If you turned on the TV towards the end of 2002 you could have been forgiven for thinking that Britain had gone absolutely horseshit mental. Every week, it seemed, another pretty young girl from a nice family, who was happy and popular and always did well at school, was being kidnapped or murdered by what the Sun newspaper cheerfully termed 'evil paedo scum'. Naming and shaming was as popular a feature in the Murdoch press as Page Three girls and discounted holidays to Butlin's. Of course you can't blame parents for wanting to keep their children safe; that's pretty much the job description of a parent. And, on the face of it, the tabloids were doing a public service in warning us about the paedophile menace lurking in our midst. The problem came when it turned out that a huge number of these concerned tabloid-reading parents were also absolute fucking morons. For every story of an actual sex offender being driven from their house by a baying mob there was one like that of Dr Yvette Cloete, a doctor at the Royal Gwent Hospital in Newport, South Wales, who returned home from work to find that a group of 'concerned parents' had daubed the word 'paedo' on her front door in bright red paint. Dr Cloete was a consultant paediatrician. Easy mistake. If you're an absolute fucking moron. And so it was that one hung-over morning, after reading yet another story about vigilantes who had threatened to stone Maxine Carr, the girlfriend of Soham killer Ian Huntley, to death during her high-profile trial for perverting the course of justice, I decided to set up a website parodying this collective national madness. The result of two or three hours of hung-over labour was thinkofthechildren.co.uk, a spoof campaign site which claimed to offer a handy online guide for crazy vigilantes of all stripes to co-ordinate their crazy vigilante efforts. Although there are a few parts of the site I'm still a bit proud of, the majority of it was, I freely admit, satire of the lowest order. What color paint did the vandals use? A. Red B. Blue C. not enough information D. Yellow
A

He had apparently spaced out for a second or two. When he came to, a large, annoyed woman was leaning in toward him. "Mister? Mister, are you even listening to me?" He looked at the receding rows of fluorescent lights on the struts of the cavernous ceiling, the gleaming linoleum floors, the pallets of sale-priced plastic coolers and Special K and motor oil, and then he looked at the rack of merchandise at his back and understood that he was in a Wal-Mart, behind the returns counter. He heard his own voice saying, as if by reflex, "Do you have your receipt?" * At the first opportunity, he locked himself in a bathroom stall and dug out his wallet. His driver's license showed the right name, birthdate, and photo, but it had been issued by the State of North Carolina, and it listed an address he'd never heard of. He scrubbed his face at the sink. It was him in the mirror, a tanned and healthy 56, hair mostly gray but still all there. He felt groggy, as if he'd woken prematurely. It was only the numbness, he thought, that kept the panic at bay. If he didn't push, he found he knew the answers to some questions. He was due to clock out in an hour. When he left the parking lot he would go under the highway, turn left, and merge. * He found his way to a battered white Toyota pickup in the employee section. The key in his pocket started the engine. He forced himself not to think too hard as he drove, taking the turns that seemed to have a certain inevitability. He wound up on a dirt road near someplace called Pittsboro, in front of a small brick house surrounded by high yellow grass, pines, and live oaks. Has he driven the route to the small brick house before? A. He follows a fellow employee who is leaving the parking lot, and that house is where they end up. B. Since it's automatic, apparently he has countless times. C. In his wallet he finds directions and he follows those to the small brick house. D. not enough information
B

I have never had a lot of money. But I don't believe you have to have a lot for it to become burdensome. Money has always seemed to be a burden. Either you have it and the obligation and responsibility becomes a burden (so I've been told, ha) or you don't have it and life without money becomes a burden. I guess money became a burden to me when I started paying my own bills. Let me explain. I raised my 2 girls by myself. I was fortunate to have a good job as an office manager for a doctor in Dallas. I was able to pay my bills and juggle things around to afford what the girls needed for school and what not. When I didn't have money for something they wanted I felt like I carried the world on my shoulders. I didn't let them know how stressful it all was because I felt like it was none of their business. They were kids and needed to be kids. They would soon enough be feeling the stress of managing their own household and shouldn't be asked to help shoulder that burden as kids. Once, me and my youngest daughter, who was an adult at this time, went to a drive in fast food place and got a couple of drinks. My daughter was treating me and when the car hop came to deliver the drinks, my daughter gave her $5.00 as a tip, which was more than the drinks! I, of course, asked why she did that and she told me that they live off their tips and she knew what that was like having been a waitress before. I said something about her needing the money as well and how money makes the world go around. She said "No, Mom, you can be dead-assed broke and the world is still going to go around." That was when I quit letting money be a burden. What does the mom do after the story? A. Relaxes a bit B. Gets an extra job and works harder. C. not enough information D. Takes as much over time as she can get
C