A Brief Respite

Today in my local newspaper. a section entitled "Briefs" provides three sources of amusement:

1. A retired college professor (name withheld to spare the family my insensitivity), age 94, died. He is survived by his wife of 70 years. She thought he'd NEVER die.

2. On Friday, a young man, age 20, ran off the road on Highway 162 and tore out 150 feet of fencing. 150 feet!?? On Monday, on another section of the same road, a woman, age unspecified, made what the Highway Patrol called "an unsafe turning movement," ROLLED OVER, and damaged about 60 feet of fencing near the Thunderhill Pheasant Club. Only 60 feet? What a piker!

3. The Thunderhill Pheasant Club sounds like a "hunt club." A hunt club is a place where some "sportsmen" throw out a lot of grain and other bird goodies to attract game to their property, so that a bunch of Elmer Fudds (Kwazy Wabbit) can, for a generous fee, come over and blast away at the easily indentified targets. There's often drinking and back slapping and a lot of "Did you see that sucker drop like a stone?" The deceased are either eaten or stuffed or discarded. Pick one.

A fourth humorous item is a quote from Lisa Heyamoto: "[Enjoy July 4th] 'cause fireworks, after all - say it with us now - are as American as brightly packaged Chinese-made bundles of gunpowder."