Traveling through New England a motorist stopped for gas in a tiny village.
"What type of town is this?" he asked the station attendant.
"All depends," the native drawled.
"Do you mean by them that has to live in this dad-blamed, moth-eaten, dust-covered dump, or by them that's merely enjoying its quaint and picturesque rustic charms for a short spell."

I was making Play-doh animals with my four-year-old niece, Chris, and her three-year-old brother, Neil. While Chris was clearly molding a crude but recognizable dog, figuring what Neil was making was a bit more challenging.
In a very exclusive private school near California's Silicon Valley, a third-grade teacher was lecturing her upper high-class students about the less fortunate. She asked them each to write an essay about a poor family in the area.