So My Readers Wish Me Dead

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Vol 36 Issue 18

Five-Year-Old Convinced Dinosaur Bones Are Buried In Backyard

TACOMA, WA–Amateur archaeologist Joshua Bushnell, 5, announced Monday that he is certain that the remains of a dinosaur are buried in the Bushnell family backyard. "I have to dig up the bones to get them to the museum," Bushnell told his mother, Kathy Bushnell. "There's a big brontosaurus by the swingset." Bushnell has asked his mother to buy him a new digging tool that is larger than his plastic Fisher-Price sand shovel.

New Partially Digested Doritos Eliminate Tedious Chewing

DALLAS–At a press conference Monday, Frito-Lay unveiled "Doritos Soft," an exciting new partially digested version of the popular snack chip. "Now the great taste of Doritos comes pre-digested, so you don't have to," an upcoming print ad for the product read. "Packed with the same gastric enzymes you yourself secrete, Doritos Soft blasts that awesome nacho taste straight to your large intestine, 'cuz you're too biz-zay for chewin'!" The new product arrives in the wake of the success of Mountain Dew Gold, a soft drink that is 40 percent urine.

Villagers Turned Into Crack Fighting Squad Overnight

SILVER GULCH, NV–The good, God-fearing people of Silver Gulch, a sleepy frontier town known primarily for its pleasant annual Founder's Festival and Ma Beasley's delicious pies, expertly fended off Boss Cafferty's armed goons following their overnight transformation into a crack fighting squad Sunday. "Those gun-slinging prairie pirates were no match for little Molly O'Shea and her tater skillet!" town miller Pete Johnson whooped after the estimated two dozen heavily armed thugs were driven from Main Street. "And anyone who tries to muscle in on Silver Gulch's diamond mine can expect the same!" Johnson and his fellow townsfolk were whipped into fighting shape by reformed outlaw Bart "Three Finger" Hoskins during a seven-minute montage sequence.

Archangels Already Sick Of Cardinal O'Connor Telling Them How They Do It In New York

HEAVEN–Less than two weeks after his passage into God's Eternal Kingdom, Cardinal John O'Connor is already irritating the Archangels with his constant talk of Heaven's lack of facilities, culture, and cosmopolitanism compared to New York City, his former place of residence. "He doesn't complain about the manna, per se, but he won't let us forget that you can't find a decent Italian restaurant open around here after 11 p.m.," Archangel Gabriel said Monday. "We're also well aware that the Lord's Heavenly Choir doesn't hold a candle to the New York Choral Society, whose recent performance of Verdi's Requiem at Carnegie Hall was far better than anything the Cardinal ever expects to hear around here."

That Teen-Abstinence Rally Totally Rocked!

Wow, what a weekend! They say that part of being a teenager is knowing how to cut loose, and there's nothing quite like getting together with a big group of your peers and just "letting it rip." That teen-abstinence rally totally rocked!
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So My Readers Wish Me Dead

I am informed by The Onion Editorial Board that the mountain of mail calling for my death is increasing once again. This is nothing new, as it becomes fashionable to lust for the death of T. Herman Zweibel when-ever the Swiss economy is running smoothly. It does not pay to anger the Gnomes of Zurich!

However, there is a new and unusual thread running through the winding-sheet of public opinion. My spine-less readers, apparently sapped of all gumption by their various labor-saving devices and lye-free soaps, seem to think I should be euthanized by the editors of The Onion news-paper!

What is with the citizens now-a-days? In my youth, when a reader wished me dead, he did not go whining to the various figure-heads of my staff–he attempted to assassinate me him-self!

How the musketry would ring about my ears as I strode the board-walk! Why, a 1907 trip to New-York was made memorable only by the presence of a fat Polack, perched in the torch of the Statue of Liberty, attempting to crease my straw boater with a Henry repeating carbine! Of course, I had the Polack shipped off to Roarke's Drift and the degenerate French statue chopped into pennies.

At the otherwise stultifying Columbian Exposition, I was the quarry of no fewer than 11 determined and resourceful assassins, one of whom gave rise to the term "Vagina Dentata." My Swiss Guard were kept much busier back then. The glitter and ring of their thrashing halberds were like star-shine and bell-chimes!

But you lazy puddings wish the editors of my news-paper to perform a task for which you have no stomach! I myself have no stomach, having shat it forth gobbet by gobbet over the course of the last few decades. But were I to wish you dead, I would stand toe to toe with you, look you in the eye, and order you killed my-self!

You nattering hens should also know that many years ago, The Onion Editorial Board did once attempt to carry out my demise. It was foolish and suicidal, for even if they had succeeded, their first-born would have paid with their lives. But I had a son on the board, and for some reason, Q. Euclid chose to inform me of their plot. I had the conspirators drowned in cater-pillars, Q. Euclid included, and to this day I maintain a tight leash of fear on all my poor scriveners. Do not, there-fore, ask them to kill me off. Do it your-self or get back to work!

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