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Oh, Shit! What Day Is It?

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Michelle Obama: ‘Well, There Are 8 Years Of My Life I’ll Never Get Back’

PHILADELPHIA—Her face fixed in an expression of apathetic detachment as she took the stage Monday night to raucous cheers and applause, First Lady Michelle Obama reportedly began her address to the Democratic National Convention by exhaling audibly and remarking that she would never get the past eight years of her life back.

Revelations From The DNC Email Leak

Last week, WikiLeaks posted 20,000 email exchanges among DNC officials, the content of which led to DNC chair Debbie Wasserman Schultz’s resignation on the eve of the convention. Here are some of the key revelations from the leak

CNN Producer On Hunt For Saddest-Looking Fuck With Convention Button Collection

PHILADELPHIA—Weaving his way through the crowd of patriotically dressed attendees excitedly milling around on the floor of the Democratic National Convention, CNN segment producer Jeff Raskin reportedly went on the hunt Monday for the most pitiful-looking fuck willing to speak on camera about their political button collection.

How The IOC Plans To Address Doping

In light of its recent decision not to bar Russian athletes from competing in Rio despite their use of performance-enhancing drugs, the International Olympic Committee is working to establish more effective protocols to keep the Games drug-free. Here are some ways the IOC plans to address doping:

360 Tour: Inside The RNC

The Onion invites you to explore our view from the floor of the 2016 Republican National Convention in Cleveland.
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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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