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Run, Zweibel, Run!

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Lone Superdelegate Voting For Martin O’Malley Feels Like Total Fucking Idiot

PHILADELPHIA—Sheepishly raising his hand to nominate the man who suspended his presidential campaign back in February, unpledged delegate Bob Shiefke told reporters Tuesday he felt like a “total fucking idiot” for being the only person at the Democratic National Convention voting for former Maryland governor Martin O’Malley.

Man Entirely Different Misogynist Online Than In Real Life

CHATTANOOGA, TN—Explaining how his subtle belittlement and disrespect for women in face-to-face interactions had little in common with the bold, outspoken manner in which he degrades women when he’s on social media or website message boards, sources reported Tuesday that local man Colin McManus is a totally different misogynist online than in real life.

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:
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Run, Zweibel, Run!

Well, with my vast fortune stolen by the villainous high-way-man Black Scarlet, I must once again make my way in the world. The local constabulary has no leads on the where-abouts of this fiend, who cleaned me out so thoroughly that I am as poor as a church-mouse.

The Zweibel Estate has been put up for sale. I was hoping the proceeds would restore some of my funds, but I have been informed that they will go toward my wastrel sons' enormous alimony payments and ongoing absinthe addiction.

The Baintons, my annoying, effete next-door neighbors, are the likeliest buyers. "The grounds would make ever such a scrumptious place to play croquet," said Chauncey, paterfamilias of that idiotic, inbred clan. "But that beastly mansion will simply have to come down. It's dreadfully imposing and gloomy, don't you know."

Curse those Bainton twits! To think that the great, historic Zweibel Mansion will be torn down like a tar-paper shanty! It's too awful to think about! How I will miss it and all my beloved possessions inside!

Good-bye, big stuffed moose-head! Good-bye, chafing-dish! Good-bye, meerschaum pipe! Good-bye, blotting-paper! Good-bye, armoire! Good-bye, cuspidor! Good-bye, death-bed! Good-bye, enema-bulb! Good-bye, iron-lung! Good-bye, socks!

Decades ago, a court order confined me to my estate. But because it is about to be lost, I find myself in a woeful quandary. Of course, my rotten sons do not want any part of me, as their inheritance is lost. So the state wants to lock me in the poor-house. Never! I would rather die first, or become a fugitive from justice! Since I am not dead, I have no choice but to become the latter.

Yes, it's true: T. Herman Zweibel will have to embark on the lone-some road, with only the clothes on his back, his wheel-chair, and a few meager personal items secured in a bandanna. Thankfully, my faithful man-servant Standish will accompany me in my desperate flight from the law. Dear Standish! How I treasure his immense obsequiousness, which I previously thought was rather eerie!

I will continue to communicate to you in my weekly "Message From The Publisher." But, because I am trying to elude the authorities, I shall write it under a pseudonym, Mr. Herman T. Zwiebel. If any-one asks you if you have read this column, deny it. Reading this has automatically made you an accomplice to my crime, and you could face serious jail-time.

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