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Tips for having a super duper nifty prom! Written by Paul Ryan, age 37

Prom is a special time of year. I mean, not for adults who have real lives, but for kids stuck in a tiny sandbox that better represents incarceration than adulthood, it’s probably special. Here’s a few tips to help you navigate this fruitless and somewhat patronizing event created and planned entirely by old people who don’t have to attend it.

• Prom is not the time to experiment with radical new hairstyles. Instead, go with something classic and sophisticated, like shaving half your head, dyeing the other half neon pink and writing “PEPE NO NAZI” in magic marker on your skull.

• Ladies, if you’re worried your date might get a little handsy, avoid this problem with an early show of dominance. The moment your date opens the car door for you, sucker punch him in the groin as hard as you can. It’s a warning shot his genitalia won’t forget later in the evening when he’s simultaneously drunk, high and thundering through a cocaine-fueled rage.

Nation’s fascination with balls begins anew

Spring has sprung and the liquid fertilizer that is the 2017 Minnesota Twins are kinda sorta ready for a new season! Join us in a magical journey to the turd-colored snowbanks of Minneapolis in April and witness first-hand the bizarre “major league team” where eight of their nine starting players were part-time JC Penney employees over the holidays.

Since few people follow AA minor league baseball, let’s provide a little background info for each of your very, very, very talented 2017 Twins:

Brian Dozier, 2B
Born deep in the forests of Aokigahara, hidden by the shadow of Mt. Fuji, Brian “Suicide Forest” Dozier is the only player on the team who actually belongs in the major leagues. He hit 42 home runs last year, but he’s fast so he’s the leadoff hitter. Yep. 42 home runs. Our #3 hitter hasn’t hit a ball in the air since 2012, but let’s all just trust in the wise judgment of the management who got the team here in the first place.

Residents say Sunday liquor doesn’t taste as good

Many Minnesotans are cheering the new law allowing liquor sales on Sunday, but some complain that buying booze nearby just isn’t as fun as driving to Wisconsin and smuggling libations back across the border. In losing this time-honored inconvenience, Minnesotans worry they’ve also lost the intrigue that went with it.

“Now that it’s legal, this tastes like piss,” said Hank Crosby, age 56, staring forlornly at his can of Coors Light. “Driving drunk across that icy bridge on Sundays made me feel like a dangerous man. I suppose those days are gone now. I was once a bold rebel, now I’m just like the rest of these plebes. Sigh. I guess it’s suicide for me.”

Crosby put a gun to his temple and held his breath. The blood from the bullet’s impact sprayed across the case of Coors Light, making it look extra dangerous and bold. The local teenager who mows Crosby’s lawn found him later that afternoon and removed a modest 15 percent tip from his wallet before calling the police.

God rampages across Minnesota in retaliation for Sunday liquor sales

An angry, wrathful God has unleashed His fury upon the state of Minnesota this week, in apparent retaliation for a new law allowing liquor sales on Sunday. According to sources close to the deity, God is “super pissed” and is “shitting bananas” over the issue.

The Lord and Savior, who surprised everyone by being 388-feet tall, rampaged through downtown Duluth this morning, shaking the foundations of the Radisson Hotel’s revolving restaurant with His fiery kaiju breath. As the revolving sinners burned to ashes, God let out a mighty roar that reduced the entire block to rubble. Recent reviews on TripAdvisor, showing an average score of three out of five stars for the hotel, imply that it wasn’t much of a loss.

God’s loving embrace raged well into the afternoon, when God-nonzilla picked up a three-ton schoolbus full of children and smashed it into Fitger’s Brewery. This brutally wasteful act let loose a tidal wave of complimentary beer. Local alcoholics bravely rescued the children by entering the deadly tsunami and quickly drinking the city’s oatmeal stout levels down to a safe amount.

Courageous man refuses to acknowledge daylight savings time

The scent of tasty breakfast delights floats through the morning air. Crispy bacon sizzling on the grill. Mountains of warm, fluffy eggs with piping hot steam drifting off their summit. Soft buns glazed thick with sugar, ready to melt apart in one’s mouth. The delicious smells waft strongly through the mall food court.

All food kiosks are fully operational at 10am, except for one. The Cinnabon storefront sits dark and empty. Owner Walter Brown arrives and curses loudly.

“Where the hell is that peckerhead?” shouted Brown, teaching nearby children a new word, for which they are grateful. “I’ll bet he forgot to set his clocks forward for daylight savings time.”

“I don’t recognize your man-made time change, Walter,” said employee John Hauser, appearing as if by clockwork. “I’m right on time, both for Cinnabon and the universe in which our very concept of time is based.”