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The Onion Dip

Humor. And Dip.

Sunday’s NY Times Magazine Evokes Curious Feelings in Liberal Elitist

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Media

VOL 43 Issue 52

Like every other Sunday morning, Ariel Dushku sipped her Folger’s and devoured The New York Times Magazine, her favorite touchstone for human connectivity and potential, consciousness and integrity, equity and veracity. Before poring over the gloriously articulate and indignant letters to the editor, increasingly facile crossword puzzle, exquisitely biased political commentary, and amazingly insightful long-form articles, Dushku compulsively studied the advertisements. She couldn’t wait to be enticed by a condo complex fronted by gaudy sculpture that will be raucously laughed at in 10 years, with units starting at $5 million, presumably designed to appeal to the sketchiest of Russian oligarchs. Then there will be the obligatorily condescending promotion for watches that should be viewed not as ostentatious, outdated accessories but as assets to be lovingly passed down through primogeniture. And Dushku always lingered on the group portraits of effete wealth managers or their stylishly smug clients, even though she is a debt-saddled second-year Legal Aid attorney who shares a studio apartment in Jackson Heights. “Good Sunday Times,” the card-carrying liberal elitist Dushku thought, as she wistfully balanced the importance of social justice with the indisputable fact that neither she nor her descendants will ever afford or qualify for goods or services of the advertisers in The New York Times Magazine.

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Retro Couple Still Blows Popsicle Stands and Big Doors

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Life

VOL 2 Issue 1986

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Victoria Hack shouted authoritatively to her boyfriend Karl Goober, who agreed with self-conscious grandiosity, “Let’s blow big doors!” as the youngsters exited the Ruby Tuesday across from the Langhorne (PA) Square Shopping Center like a millennial Bonnie and Clyde. Their friends were long accustomed to the boisterous couple’s anachronistic departure announcements, so they no longer questioned if there are stands exclusively devoted to popsicles, and if Goober has even puffed on a single tiny door.

Thanks to Colonoscopy, Area Man Discovers Birth Mother

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Medicine

VOL 2 Issue 1

As Dustin Tuck awoke from the anesthesia after his colonoscopy, his gastroenterologist raced into the recovery room and delivered life-changing news. “At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt that you have an uncanny resemblance to another patient of mine,” said Dr. Tunnell. “I had to do some digging around, but I was able to confirm this…” The doctor pulled out a pad, jabbed his pen, perforated the sheet, and handed it to the patient.  “Here is the contact info for your birth mama, Dustin!” Dr. Tunnell exclaimed, “I just performed her colonoscopy yesterday—what are the odds?—so I called her and told her I’m reasonably confident that you’re not just her son, you’re her spitting image!” As the physician beamed, the patient, who was adopted 50 years earlier, silently admired the clean vibe he got from the Propofol.

Early Holiday Cards Prompt Area Woman’s Bizarre Ritual

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Life

VOL 11 Issue 30

The first holiday card for Rhonda Radish arrived “sometime in freaking November—and it wasn’t the only one!” according to the frazzled IT system administrator. As the jovial greetings— which typically feature attractive, joyful, obedient children—continue to arrive daily throughout early December, Radish assembles the unopened envelopes in her living room into an amorphous outline somewhat like a poorly executed crop circle, at the center of which lies a crude, lipstick-smeared sheet with names and tallies. The mom of three hexes each card in what she calls the Area of Those Who Need to Tell Me They’ve Got Their Act Together, and she counts the number of days between each card’s receipt and the day that she orders her own holiday cards through Shutterfly. At post time, Radish has not even logged in to Shutterfly to upload photos, browse templates, and tinker with card finalists. When she does finally submit her order, which likely will be at 3:00 am one or two days before Christmas, she will dance jerkily, mutter and chuckle in her Area about totally having her act together despite what everyone thinks, open each card, double the number days between its receipt and her order, and vow not to speak to those family members or friends for twice that duration.

One Millionth Pee Announcement Signals Demise of Modern Man

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Life

VOL 4 Issue 17

When Matt Drudge ended a rare radio appearance yesterday with the sign-off, “Now, I’ve gotta go pee,” it was the one millionth such public announcement tracked by Manhood Recaptured, a think tank devoted to “reversing the decline and fall of modern man.” The well-funded organization had one month ago launched a software solution that scrapes public news and video feeds, online forums, and social media channels, and logs any utterances about imminent urination. “Manliness is no more!” moaned Bjorn Pearce, a social psychology researcher, at a Manhood Recaptured press conference. “When a grown man, an adult man, a real man, tells a large group of people, which probably includes women, that he is going to pee, he is really crying out, ‘I’ve gotta go pee, Mommy!’” The think tank has controversially claimed that the pee meme equates to self-imposed infantilization and castration. “One million pee-pee’s can’t be wrong,” Pearce said, “We clearly inhabit a sad, decadent era in which half the population has discarded its identity.” He then exited the room with an apparent sense of urgency.

Dialing-By-Name Directory Still Making Area Woman Feel Stupid

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Technology

VOL 10 Issue 10

As her finger wavered over the virtual keyboard, Marnie Block realized she has her whole adult life struggled to spell a person’s last name first, followed by the pound sign, even if only the first three letters are required, and even if you don’t need to hit the pound sign. Despite testing negatively for dyslexia on multiple occasions, the intelligent Block struggles for painful, dumbfounding bouts lasting dozens of seconds when attempting to progress through a last name, leading to acute anger and frustration akin to road rage, every single day at work, where she is required to call people and address their petty grievances as she sips a latte and reads The New Yorker. Maybe it’s the 0 key that’s throwing her off, or the fact that 1 doesn’t have any letters, or that 7 and 9 have four letters and not 3. Someday, Block muses, she will get to the root cause of this ludicrous problem and spell correctly and promptly, rather than passively assume she will organically get better at dialing by name as the years go by. Until then, she will masochistically continue to hunt and peck rather than use the option to speak the person’s name, which involves a smug, robotic voice that talks as you talk and often misdirects you to the wrong person, all while learning from its mistakes and improving its performance, and advancing productivity everywhere.

Lovett Basher Girds Loins for Imaginary Battle with Texan’s Collaborators

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Online Gaming

VOL 14  Issue 25

Against significant odds, an extreme hater of Lyle Lovett is preparing for a virtual confrontation with an army of artists who have performed duets with the singer/songwriter. Garth Head, who absolutely loathes the high-haired Texan’s music, voice, style and popularity, is completing development of an online game in which he will battle and vanquish a crooning horde that includes Al Green, Tammy Wynette, Sheryl Crow, Ricky Lee Jones, Randy Newman, Vince Gill, John Hiatt, Emmylou Harris, Francine Reed, Nanci Griffith, Kat Edmondson, Pat Green and k.d. lang. “Those people were all hornswoggled—Lyle Lovett is the worst,” Head harrumphed maniacally. “I will demonstrate once and for all that they have no taste and I will bring them to my side, the side of all things good and true and truly musically good and definitely not Lovetty.”

Grammarians Seek to Ban Lionel Richie Hit

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Language and Music

VOL 442  Issue 78

Outraged by a seemingly innocuous, mellifluously sung question, a cadre of activist grammarians seeks to ban the Lionel Richie song “Hello” from public airwaves, streaming services, and even from personal usage. The angry parsers are evidently incensed by the admittedly awkward-sounding line, “Hello, is it me you’re looking for?” An anonymous member of the group, which is trolling Richie fans and haphazardly lobbying many well-spoken government officials, issued a statement that said in part, “That lyric is wrong on so many levels, its iteration threatens the integrity of the English language.” At post time, it is not clear if any of the guerrilla grammarians are aware that the song was released and reached the top of the charts in 1984.

Area Man Finally Reveals Why He Looks Tired

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Life

VOL 51 Issue 365

Despite six years of periodic observations from his mother that he looks tired and the follow-up half-question why is that, Forrest Kornheiser maintained a steely, dignified silence about the issue. That all changed during a seemingly routine eye exam when the optometrist asked, “So you have allergies?” Kornheiser replied, “No, why?” and she said, “Puffy eyes,” prompting him to explain with barely controlled fury that, as a father of three preteens who works full time and commutes an hour and a half each way, he has every right to look tired because he IS tired–all day and all night, which he doesn’t ever sleep through–and he has been tired for years and very likely will be tired for years to come until his children have grown and moved out and he has stopped working and humping all around Pennsylvania to make quota, although at that point it won’t matter anymore and, by the way, everyone he knows is also totally beat to hell and Doc, your face has FATIGUE written all over it, too. As the optometrist smiled and said see you next year, Kornheiser started the countdown to the next FaceTime chat with his mother.

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