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By CHRIS PACKHAM

My, what a pretty dress you're wearing: It's May Day! The day we — I mean you — prance around a pole and sing medieval songs about cuckoos, the asshole of the bird family according to bird scientists. WHO WILL BE CROWNED THE QUEEN OF MAY DAY? I nominate one of those attention-hungry hobbits from the Renaissance Faire.

Pictured: you and your friends.
Not pictured: me.

Somebody help the Bombardier: I'm still waiting for my economic stimulus money to come from the government, and when I get it, I'll stimulate the economy right where economists say it's the most sensitive: in its taint. I'm buying up $600 in shares of Canadian aerospaceplane manufacturer Bombardier Aerospace in advance of a hopefully massive series of tax breaks it will be receiving from the state of Missouri. That will enhance shareholder value in the form of money that I will then spend on a new lifestyle involving private aerospaceplanes, huge bags of Costco rice, and hamburger-Twittering my new best friend, Diablo Cody.

Although now Senate Majority Leader Charlie Shields wants the committee to consider a new version of the bill that substantially scales back the $880 million in tax breaks Bombardier would receive over 22 years. GAH! As Scottish poet Robert Burns once said to the retarded man-child who followed him across the American dustbowl, "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men/Gang aft agley." My plan is gang aft agley! DAMN YOU, CHARLIE SHIELDS!

Who will teach the children about narrative structuralism, you guys? You guys, here's another article about expanding pre-K education. Note: in Kansas. I think this means teaching babies that dinosaur bones are actually the Jesus sticks Adam and Eve used to build their Bible factory. For some reason, the first three grafs are in italics. I thought maybe it was accidental, but those three paragraphs are in past tense. Oooooooh, somebody's trying to have "style!" Right after that, the italics stop and everything goes present tense, ending the avant-garde narrative temporal dislocation the author failed utterly to achieve.

Principal Debi Apple of the Morse-Lamb Early Childhood Center says, "It's really sad, telling a parent we can't take a child." That must be the hardest part of being a principal at a pre-K school, right after dumping sawdust on vomit in the hallway and also that verse about the snake in the song "Little White Duck." We need to expand post-K education, is my thinking, because what about the undergrads whose heads are so hungry for delicious knowledge? Maybe 18-year-olds have to shoulder a staggering burden of debt to purchase an eduction in your apocalyptic dystopia scenario, but in my imaginary fantasy life, all world knowledge is pumped electronically into the heads of children as soon as their skull bones knit together over their little fontanelles.