Why Can't I Have A Mistress Too?

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Deadline For Prior User To Remove Clothes From Dryer Extended 5 Minutes

JOHNSON CITY, TN—Upon finding the machine in her apartment building’s laundry room completely untouched since she last stopped by, exasperated local woman Sandra Hermus reportedly mounted all her magnanimity Monday and extended the deadline for the previous user to remove their clothing from the dryer by five minutes.

Man Races Against Time To Take Out Trash Bag With Widening Puncture

RIO RANCHO, NM—His pace steadily quickening as he rounded the corner out of his kitchen and made a beeline for the front door, local man Henry Parnasse reportedly found himself locked in a race against time Wednesday morning to take out a trash bag with a widening hole in its side.
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Why Can't I Have A Mistress Too?

I have often been asked if I regret anything about my life. The answer is no! If I were to do it over again, I'd do it all the same! After all, it was I who transformed The Onion from an obscure frontier news-paper with a reader-ship composed mainly of Mennonites to a bustling daily with a readership of millions. And I'll be damned if I ever apologize for taking the life of Brickton Atlas-Trumpet editor P. Oliver Gummidge!

But I must admit defeat on one account. There is one thing in my life I sorely desired and was unable to make a reality, and that is to have my own mistress. Virtually every leading newspaper-man and captain of industry through-out our Republic has one: why not I? Hearst has that frowsy blonde chorus-girl, and President Harding himself regularly couples with a young woman in a closet adjoining the Oval Office. And before his savage murder, even P. Oliver Gummidge had an understanding with the comely Atlas-Trumpet copy editor.

It's not for lack of trying. Many a love-missive I've penned to Miss Lillian Gish, entreating her to be my concubine, but she stopped responding years ago. And I don't even want to get into the whole Gibson Girl fiasco. How was I to know she was just an ink-drawing? Perhaps my standards are too high. But why shouldn't they be? I'm as rich as dung!

Anyhow, after decades of seeking a mistress in vain, I am forced to swallow my pride and implore any and all young, unmarried, virgin females to consider shacking up with me. True, I've been shooting blanks for 91 years now, and when I'm wheeled about the mansion, a servant must follow close behind with a mop. I would not be able to fulfill any conjugal capacity, but there are other ways in which you can amuse yourself. You can listen to my extensive wax-cylinder collection or slide on the ballroom's freshly polished parquet floor! You would never again want for anything. You would wear nothing but the finest silks and eat nothing but sweet-meats!

Interested parties should address inquiries care of the Zweibel Estate. And should my search for a mistress prove fruitless, I'll be forced to select a random name from the telephone directory and have her shanghaied to my estate.