A perpetual holiday is a good working definition of hell.
– George Bernard Shaw
Did the midweek news strike you as strange?
For example: On Wednesday in Clyo, Ga., near Savannah, police say a 51-year-old man beat his cousin to death with a shovel. They don’t know why, although a police spokesman told the Savannah Morning News that an elderly woman had died in the house earlier that day and maybe that had something to do with it.
Speaking of police, the cops in Albany, Ga., called off the July Fourth fireworks show because so many fights had broken out before the event. After clearing the area of pugilists, so few pacifists remained that celebrating America’s birthday with explosions seemed unnecessary.
It wasn’t just Georgia. In Greenville, S.C., one man stabbed another to death at a cookout. No names were released, but an autopsy was scheduled.
In Sumter, S.C., a 72-year-old man has been arrested, charged with fatally beating his 54-year-old girlfriend with a baseball bat.
Oh, and in Columbia, a policeman called to what was believed to be a domestic dispute ended up in a fight with a man who took his stun gun away.
The policeman shot him to death.
As for me, I spent a quiet holiday comfortably jogging the 10-kilometer route of Atlanta’s Peachtree Road Race with 60,000 others.
So far as I know, no one died.
TODAY’S JOKE: Billy Cooper, of North Augusta, shares this one:
Two rednecks are out hunting, and as they are walking along they come upon a huge hole in the ground. They approach it and are amazed by its size.
“Wow, that’s some hole,” the first hunter says, “I wonder how deep it is?”
“I don’t know,” his companion said. “Let’s throw something down and listen and see how long it takes to hit bottom.”
“There’s this old transmission,” the first hunter said. “Give me a hand, and we’ll throw it in and see.”
So they pick it up and carry it over, and count and heave it into the hole.
They are standing there listening and looking over the edge, and they hear a rustling in the brush
behind them. As they turn they see a goat come crashing through the brush, run up to the hole with no hesitation, and jump in headfirst.
While they are standing there trying to figure out what that was all about, an old farmer walks up.
“Say,” he asks, “You fellers didn’t happen to see my goat around here?”
“Funny you should ask,” the first hunter said. “We were just standing here a minute ago, and a goat came running out of the bushes and jumped headfirst into this hole here!”
“That’s impossible!” the old farmer said. “I had him tied to a transmission!”