Yes, you deciphered those words correctly, simpleton news-reader: Every human in the year two thousand and twelve—beyond myself, of course—was not only unworthy of this news-paper’s Person of the Year distinction but deserved my very deepest scorn and contempt. Reader, did you really harbor the thought, somewhere in your porridge-stuffed head, that your favorite photo-play actress, law-maker, or pious holy man might actually be worthy of special commendation? Your childlike naïveté amuses me almost to the point of laughter, a sensation I have not physically experienced since the sinking of theLusitania in 1915.
There is no Person of the Year. How dare you even presume there might be?
The task of choosing a Person of the Year has vexed me since I first invented the honor in 1896, and each year subsequent has filled me with an ever-increasing dread. Why, I recall 1938, when the mule-brained busybodies who laughably refer to themselves as my editorial staff recommended three candidates forThe Onion’s Person of the Year: Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Albert Einstein, and Jesse Owens. Understandably enraged at the prospect of choosing between a meddling, blue-blood cripple, a proof-scribbling Kraut, and a grotesquely expeditious Negro, I did the only sensible thing and awarded the prize to Adolf Hitler, and proudly so. If Mr. Hitler were breathing today, I would likely bestow the honor on him again, but, regrettably, the wheels of history had other plans.
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1 comment:
It should have been Malala, that 14-year-old girl who was nearly killed in Pakistan for her brave activism.
She showed more courage and set a better example for the world than anyone.
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