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A Basic Guide To Dream Interpretation

Dreaming is a universal human experience, and many similar themes arise in people’s dreams the world over. The Onion provides some context for interpreting these common dreams:

Bill O’Reilly Tearfully Packs Up Framed Up-Skirt Photos From Desk

NEW YORK—Smiling wistfully as he gazed at the cherished mementos that had sat on his desk for much of the past 20 years, former Fox News commentator Bill O’Reilly reportedly grew teary-eyed Thursday as he packed up the framed up-skirt photos from his work space following his termination by the cable channel.

Family Sadly Marks First 4/20 Without Grandmother

ALBANY, NY—Reminiscing about the departed matriarch while partaking in the annual festivities, members of the Osterman family sadly marked their first 4/20 since the passing of their grandmother, sources reported Thursday.

Report: Store Out Of Good Kind

UTICA, NY—Unable to locate them on their usual shelf, local man George Rambart, 41, reported Thursday that the store was out of the good kind.

Dwight Howard Clearly Doesn’t Know Team’s Name

WASHINGTON—Noting his confused expression and uncertainty while shouting incorrect nicknames throughout the playoff game, sources confirmed Wednesday night that Atlanta Hawks center Dwight Howard clearly does not know his own team’s name.

Donald Trump Jr. Takes Son On Hunting Trip In National Zoo

WASHINGTON—In what he referred to as an important rite of passage for his 8-year-old son, Donald John III, Donald Trump Jr. took his eldest boy to the Smithsonian National Zoological Park for his first-ever hunting trip, sources said Wednesday.
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Stop Mocking My Antennae

Quit making fun of my antennae. I’m sick and tired of you slurring my heritage. You, the bastard issue of coarse yeomanry. I’m unique. Only the bluest of blood courses through my veins. And that’s not because I drank some Wisk yesterday. Well, it’s part of the reason.

I love Jesus more than anything on this diseased earth. I have decided to build my new church near the E-Z-2 Shop on East De-la-ford. That way, after services, I can stop in there and buy Swishers.

Between beatings, my father would tell us tales of the merchant marines, and of the famed lobster-whore of Singapore. My father was the greatest man I ever knew, and he met a tragic demise shortly after contracting the dreaded pleurisy. Actually, it was a virulent strain of scabies. Nonetheless, I have made the solemn vow to not rest a single moment until I have tracked down and killed the American Medical Association.

As a citizen of the Nation of the United States I demand an audience with Little Debbie. Why are the individually-wrapped Fudgies whole, and the boxed ones scored? How does she sleep nights? I once knew a little girl in a checked dress, just like her. I already apologized to the family—what more do you want of me?

By the way, I didn’t want to mention this before, but you kind of smell. I think you would be wise to consider the use of soap, warm water and clean linens before we proceed any further with our friendship.

I’m tired of Washington, with their Marshall Plan, their gasohol, and their metric system! And I resent the fact that the land assessor’s office no longer returns my calls. Down with the tyranny! I think everyone in the U.S. should be gathered into an enormous pen and fed pellets. Except for me. I’d prefer to live in the Shell filling station on Chess Boulevard, because I like the smell of the air hose. Sometimes I dream at night of the Michelin Man slowly rocking, rocking, rocking me to sleep in his big pneumatic arms.

Bring back Priscilla’s Pop! I miss the comic stylings of Hollyhock. I never learned if Chester ever bounced his ball off the library steps. You do not end an epic novel in the middle of its narrative! Bring that back and the whist column.

Speaking of which, have you seen my ratchet set? I usually kept it in that steamer trunk by the lake. I’ll bet anything those merganser ducks made off with it again. Curse you, merganser ducks! You can’t trust any of your valuables around them.

I just counted all the words I have written so far, and the tally comes to 373 (or 374 if you consider “mention” a word, which I emphatically refuse to do). For the young peo-ple who may be reading this and are considering taking up the essayist mantle, may I offer this tidbit of sagacity: Journalism is a filthy gutter trade fraught with vice and whoredom.

So, as we gaze searchingly into the cerulean sky that shelters us all, we are left to indeed wonder about the meaning, if any, of it all. It is to the Creator that I pose this most humble of queries: Can I go to bed now? I’m both tuckered and nackered and desire sleep.

More from this section

Bill O’Reilly Tearfully Packs Up Framed Up-Skirt Photos From Desk

NEW YORK—Smiling wistfully as he gazed at the cherished mementos that had sat on his desk for much of the past 20 years, former Fox News commentator Bill O’Reilly reportedly grew teary-eyed Thursday as he packed up the framed up-skirt photos from his work space following his termination by the cable channel.

Family Sadly Marks First 4/20 Without Grandmother

ALBANY, NY—Reminiscing about the departed matriarch while partaking in the annual festivities, members of the Osterman family sadly marked their first 4/20 since the passing of their grandmother, sources reported Thursday.

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