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."

It's about time someone came out and said it, good people, and I will be the first, if you ignore the looming headline: We've been too lenient on those Russians!

What inspires this angry anti-red rhetoric, you ask? Nothing, none of your business. It certainly wasn't related to my decision to remain just friends with Russian bride Molga. It's just time someone reminded the rest of the world Russia hasn't changed their ways at all since the fall of the Soviet Union.

In the 1950s Stalin convinced the world everyone in Russia was living a perfectly happy, Wizard of Oz-like life. At first I was skeptical; but after that minute, I decided it looked good enough to try. That was my first attempt to visit Russia, and though I shouted unsavory thing about the Department of Foreign Affairs at the time, I now realize they acted in my best interest. It's plain from all that footage that turned up after Stalin's death that everything is dreary and ugly over there—they don't even have color. All this talk of the red menace I didn't quite expect so much gray.

I'm not afraid to step on politically correct toes, even mash them until the nails flake off and become bloody and swollen and bruised. I'll come right out and say it: The Russians are weird. It should be obvious, people, they kept that nasty shellacked body of Lenin in the Moscow equivalent of the town strip mall for years. You'd think somebody would wonder what that curious smell is and bring up the suggestion of burying him, but no, not the Russians. And don't get me started on the way their awful cock rock bands completely ape everything off our awful cock rock bands. That bugs me to no end.

Then in the 1960s Kruschev goes on an on about how the Soviet Union will bury us. Fat chance, you can't even bury one crusty Russian cadaver, I don't see you digging 200+ million holes in the cold hard Siberian ground. They brag about sending the first man into space, but everybody knows they never got him back so it doesn't count. Then by the time the 1980s roll around they claim to have enough nuclear weapons to compete with us in a nuclear war, and now it's common knowledge they only had one jeri-rigged nuke put together with duct tape and Play-Doh. Yeah, that will help—we threw all that Star Wars money away on nothing.

If there's one thing that should be clear about the Russians by now, they can't tell the truth. They get a kick out of lying like I get a kick out of netted briefs—it's something they'll never admit to, but it thrills them like nothing else. Whether it's backtracking on a treaty with Hitler which he had good intentions of keeping or if it's an ex-KGB Russian mafia tough disguising himself as a woman on the internet to get a free plane ride over to the states courtesy of a short, handsome-challenged, sex-starved columnist. Hypothetically. What I'm saying is, don't trust 'em. Not now, not ever.

Incidentally, since I apparently have a few lines to spare to this column, I would like to make an announcement on behalf of Boguslaw Sadowski, the friendly cousin to fellow commune columnist Boris Utzov. He is seeking to start up a business involving the numbers and invites you to invest start-up capital, with extremely good odds you will receive a big, big return.

Boguslaw is quite a charming new foreign friend. In exchange for my recommendation to help him with his new business, he will help me find Camembert, who has recently turned up missing from our apartment. Boguslaw is nearly 100% sure Camembert will be in the same condition as when he disappeared.

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