The Onion Dip

Humor. And Dip.

Area Woman Dreads the Impending Florida Orange Freeze



VOL 27 Issue 32

Any day now a frost will devastate Florida’s orange groves, Nikki Hogshead knows, and her annual anxiety is spiking accordingly. An avid consumer of oranges and grapefruits and their associated products, juices and juice products, Hogshead has for decades observed that an unnatural cold spell, perhaps as extreme as a Deep Freeze or Big Chill, inevitably hits the Sunshine State this time of year, wiping out gazillions of citrus fruits. She has further noted that the related news coverage comes with images of icicles dangling from oranges, statistics about the negative economic impact on Florida, and grave commentary that, due to reduced supply, significantly higher prices for oranges and grapefruits are understandably warranted. At press time, Hogshead has failed to persuade any of her friends to accept her prediction and quietly start hoarding oranges.


Classic Rocker: I Never Called Steve Miller The Gangster of Love

Steve Miller Band / The Joker LP 2


VOL 73 Issue 1

Over-the-hill classic rock aficionado Turner Bachman has adamantly denied ever calling Steve Miller The Gangster of Love or Space Cowboy. “What is Steve talking about? I never called him those crazy names–and my people didn’t either! Why would we?” Bachman erupted at his steering wheel while idling on the New Jersey Turnpike one afternoon rush hour. “And I definitely didn’t call him Maurice,” he muttered, “because if I had, I would have remembered that.”

On Her Way to Major Medical Procedure, Woman Sweats Over Penmanship



VOL 26 Issue 2

As Fran Chin was driven to the world-class academic medical center, she couldn’t stop worrying about her handwriting. Although the laser-assisted robotic surgery entailed significant risks, Chin didn’t give them one thought. Instead, she kept doubting that she would be able to complete the pages and pages of forms pushed at her by the state-of-the-art healthcare facility. Chin wasn’t sure if she could be a model patient at admittance—clearly filling out the critical personal, family, medical, legal, insurance and administrative information that would be read carefully and typed unerringly into various, unintegrated software systems and databases, and scanned and filed by many employees of the next-generation healthcare center. Her concern wasn’t health-related—her hand and fingers were fine—it had simply been years since she had written a lot. Chin mused about the ultramodern procedure and technology’s impact on medicine and life, as she recalled that the only other time in her adult life that she had manually filled out so many forms, apart from her previous medical procedures, was when she registered her children for school.

Shockingly Refreshing: Taser to Buy Keurig to Buy Dr Pepper



VOL 300 Issue 3

Axon, the maker of Taser, announced it will acquire JAB Holding, the maker of Keurig, the day after the coffee company announced it will acquire Dr Pepper Snapple. The piggyback purchase “may not seem intuitive at first, but it makes a lot of freakin sense when you think about expanding our arsenal of good vibrations, and accelerating the delivery of satisfaction,” said an armed, fierce Axon spokesperson. After embracing a future of office and home dispensers conveniently spitting and hissing a wide range of hot and cold crapola, Wall Street investors have gone absolutely hog-wild envisioning zapping themselves and each other with Diet 7 Up and Vermont Country Blend.

Mumbling Jackasses and their Lackeys Vie to Replace Don Imus



VOL 66 Issue 1

As soon as Don Imus announced his forced retirement yesterday, hordes of incoherent jackasses and their employed sycophants began, for reasons unknown, flooding Cumulus/Westwood One with their resumes and tapes. In a strange coincidence, all the applicants mumble, wear cowboy hats when photographed, mistake contrived incorrectness and crotchety senility for humor, and talk down to the manservants with whom they surround themselves as human shields. While a Cumulus/Westwood One spokesman declined to comment about the firing of Imus, he noted that the company’s e-greetings division is reporting an explosion of sales of Good Riddance cards.

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



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.

Retro Couple Still Blows Popsicle Stands and Big Doors



VOL 2 Issue 1986

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Victoria Hack shouted authoritatively to her boyfriend Karl Loober, 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 actually are stands exclusively devoted to popsicles, or if Loober has even puffed on a single tiny door.

Thanks to Colonoscopy, Area Man Discovers Birth Mother



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



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.

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