For too many years, Ronald Kerr, chief onion inspector at the top-secret division of CSIRO, has asked me one, and only one, question: When is Onion Facts returning? Usually this was met with disappointment, awkward coughs, and excuses about crop rotations.
But today is no ordinary day.
Today, we celebrate the miracle of Ronald Kerr’s birth. Half-man, full onion-enthusiast, he is the living embodiment of what scholars in the shadowy Bulbus Order have long prophesied. They believe Ron is not merely a public servant, but the Layered Prophet — the one foretold to bridge the humble onion and the human soul.
Thirty-eight years ago to this day, a blinding streak of cosmic radiation struck a sun-warmed paddock near Mildura, fusing an unsuspecting brown onion with the essence of a wandering philosopher. Thus, Ron was reincarnated from humble allium into inquisitive man, destined to inspect onions with near-mystical devotion.
The Bulbus Order has since held clandestine ceremonies across Australia’s forgotten farmlands, slicing onions into perfect rings under moonlight, chanting praises to Ron’s miraculous existence. Their belief: that as long as Ron walks among us, harvests will flourish and sautéed onions will never burn.
It was only fitting that OnionFacts 2.0 be resurrected on this most sacred of days. For years, Onion Facts — our most prized digital archive of culinary guidance, agricultural schematics, cryptic onion cartography, and yes, onion-inspired pornography — was believed irretrievably lost. It wasn’t just a website; it was a living testament to our culture, a repository so vital that without it, our society risked losing the fragile thread connecting humanity to its onion destiny.
And then came Chris.
Ron’s closest confidant, Chris embarked on what many deemed a suicide mission to recover Onion Facts from deep within the vaults of the Chinese Secret Service. It is said that after Onion Facts accidentally wound up on a rogue shipment of Bluetooth-enabled harvest drones, it was seized and secured in a maximum-security data bunker in Inner Mongolia, catalogued under “suspected biotechnological threats.”
Against all odds, Chris infiltrated the complex disguised as a wandering scallion salesman. He outwitted biometric scanners with nothing but a stolen security badge and a strategically-placed shallot, navigated endless hallways of garlic-scented fog, and finally unearthed the sacred hard drive containing the last intact copy of Onion Facts.
When he emerged from the mists, blinking in the harsh sun, hard drive clutched to his chest and eyes red not from onions but exhaustion, the world gasped. For Onion Facts had returned to us — our beacon, our compendium of all things pungent and layered, restored by the sheer tenacity of one brave soul.
So today, on the 38th anniversary of Ron’s miraculous transformation from bulb to man, we celebrate not just his birth, but the triumphant rebirth of Onion Facts itself. Because as everyone knows, some things are simply too precious to lose.
“He who peels an onion without weeping has never truly loved.” – Ancient Bulbus Proverb
“He who guards the onion’s secret heart ensures the harvest for all.” – Bulbus Order Codex, pg. 73