The Final Frontier

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Strongside/Weakside: Jurgen Klinsmann

Despite leading the U.S. men’s national team through the so-called “Group of Death” in the 2014 World Cup, Jurgen Klinsmann has come under heavy criticism this week after his side finished fourth in the 2015 Gold Cup. Is he any good?

How Apple Plans To Rebound From Apple Watch Flop

With sales of the Apple Watch reportedly down 90 percent since its initial release, Apple is suffering in the wearables market and faces a lack of enthusiasm about its latest product. Here are some ways Apple can improve the watch and prevent the company from falling into a slump:
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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!

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Area Man

This Great Song, Bar Sources Report

TOMAH, WI—Pausing their conversations momentarily to call attention to the music playing on the establishment’s jukebox, sources at local bar Shepherd’s confirmed to reporters Friday that this is a great song.

The Final Frontier

Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Standish and I are currently hurtling away from the Earth in a giant metal rocket-ship. It turns out that the obelisk in which we were hiding as the murderous Society Of 800 Avenging Fists attacked my poor son N. Aeschylus was not an immobile object at all, but a powerful mortar-shell timed to automatically propel it-self from the Earth's grip.

Standish tells me we are approaching the speed of light, and that N. Aeschylus, my son and creator of the device, set the vessel's coordinates to a place called the Andromeda Galaxy. In fact, Standish is transmitting this column to Earth on a ship-board wireless-radio. He says we are quickly losing contact with Earth, so I should make haste.

Standish also claims that N. Aeschylus designed the rocket-ship so he could flee Earth after destroying my estate and slaying me in a bizarre ritual, but that he was thwarted by the surprise attack. Standish has always had some-thing against that sweet tot, and I don't know why. I would have Standish stoned to death if I were able-bodied.

What-ever happens to us, I want the citizenry of the Republic to know that The Onion will always be in good hands. Should it turn out that my beloved heir N. Aeschylus succumbed to the ambush or to the intense heat-blast of the rocket-ship's engines, control of this news-paper must be granted to a joint directorship composed of Bernard Baruch and Aunt Jemima. I am confident that these two titans of American states-manship will adroitly guide The Onion into the 20th century.

As for my readers, I will always look upon them with a combination of unconditional love and bottom-less hatred. All I ask is that you continue to solemnly observe Zweibelmas every Sept. 21. A few grief-crazed suicides in my name wouldn't hurt, either.

For my part, I am already finding the rocket-ship's accommodations ingenious and pleasing. Standish has discovered some-thing called a "replicator," which can produce any-thing from enema-bulbs to cozy shawls, seemingly out of thin air. And, most wondrous of all, we found my old iron lung, with which the evil Mr. Tin absconded several years ago! It's in pristine condition, just as I remember it! A final gift from my ingenious and beloved son. I wonder how he knew.

Come, Standish, come away from that wireless-radio and seal me into it.

Yes, I think every-thing will be just dandy from here on in.

Huzzah!