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."

God bless Christianity.

What kind of mixed-up, unrepressed world would we have without it?

People eating pizza with chopsticks, talking dogs, upright-walking salmon for president. In a word, it would be fuckin' great.

We'd be able to drive alcohol-fueled funnycars to work, jerk off in the shower, smoke tobacco out of our neighbor's asscrack if we wanted to. It would basically be like living in France, but without all the French people. Shit yeah.

It really makes you want to go all Ramrod Hurley on whoever it was that made the world all Christian in the first place. And I know it's all sacrilegious to say you want to box with the son of God and all, but that's not even what I'm talking about. Even though the thought of Jesus wearing a spandex jumpsuit that says "The Flying Jehovah" or something on it is kind of funny. Nope, Omar Bricks doesn't even blame Christ for the whole Christian thing, because last time I heard, he was real good at serving watered-down wine and making eyeballs out of spit and all that, but he was pretty fuckin' lousy at flying a plane.

Hey, I'm just saying. No need to get all offended. My point is, if were just up to Jesus, Christianity would have stayed over there in Tatooine or wherever all those desert people live. It took some other plane-flying assholes to bring it over to Boca Raton and all over America and whatnot. It would have worked out better for all concerned if they had just stayed in the desert, since Christianity wouldn't have spread all its butter too thin and those crazy fuckers over there would be crashing their planes into abortion clinics and rap groups and shit instead of having some "think big" Muslim agenda.

But it didn't work out that way, because some self-righteous dipshits had to make some kind of Hot Air Balloon Tour for Christ, spreading Christianity and measles to all the indigenous people all around the world, totally harshing their buzzes and making them wear ridiculous powdered wigs and shit. And before you knew it, they were selling the locals on communion wafers instead of bottled Jamaican monkeyfarts or whatever they were using previously to bend God's ear. The indigenous people didn't care; they thought the shit was Pringles. But eventually they had to all convert to Christianity to get the cure for the measles that the white man brought over in his big happy balloon of death.

So that's the way it shook out and now we're all repressed, thinking it's a big deal if somebody stuck their dick in the pudding at the commune Christmas party (it was Hurley) and calling the cops just because some guy's bowling naked. As if you can be naked while you're wearing bowling shoes. And we've got all kinds of bullshit rules like no borrowing animals from the zoo and a dude can't marry another dude. Omar Bricks is all for dudes getting married unless the two dudes happen to be Phil Collins and Ving Rhames. Cause look out if those two wouldn't make some powerful ugly children, damn.

It all makes you wish you could hop in a time machine and go back in the day to kick some ass. If you wore some football pads and had a broomball bat or something you'd be like an ass-kicking God to those people, because they'd never seen any Bruce Lee movies. Sad for them, but good for your ability to kick some serious missionary ass. They'd probably chuck a couple of bibles at you, but unless they got lucky with a few paper-edge shots to the jugular, you'd do all right.

But all in all, I admit I'm probably getting a little carried away with the whole thing.

I mean, who sells broomball bats anymore? Good luck there. Bricks out.

º Last Column: Sign Me Up For a Frivolous Lawsuit
º more columns