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Stop Mocking My Antennae

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Poll: 89% Of Debate Viewers Tuning In Solely To See Whether Roof Collapses

HEMPSTEAD, NY—Explaining that the American people showed relatively little interest in learning more about the nominees’ economic, counterterrorism, or immigration policies, a new Quinnipiac University poll revealed that 89 percent of viewers were tuning into Monday night’s presidential debate solely to see whether the roof collapses on the two candidates.

New Study Finds Solving Every Single Personal Problem Reduces Anxiety

SEATTLE—Explaining that participants left the clinical trial feeling calmer and more positive, a study published Monday by psychologists at the University of Washington has determined that people can significantly reduce their anxiety by solving every single one of their personal problems.

Trump Planning To Throw Lie About Immigrant Crime Rate Out There Early In Debate To Gauge How Much He Can Get Away With

HEMPSTEAD, NY—Saying he would probably introduce the falsehood in his opening statement or perhaps during his response to the night’s first question, Republican nominee Donald Trump reported Monday he was planning to throw out a blatant lie about the level of crime committed by immigrants early in the first presidential debate to gauge how much he’d be allowed to get away with.

Rest Of Nation To Penn State: ‘Something Is Very Wrong With All Of You’

WASHINGTON—Stating they felt deeply unnerved by the community’s unwavering and impassioned defense of a football program and administration that enabled child sexual abuse over the course of several decades, the rest of the country informed Penn State University Friday that there is clearly something very wrong with all of them.

Strongside/Weakside: Lamar Jackson

After passing for eight touchdowns and rushing for another 10 in just the first three weeks of the season, Louisville Cardinals sophomore quarterback Lamar Jackson has quickly become the frontrunner to win the Heisman Trophy. Is he any good?

Obesity: Myth Vs. Fact

With as many as one in three people in the U.S. qualifying as obese, misconceptions are often formed about what it means to be significantly overweight. The Onion separates obesity myths from facts
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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.

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