diamond casual dating rings.

Notable Athlete-Branded Products

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Oh, Shit! What Day Is It?

Boy, it feels like I just went to bed. I must've hibernated on my back all weird or something. What a dream, though, wow. I wonder what time it is. Guess I'll get some coffee on—wait a minute. Holy shit! Is that calendar right?

Oh no! Oh, Christ, this can't be happening. This can't be—fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get up! Get up, Phil, you moron! You need to get your groundhog ass moving right now! Where's my top hat? Where's my—

Oh Jesus, I am so late.

Everyone is gonna kill me. How could I do this? Man, fuck. Okay, okay, what to do. Come on, Phil, think. Maybe if I run down to the mayor's office right now, he can make a couple of phone calls, get the crowds and the tourists and the lady from the Channel 8 News to come back and—aw, who am I kidding? That'll never work!

This is not good, Phil. Not good at all. Tell me you didn't do this, Phil. Not this. This is the one thing you seriously should not have done. I was up half of January worried sick I was gonna oversleep. I finally tried reading for a little while to make myself drowsy, and the next thing you know, I wake up covered in drool and Groundhog Day is over? How could I be so stupid?

No. No, no, no, no, no! What, I can predict the future of the seasons based on whether or not the sun is shining one morning in February, but I can't figure out how to work a goddamn alarm clock?

This was the easiest job I ever had. One day a year—one day—where all I have to do is look in the direction of my shadow, and I fuck it up. Way to go, Phil, way to go! Another one of your classic moves. Five measly minutes of work and I could've gone back to bed until April, but no. No, that would've been too easy for Mister Fucking Punxsatawney National Icon With His Own Holiday Phil.

The elders of the Punxsatawney Circle are going to be so freaking pissed. They're nice and everything but they take this tourism stuff crazy seriously, and they'll never stand for this bullshit. I'll never be able to show my face around Gobbler's Knob again.

Damn! I'm such an idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot!

Phil? Phil, you need to think of something quick. So relax. Uh, just try and breathe. Okay, what are you supposed to do? Inhale and exhale. In, out. You know what? I just need to calmly make a list of the things I need to do. Then I will do each of the things on the list. As I do each item I will cross it out. Yes. Now I'm getting somewhere. Let's see, what should I put on there first? Um, gee, well, I guess the first thing I should write down is that I'm screwed beyond belief here!

Wait a second. Maybe it's not too late after all. They can't do the ceremony without me, right? I'm the star. They probably had to postpone the whole thing. It's not like I have an understudy or anything. Yeah, we'll just do it a little late. I'll even look around for my shadow extra hard. Whatever they want. I could predict the start of fishing season. I could predict tax time. Hell, I'll scrunch up my cheeks, wiggle my nose, show off my cute little buckteeth, and predict whatever they want me to.

I still need a good excuse. I'll just pretend I got hurt. Yeah. My leg was trapped in a tree root. I couldn't pull it out so I had to, uh, gnaw it off. Yeah. Shit. That's really going to work when you show up with four legs, you fucking moron.

Okay, I'll just say I was there but it was so crowded they couldn't see me. I was running around trying to get their attention but I couldn't because I'm only a foot and a half tall. They'd buy that! Yeah, yes. Beautiful. Just need to comb my fur and I'm ready to go. Of course I don't know what happened during the ceremony so I wouldn't be able to prove jack shit.

Shit fuck shit. Shit!

Stupid elders! Why couldn't they knock harder? They know I'm a heavy sleeper.

Oh, God. This is it. My life is over. I'm finished.

I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm just a huge waste of fur. I had such a sweet-ass gig and I fucked it up. Every time they drive me to a photo op and I look out the window and see some dead rodent on the side of the road, I think, "If it wasn't for this job, that could've been me: dead in a ditch." This job was the one thing I had going for me. What am I going to do? Survive in the wild? Fat chance. I'd be eaten in 15 minutes flat.

There's no way out of this. I've just got to call them up, face the music, and see what they say. Now where is my goddamn phone, goddamn it?

Jesus Christ. I'm a groundhog. I don't even have a phone.

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