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Thanks-giving Day Tidings

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Hillary Clinton Holds Infant Grandson Upside Down By Ankle In Front Of Convention Crowd

‘Family,’ Candidate Says

PHILADELPHIA—Seeking to make her case to the nation’s voters as she accepted her party’s presidential nomination Thursday night, Hillary Clinton reportedly began her headlining address at the Democratic National Convention by holding her infant grandson, Aidan, upside down by his ankle and firmly intoning the word “Family” in front of the assembled crowd.

Hillary Clinton Waiting In Wings Of Stage Since 6 A.M. For DNC Speech

PHILADELPHIA—Saying she arrived hours before any of the members of the production crew, sources confirmed Thursday that presidential nominee Hillary Clinton has been waiting in the wings of the Wells Fargo Center stage since six o’clock this morning to deliver her speech at the Democratic National Convention.

Depressed, Butter-Covered Tom Vilsack Enters Sixth Day Of Corn Bender After Losing VP Spot

WASHINGTON—Saying she has grown increasingly concerned about her husband’s mental and physical well-being since last Friday, Christie Vilsack, the wife of Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack, told reporters Thursday that the despondent, butter-covered cabinet member has entered the sixth day of a destructive corn bender after being passed over for the Democratic vice presidential spot.

Superfoods: Myth Vs. Fact

Though the media often heralds certain foods as cancer-fighting or immune-building, many of these claims don’t hold up to scientific scrutiny. The Onion separates the myths from the facts regarding so-called superfoods

Cannon Overshoots Tim Kaine Across Wells Fargo Center

PHILADELPHIA—Noting that the vice presidential nominee had been launched nearly 100 feet into the air during his entrance into the Democratic National Convention Wednesday night, sources reported that the cannon at the back of the Wells Fargo Center had accidentally overshot Tim Kaine across the arena, sending him crashing to the stage several dozen feet beyond the erected safety net.
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Thanks-giving Day Tidings

Every Thanks-giving Day, the Zweibel clan gathers at the estate to enjoy a magnificent feast of turkey-fowl, listen to the footballing matches upon the wireless-radio, and create a great bonfire out of dead leaves and kerosene-fuel in the court-yard.

This year, however, I will not be permitted to participate in the festivities. Doc McGillicuddy says I will catch my death of croup if I do and that I should remain sealed in my bed-chamber. No gravy-flavored pablum for me! And I was so looking forward to my yearly tradition of playing Squanto in the Zweibel family Thanks-giving Day pageant. In years past, not even my missing fore-arms and near-deafness has prevented me from teaching the Pilgrims to plant corn!

But I suspect Doc McGillicuddy was in no small measure influenced by the wishes of my family, who have no respect for the fact that I am the paterfamilias of the Zweibels, and that, without me, they would not be alive. (With the exception of the bastard D. Manfred, who, as I have mentioned in this space many times before, is the illegitimate result of a torrid union between my late wife and the coal-hauler.)

I suppose I'm still paying for an incident that occurred last Thanks-giving Day. Shortly after dinner, as I was being wheeled through the smoking-parlor, I over-heard some whorishly dressed great-great-great grand-relative of mine say to her rheumy-eyed brat, "That old man in the wheel-chair is one of your ancestors!" Incensed, I barked, "What do I look like to you, George Washington's mother, you slack-teated Gorgon?" Every-one groaned and gasped as though I had just urinated on a church. Before I could add any-thing, a servant came forth and strapped a leather gag over my mouth, and I was shunted away to my bed-chamber.

Despite my grievous treatment at the hands of my ungrateful off-spring, I remain thankful for many, many things. After all, Providence has been very kind to us Zweibels, in big and small ways alike.

Among the things I wish to give thanks unto Lord Our God On High:

Patent-leather spats.

The Gadsden Purchase.

That droll little "Wheezer" fellow in the Our Gang comedies.

Shawls.

And, of course, last but not least, black-strap molasses.

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