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Oh, Shit! What Day Is It?

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The Arguments For And Against Bernie Sanders Staying In The Race

Bernie Sanders is ramping up his efforts in the presidential race despite long odds, while sharpening his criticisms of a Democratic Party increasingly focused on the general election with Hillary Clinton as their presumptive nominee. Here are the arguments for and against Sanders staying in the race

Report: Nobody Fucking Cares

NEW YORK—According to a brief but conclusive report released Monday, nobody fucking cares. “Doesn’t fucking matter,” read the report in part, which went on to inform readers that no one gives two shits, so fuck it.

Mom Sleeps In Past Sunrise

WOBURN, MA―Noting that she had somehow managed to sleep through both the dawn chorus of birds and her neighborhood’s early morning garbage pickup, 53-year-old local mother Laura Maloney confirmed that she did not awaken Monday until after the sun had risen.

Facebook Clarifies Site Not Intended To Be Users’ Primary Information Source

‘No One Should Really Be On Here More Than 15 Minutes A Day,’ Say Executives

MENLO PARK, CA—Addressing concerns about the site’s alleged bias in how it displays news stories in users’ feeds, Facebook executives held a press conference Thursday to clarify that the social network was not intended to serve as anyone’s primary source of information, and that its 1.6 billion active users should, at most, be spending 15 minutes on the platform in a given day in the first place.

Heart Attack A Real Wake-Up Call For Man’s Insurance Provider

HARTFORD, CT—Saying the incident had forced them to completely rethink their past decisions about the man’s coverage and how they would approach his policy from here on out, Aetna executives reported Thursday that the recent heart attack of longtime plan member Michael Burns was a real wake-up call for the 163-year-old insurance company.

Area Dad Needs More Time With Museum Plaque

NEW YORK—Leaning in close to the paragraph of text as his family continued on to the museum’s other exhibits, area dad and Frick Collection visitor Phillip Schermeier, 58, reportedly needed more time with the plaque beside Rembrandt’s 1626 painting Palamedes In Front Of Agamemnon Thursday.

Dad Locks Into Elaborate Chess Match With Lawn Mower Salesman

TACOMA, WA—Intermittently shifting his gaze between his opponent and the product brochure in his hands as he shrewdly calculated his next move, local father Thomas McCabe became locked into an intricate chess match Thursday with riding lawn mower salesman Keith Porter, family sources reported.

How To Prepare A Will

Writing a will ensures the proper distribution of your assets upon your death. The Onion takes you through the steps of preparing this important document
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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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