"Syphilis. S-y-p-h-i-l-i-s. Syphilis!" "That's

"Syphilis. S-y-p-h-i-l-i-s. Syphilis!" "That's correct, Trixie," said Miss Anderdaughter, my first grade teacher. I felt nervous, for it was now my turn in the STD spelling bee.

My teacher turned to me and uttered that one word, the word that'll haunt me to the end of my days. Gonorrhea! Why did it have to be gonorrhea? How do you even spell gonorrhea??

"Gonorrhea is spread by incubii and sucubii to naughty kids that think of the opposite sex!" my Catholic school teacher explained. I swore I wouldn't think of the girl beneath me

in this two-tier classroom, although that was proving difficult as she kept prodding me with a tiny fork she had taken from the canteen.

I had no recourse, so I took matters into my own hands and cleaved her skull open with my hatchet, a trusty tool I named Samantha. I went to my next class, but the teacher

said it would be best I go home and clean myself off. As I washed away the blood that afternoon I realized that life would be so much easier if I used Samantha more regularly.

So I grabbed a Jelly Donut and injected Cat Tranquilizers into it. The bus driver "noshed" on it and by 5th street the bus was

asleep. (Well, in fact the driver was asleep - purring too - but I like to think of the bus as a living entity with the driver as its brain.) I approached the driver and tried to

gently wake him without startling him. His grip on the steering wheel wouldn't budge, if he moved the wheel either way we were dead. Sleeping at the wheel at 75 mph. The bus

driver took us on a drive through his nightmare. When he finally slowed down and stopped at a bus stop we thought it was over until we saw the busstop station sign "Krueger Road".