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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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Pomp And Circumstance

Last week, the telephone-device in my bed-chamber sounded, and I nearly jumped out of my desiccated, paper-like skin. No-one ever summons me in my own bed-chamber via the telephone-device! I had my nurse pick up the ear-receiver and put it against my prosthetic brass ear, but that proved to be a bad idea, as the voice emanating from the receiver reverberated endlessly through the metal ear canal, causing blood to shoot out of my ear in a scarlet jet.

Later that day, I finally came to, only to find my head swathed in yards of bandages. My scribe, Braintree, was in the bed-chamber, quietly awaiting the dictation of this week's Publisher's Message. I asked him if he knew anything about the telephone-summons.

"That was the opinion-page editor," Braintree said. "He wanted to know if you would be interested in devoting this week's Message to advice for the young people who are graduating from high-school this month."

I was aghast that a lowly up-start hack would instruct me in the writing of the column I have authored since 1897. But I was even more appalled when Braintree explained to me what a "high-school" was. Evidently, now-a-days, they keep the molly-coddles in school until the age of 17 or 18, filling their minds with such trivial nonsense as isosceles triangles and who won the Battle of the Boyne. An out-rage!

When I was a lad, we had no such fripperies as public education, at least not out in the frontier where I was raised. I learned my letters and ciphering at my father's knee. The rest of my time was devoted to ploughing the sun-scorched earth, tanning buffalo hides, and fighting off grizzled-bears with my trusty bowie-knife! But my thirst for adventure knew no quenching, and when I was 10, I jumped a train bound for New-York.

Still of a tender age, I found that rogues and fiends lurked at every corner, eager to exploit a young run-away. So I joined a gang of young roughs in the Tender-loin District. Our trade was embroidery; in fact, we were the toughest embroidery gang in the East. We had a virtual strangle-hold on all embroidery operations in New-York. But our gang was eventually vanquished by a stronger, even younger gang who dealt in crocheting. So I returned to the family home-stead and worked the printing-press until taking over the editorship in 1896.

As for advice for the young graduates, I have none. It's every man for him-self!

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