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The Onion Dip

Humor. And Dip.

Man Totally Goes Off on Workplace Tooth Brushers

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Business

VOL 32 Issue 32

While stirring his three o’clock Keurig and chatting with a colleague whose name he’d forgotten, Jonas Gunnysack abruptly broke out in a big-time rant about coworkers who brush their teeth after lunch in the men’s room. With haughty dismissiveness, the low-level manager scoffed at those fastidious losers who are compelled to clean their teeth excessively. After all, everyone knows twice is more than enough—in the morning and at night—and anything more just shows you’re a mindless slave to sterility, snorted Gunnysack, who has not been promoted in 24 years. Standing there in their pressed suits, rinsing and spitting–it’s like they’re trying to prove they always toe the line, added the stagnant professional who doesn’t like data to interfere with his work product, and who lost his train of thought as he climbed back on his high horse, which waddled back down the hall.

Uptick in Cellphone Spam Boosting Nation’s Wellness

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Life

VOL 365 ISSUE 8

A side effect of the current surge in spam calls to cellphones is a marked improvement in Americans’ sense of self-worth, according to a survey by the Contemporary Psychology Guild (CPG), which released excerpts of follow-up interviews with participants. “The recorded, disingenuous-sounding voices really value my credit card debt!” chortled Herb Chickpea, “I have been feeling pretty down and unwanted because of my dismal finances, but now I am continually reminded no matter where I go that there are many deplorable collection agencies that really want to prey on me!” “The robots tell me I have options to save real money on my utility bill,” marveled Jeannie Gracious, “I hate my cramped, dingy condo, but now I think if I buck up, I can stay and start to enjoy living here!” The CPG projects that the United States will leapfrog three or four countries on the Happiness Index, leaving it just outside the top 10—which it will enter soon if the spam plague further intensifies and engages even more citizens desperate to overcome post-modern alienation. “Even though I registered on the Do Not Call List, I am always delighted by the new numbers and locations, and the unknown caller IDs that the clever scammers use,” chuckled Alexandra Heavy, “I have a number of medical issues to deal with and my family lives far away, but I feel so bad for the live telemarketers when they awkwardly pause and then stammer through the first sentence or two of their pitches. I’m just so glad they are getting paid well to hound me for my retirement savings. If my rotator cuff wasn’t shattered, I would raise my cellphone over my head and yell, ‘what a great country we have that encourages this prevalent practice and what a great time to be alive!’”

Taliban Blow Up Cialis Tubs

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World Culture

VOL 945 ISSUE 2

The Taliban today posted a video of their demolition of two ancient sandstone statues, the Tubs of Takhar, and vowed to continue dynamiting other idols of infidels. For centuries an obscure Silk Road tourist destination in Afghanistan, the two sculpted tubs were situated in a meadow at a cliff’s edge overlooking a lake and positioned toward the sunset. They contained languid, smiling effigies who were holding hands while respectively looking at mysterious primitive devices, considered by some experts to be precursors to iPhones. Nearly 2,000 years ago, the Tubs of Takhar symbolized to their builders a noble communion through mutual cleansing of body and spirit. In modern society, they inspired the marketers of the PDE5 inhibitor Cialis, who tastefully repurposed and popularized the tubs for humanity’s unquestionable gain. The tubs’ obliteration has reportedly alarmed archaeologists, pharmaceutical executives, and sales reps at commercial media platforms that air sports events watched by men of a certain age.

Productive, Single Woman Wakes at Ungodly Hour, Remains Productive and Single

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Lifestyle

VOL 4 ISSUE 20

At a superlative all-day shindig on a rooftop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Angelique Beaverhausen, who is single, persisted in broadcasting her yearlong practice of waking at the ungodly hour of 4:20 am. In passionate, articulate exchanges, Beaverhausen made clear that she was looking for a relationship and thoroughly enjoying the party—which celebrated the launch of a new website devoted to unmarried folks who belong to Mensa, volunteer actively, run a mile under six minutes and laugh liberally—and that she fervently advocated rising daily (including weekends) at an hour the unholiness of which can barely be quantified. By getting a leg up on the morning, Beaverhausen, who has not been on a date since 2015 but would very much like to, enthused that she has in the past 12 months enjoyed productivity that has surprised even herself. During the dark, dark hours that are so quiet and peaceful, the 24-year-old has recently been reading Zadie Smith’s complete works, teaching herself to program in Python, moderating multilingual online mentoring sessions, meditating, practicing hot yoga (who isn’t?!), building a new nyckelharpa, and indulging in some options trading. All this before power-walking to the subway and onward to the gym! Sources report that the healthy, wealthy and wise Beaverhausen left the party shortly after sundown utterly unnoticed and very much alone.

Chiropractor Finds Aligned Spine and is Promptly Disbarred

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Health

VOL 23 ISSUE 1

Bypassing disciplinary measures such as a warning or suspension, the American Society of Professional Chiropractors has disbarred Dr. Ralph X. Burress after he examined Lydia Lovett and found that she did not require a spinal alignment. “Got a clean bill of health from my chiro Dr. B – spine is aligned, didn’t need any treatment whatsoever!” Lovett posted on Facebook, eliciting a few cheery emoticons. After the ASPC swooped in the next day and removed all of Burress’s privileges, its president, Gladys Graves, D.C., issued a statement: “Everyone needs chiropractic care, the hallmark of which is an alignment. Just look at a spine—do you think such a ludicrous structure could possibly be OK at any given instant? All the patients whom I and all of our 41,000 members have ever seen, including adult, adolescent and infant humans, horses, dogs, dolphins and ferrets, have presented with misaligned spines and degrees of related immobility, inflexibility and aggravation. Mr. Burress’s irresponsible failure to diagnose misalignment and conduct a series of appropriately priced treatments was not just gross malpractice, it was utter stupidity. Thanks to our watchdog committee, that numbskull won’t be neglecting patients and giving chiropractors a bad name any more.” According to the ASPC, Dr. Graves will evaluate Ms. Lovett’s records for free later today, after which she will prescribe the patient’s promising, endless road to alignment and wellness.

Amazing if True: Newsman Drudge and Rapper Campbell are Brothers

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MEDIA

VOL 27 ISSUE 50

Matt Drudge, the dominant news aggregator, and Luther Campbell, the hip hop mogul and former MC of 2 Live Crew, have the same mother, according to a source. Unsurprisingly, the two Miamians also share freewheeling entrepreneurial vigor, attraction to sexual and political controversy, and a craving for attention. The 57-year-old Campbell attained national celebrity through the salacious songs and performances by 2 Live Crew, whose album, Banned in the U.S.A., was the first to be labeled with a Parental Advisory sticker. In 1993 he was party to a case argued before the U.S. Supreme Court, arguing that a commercial song parody can qualify as fair use. Since 2010 Campbell has been a columnist for the Miami New Times. The 50-year-old Drudge was born and raised in Maryland, lived in Los Angeles, and then moved to Miami in 2001, presumably to be close to his half-brother. After launching the Drudge Report, he gained a wide readership for promoting coverage of the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal. At press time, the warmth of Campbell and Drudge’s relationship, further similarities between the South Florida big shots, and identity and location of their mother and respective fathers have yet to be determined.

Think You Have a Bad Nickname?

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Entertainment

VOL 70 ISSUE 4

The fledgling comedienne Pam Putz recently confessed at a central New Jersey pub’s open mic night that her nickname is so embarrassing that it has prevented her from returning in six years to her hometown of Pottsville, PA. Stammering through her set up, Putz said that she had been a pretty decent singer in high school, “like Adele on 5-hour Energy.” A TV news station was covering her advances on a national talent show, featuring both nice and snarky celebrity judges, so a reporter interviewed her parents and some adoring fans in front of their house. “They told the reporter that I’d always been a songbird as a little kid, but once I hit poo-berty I really filled out nicely and my voice took on a different character,” said Putz, who suddenly succumbed to a coughing fit. “Wait—did they just pronounce ‘puberty’ as ‘poo-berty’”? She stared into the darkness. A glass broke behind the bar. “I mean, who says ‘poo-berty’? Who says that? Did they say that in the 1950’s or something? And why did they have to discuss my metamorphosis into womanhood with a reporter who had just asked if they were proud of me?” the comedienne riffed. “So, of course, all of Pottsville watched that interview, and I instantly became known as Pooberty Pam. This was worse than you think–it wasn’t just the boys in high school who went off on me. That weekend I was at the supermarket and the grandfatherly gent on the PA announces, “Good morning, shoppers, lobsters are only $7.99 a pound today, so join us back in the Seafood section with Pooberty Pam!” Four of the audience members grimaced silently, while the other, who works as a junior staffer at a leading cable and satellite TV network in its fast-growing division that develops shame-driven content, couldn’t wait to introduce herself to Putz.

Area Man Still Coping with Trauma of Grandparents’ Mortifying Greeting

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Psychology

VOL 88 ISSUE 2

More than 30 years after his grandparents cheerfully hailed him at Buchanan University, Thomas Crudupper is still struggling with episodes of severe social anxiety and disturbingly low self-esteem, according to his team of therapists. On that fateful late September Saturday, Crudupper was shirtless and sucking down an Oranjeboom Lager, deftly playing hacky sack barefoot on the lush lawn of the main quad, where a Greek Life Barbecue had attracted more than half the student body. After driving from New Jersey and making surprisingly good time, his grandparents had foregone checking into their motel and proceeded directly to the campus, even though they were scheduled to meet Crudupper four hours later for dinner. Spying their descendant, they waved and yelled over and over again, while approaching unbelievably slowly, “Howdy doo, Little Tinkus!” By broadcasting the freshman’s long-abandoned childhood nickname, the origins of which were murky, and combining it with an instantly unforgettable, archaic greeting–in a most public setting during an especially critical stage of socialization and acceptance for their grandson–the visitors unwittingly triggered Crudupper’s Mortification Resonance Syndrome (MRS). To this day, the sullen loner cannot bear to be greeted from a distance by an older adult, engage in hacky sack, cavort in public without a shirt, drink Oranjeboom, nor can he bear even the thought of that unspeakable name that he must carry forever.

Contemplative Woman Can’t Decide if Four Years is Like the Blink of an Eye or Interminable Torture

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LIFE

VOL 2017 ISSUE 1

Life insurance executive Ariella Sanchez, known to friends as a dreamy, thoughtful sort, prone to silent musings and what-if scenarios, is presently unable to measure how a four-year span “feels” to a rational, compassionate individual. On the one hand, it could be like her tenure at Vassar, in retrospect a blur, a mere finger snap in her rich adulthood on this ever-wonderful planet. On the other, it could equate to her third marriage–endless, soul-ripping torture, with each day bringing bad news and acute agony.

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