exas, spawning ground to president George Bush, was thoroughly perturbed when the U.S. Supreme Court granted a last-minute stay of execution to Delma Banks Thursday. Banks, convicted of murder 23 years ago, was scheduled to become Texas' 300th execution since 1976, when the guy in charge of counting got confused and had to start over. All of this begs the question: How does a guy last on death row in Texas for 23 years?

Banks' request for a stay of execution was backed by three federal judges, and though the request was significant enough to give the Supreme Court pause, it does not automatically mean they have decided to hear the case. However, the action does guarantee that Banks' execution will be delayed long enough to miss the big-300 window. The lucky customer set to claim the record now is Keith Clay, a convicted murderer penned in for March 20, causing an unpleasant week-long pause in executions for death penalty fans.

The basis for Banks' appeal is poor legal representation and deceitful attempts by the prosecution to keep blacks off of the all-white jury. The case was already rejected by the Texas Supreme Court before the U.S. Court granted stay.

"Well, duh, he was poorly represented and the jury was selected to favor the victim," said Texas Supreme Court Justice Earl "Two Shoes" Miller. "This is Texas. You don't get to the big three-zero-zero by balancing things in the bad guy's interest. He done it, he know he done it, and now he got to fry for it. Yeah, I know we inject 'em now—don't get me started. I sure miss ol' Sparky. But if Banks didn't not want to be killed he shoulda driven the guy up to pussy Oklahoma or something."

Miller then struck a match off my face and asked if that made this reporter want to kill him. A lawyer issued by the state upon arrival of outsiders suggested it had the makings of entrapment.

Opponents of the death penalty say it is instances like this that makes the death penalty all the more reprehensible, the potential of a man who didn't get a fair trial being executed without receiving adequate representation; proponents of the death penalty say "Whoo-hoo!" really loudly and do the cabbage patch when the lights flicker outside the prison.

Since the death penalty's legalization by the Supreme Court in 1976, Texas has led the sport by a clear margin. The closest runner-up to the Lone Star state's 299 in executions is Virginia with 87. Texas has maintained a wide lead through careful maintenance of laws and tactics, including executing multiple prisoners during monthly "Two-Fer Tuesdays," counting random police shootings of suspects as "one-half" executions, and re-defining the term "murder" to include possible bodily harm inflicted on persons who may or may not be proven to exist. In some trials, evidence can be firmly announced to exist and yet never actually presented, a Texan tradition the president has made good recent use of.

Despite the bump in the road, Texans are confident the 300th execution is just around the corner, and heavy bets are on Keith Clay in a March 20th shut-out. Those wishing to attend the tailgating parties out front can find fliers with hand-drawn directions in most towns surrounding Huntsville Penitentiary.

ollowing the speedy delivery of Mr. Rogers to the afterlife Thursday, the Children's Television Workshop announced it would be releasing all children in its laborforce from contracts within the month. This was in accordance with the wishes of the late Fred Rogers, a children's advocate and fellow children's television producer.

Rogers, who died Thursday shortly after switching back into his business shoes and suit jacket, was a lifelong defender of the rights of children and had negotiated with the Children's Television Workshop for years for its underage hiring practices. Months earlier, Rogers reportedly asked representatives of the CTW as an act of good will to allow the working youth out of their contracts in the event of his death. Thursday, after hearing of their neighbor's passing, CTW representatives announced they would do as Rogers wished.

"Fred Rogers was a dear friend and the kindest man I've ever known," said Children's Television Workshop Vice-President Doug Birch, 23. "I came up in this business, clawed my way up to the top from the mailroom. In all the people I've met in my 20 years at CTW, Fred Rogers never resorted to the 'business-first' mentality so many have. He will be missed."

Birch went on to say the board of directors of CTW declared an emergency meeting after hearing of Rogers' demise, and after a heated argument which included name-calling and crayon-throwing, the board agreed as a gesture to Rogers' memory all contracts with underage CTW workers would be voided, to be re-negotiated if desired. This would release the 3,042 members of the CTW labor force, 92% of which are under 18, from the employ of the company.

Shows such as Sesame Street and The Electric Company will halt production while considering new ways to produce inexpensive public television with the help of rare viewers who actually donate money.

Though child labor laws exist in the United States to prevent the exploitation of children in the production of educational television, offices and studios of the Children's Television Workshop operate predominately in Taiwan, Malaysia, and Canada. Rarely are laws against child labor enforced in such regions.

For some CTW employees, the move means the first taste of freedom since being purchased by the corporation from orphanages and refugee camps; for others, it means powerful leverage for re-negotiating better contracts and living conditions. Either way, most everyone is grateful to the generous request of the late children's television icon.

Sesame Street Co-Producer Steven "Stevie" Robinson: "I remember when I first came in here. Five-year-old kid, timid and scared and seeing all these cameras and wooden sets and expensive equipment, all this stuff you don't think about when you see those kids TV shows on the air. And this guy in a green sweater comes up and says, 'Hi, I'm Fred Rogers. What's your name?' Even then I knew he was a class act. I may be a little older, a little more cynical and suspicious of how the business works, but even now, two years later, I remember the friendliness in that gesture. Children's television should be about the kids. Like me."

While most are pleased by the announcement of the Children's Television Workshop, it still comes at a sad time for all involved in educational television production as the world remembers Fred Rogers.

"Me sad," said Sesame Street ensemble player Cookie Monster. "Me no realize how much Mr. Rogers touch Cookie Monster life until he gone. Me gladly give all cookies in world to have him back."

My parents are having a trial separation right now. I think that's the word—what's it called when your dad wallops your mom in the head with a brick and they lock him up? That's what's going on anyhow.

It's nothing new for the Coleman clan, but I can understand the police getting all upset about it seeing as how a brick is real hard and stuff. It's not like dad meant to hurt her, they were just re-modeling the place and there's not a lot of soft stuff to grab when you get suddenly enraged, so a brick was handy. The irony is super, though, since they were in the police station to bail my uncle Luke out. At least dad didn't have to suffer that humiliating ride downtown in handcuffs.

If you ask me, and I know I'm asking me, Uncle Luke should have known better. I like him and all, but if the judge throws the book at him I'll understand perfectly. Uncle Luke made a bet that the cops can't bust you for possession if the weed is sitting in the passenger seat while you're driving, like it defies technical definitions of possession. I was educated by a poorly-paid on-set tutor and even I know anywhere in your car counts as possession, it's like a big pocket in the eyes of the law. Anyway, it was sour grapes for dad since all the money he won on the bet had to be used to bail Uncle Luke out. And now he's in the cooler and has no money still.

They've already arraigned dad and denied bail. Not for the assault, but since the judge said dad was pretending to be black. Yeah, I didn't even know judges could do that, it's new to me. The judge called it contempt, but dad called him a motherfucker so they're at a standstill—dad's in jail and will probably be there until the next hearing. At least until he apologizes to the judge or brings in some genealogical evidence there's an African-American in his family tree. I'm betting the last one will be the more likely thing to happen.

Now my mom doesn't want to live at home while he's "visiting orange jumpsuit camp," so she's pushing hard to live with me. I've actually already agreed to it, but she hasn't shown up yet—you pay $69 for a bus ticket and it takes forever before you get your mother. It's gonna be hellish living conditions, I know that up front, but she should do all the cooking and cleaning since it's her way of dominating everybody, just like the shrink said. Call me crazy (he did), but I don't mind being a little domination if it means French toast for breakfast and clean towels in the bathroom.

It's just temporary, I've laid down the law about that. Dad is bound to get a suspended sentence like last time and once he's out, she's out. I don't want this to be some kind of sneak plan to move in with me now that my new show is about to take off. I separated all my bank accounts from theirs when I was 18, and they were eager to do it, too—now that I'm riding high again it's just their tough luck if I've actually got money in it.

The show is still in post-production and negotiations, which means it's not on TV and may never be, but there's still a reasonable assumption it could be. This is the part of the business I hate. Actually, I'm not too fond of the auditioning, the rehearsing, the taping, reading the boring scripts, looking over contracts and seeking work, and the acting part is a little stupid, too. I suppose if they paid me money and just showed me on TV all the time that would be cool. But once again, I haven't figured out how to get on The Real World. It probably involves auditioning, too. But I've still got the mom situation to deal with in the meantime, and if she's not here by tomorrow I'll have to file a claim with Greyhound or something.

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