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WASHINGTON, DC (DPI) -- Earlier this week, the National Institute of Mental Health released the results of their research into the sudden increase of primary-school shootings. NIMH researcher Eli Zleicherugg blames it all on a set of common childhood songs. "The worst is 'Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to school we go, with razor blades and hand grenades,'" Zleicherugg said at a press conference Wednesday. "Not only does it lend an almost picnic tone to the concept of school violence, but at a deeper psychological level, it bonds the idea of mass destruction to Walt Disney's 'Snow White.'" Zleicherugg claims the problem is nationwide. "You can go into any sixth grade in the country, start singing 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school,' and watch the little yardapes twitch. I'm not saying that these kids are primed to explode," he added. "But if I were a teacher, I wouldn't delay in getting that concealed-carry permit." In a related story, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is investigating allegations that a rise in animal abuse is directly related to the "Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts" song.
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In Melbourne (Australia) one of the radio stations paid money, $100 to $500, for people to tell their most embarrassing stories. This morning's one netted the proud owner $300. As the lady said...I was due later that week for an appointment with the gynecologist, when early one morning I received a call from his office that I had been rescheduled for early that morning at 9:30 a.m. I had only just packed everyone off to work and school and it was around 8:45 already. The trip to his office usually took about thirty five minutes, so I didn't have any time to spare. As most women do I'm sure, I like to take a little extra effort over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn't going to be able to make the full effort. So I rushed upstairs, threw off my dressing gown, wet the washcloth and gave myself a wash in "that area" in front of the sink, taking extra care to make sure that I was presentable. I threw the washcloth in the clothes basket, donned some clothes, hopped in the car and raced to my appointment. I was in the waiting room only a few minutes when he called me in. Knowing the procedure, as I'm sure you all do, I hopped up on the table, looked over at the other side of the room and pretended I was in Hawaii or some other place a million miles away from here. I was a little surprised when he said, "My... we have taken a little extra effort this morning, haven't we?", but I didn't respond. The appointment over, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home. The rest of the day went as normal, some shopping, cleaning, the evening meal, etc. At 8:30 that evening my 18 year old daughter was fixing to go to a school dance, when she called down from the bathroom, "Mom - where's my washcloth?" I called back for her to get another from the cabinet. She called back, "No - I need the one that was here by the sink - It had all my glitter and sparkles in it".
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A prospective juror in a Dallas District Court was surprised by the definition of voluntary manslaughter given the panel: "an intentional killing that occurs while the defendant is under the immediate influence of sudden passion arising from an adequate cause, such as when a spouse's mate is found in a 'compromising position.'" "See, I have a problem with that passion business," responded the jury candidate. "During my first marriage, I came in and found my husband in bed with my neighbor. All I did was divorce him. I had no idea that I could have shot him." She wasn't selected for the jury.
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