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Stop Mocking My Antennae

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The Pros And Cons Of Taking A Gap Year

Malia Obama will wait a year between graduating high school and attending Harvard in 2017, in what is becoming a rising trend among American students. Here are the pros and cons of taking a gap year:

God Loses Pouch Filled With Crystals That Give Him Powers

THE HEAVENS—Grumbling to Himself as He frantically retraced His steps across the Heavens, God Almighty, He Who Commanded Light to Shine out of Darkness, admitted to reporters Monday that He had somehow managed to lose the pouch containing the enchanted crystals that give Him His powers.

Man Practices Haircut Request Before Heading To Barber

MINNEAPOLIS—Having scripted a set of lines he hoped to deliver with confidence and decisiveness, local 34-year-old Jason Clyne carefully rehearsed his haircut request several times Friday before heading to his local barbershop, sources confirmed.

Weddings vs. Eloping

Many couples who don’t want to put the time and money toward a wedding simply run off and get married in secret. Here is a side-by-side comparison of planning a wedding and eloping

EPA Urges Flint Residents To Stop Dumping Tap Water Down Drain

FLINT, MI—Citing the significant health and safety risks that it poses to public infrastructure and the local ecosystem, the Environmental Protection Agency released a statement Thursday urging residents of Flint to discontinue dumping tap water down their drains.

New OSHA Regulations To Cut Down On Workplace Mutations

WASHINGTON—In an attempt to address the troubling number of genetic transformations occurring in workplaces across the nation, the United States Occupational Safety and Health Administration unveiled new regulations this week aimed at reducing on-the-job mutations, sources confirmed.

Brita Unveils New In-Throat Water Filters

OAKLAND, CA—Representatives from Brita, the nation’s bestselling brand of household water filtration products, held a press event Wednesday to unveil a new line of filters designed to be installed directly inside users’ throats.
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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.

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