As soon as The Onion announced it had been sold to the Chinese:

As the longtime publisher of this news-paper, it is my duty and unrestrained pleasure to inform you spittle-soaked readers that I have sold The Onion and all of its various holdings to a syndicate of industrious China-men from the deepest heart of the Orient. One of their representatives oozed and crawled from his dank hut to visit me in person at my bedside last week, and make known his superiors' desire to expand their clammy clutch into the Western world. After subjecting me to a good 20 minutes of infernal bowing and other assorted chinky-dinkery, he offered to pay me what I've been assured is an appropriately absurd parcel of riches to take this tiresome publication off my feeble hands for good.

The Chinese promptly put the paper back up for sale:

Not two weeks ago, Yu Wan Mei was ebullient with anticipation of inescapable success upon acquiring the Onion newspaper! With our belief that the distribution of information was a profitable endeavor, joy leapt supreme. Yu Wan Mei, all were certain, was moments away from resounding triumph, from expanding once more and growing in both size and influence.

But now, desolate unhappiness.

It appears that in America the very business of published news is in the midst of widespread atrophy, and now carries forward as does a sickly and aging man, coughing up blood and gasping for breath and bearing the pronounced stench of inevitable failure.

I fully expect some version of this to play out for real in The New York Times next week.