Children from my drama class this afternoon, quoted verbatim (they were inventing tribal rituals):
“So then we pour oil on him?”
“When I stab him, I can say ‘I see your guts!'”
“What do we do after we nail him to the floor?”
Kids, eh? They’re eight. And I’m the one who has to be police checked to keep the kiddies safe. Who’s monitoring these bloodthirsty little varmints to make sure I’m safe? Forget the nit nurse, somebody should be checking their heads for three digit numbers.