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Did I say that?

What Do You Mean, Spit?

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Yesterday, while driving home from grocery shopping, I turned on the radio an heard a short piece about how the police are looking for a serial rapist in Sprockhövel (small town near Wuppertal), who has attacked 19 women since 1994. To find him, they are doing DNA test, and after having tested 3000 men in Sprockhövel, they now think that the suspect might have moved to Wuppertal. So, now they want to test 400 men who used to live in Sprockhövel and now live in Wuppertal. “Poor guys, having to show up there and having there mouths swabbed for DNA” I thought. Well, what do you know. I come home, open the mailbox, and I have a letter from the Bochum police, informing me, that I have to show up next wednesday to have my DNA sampled. Umm, OK… But wait! I haven’t lived in Sprockhövel, why do they want to test me? Some thinking later, it hits me: When I was one year old, my parents had rented a house in the country, near a farm, to get away from the city in the summer, but it was only a secondary residence, as far as I recall. And we had that for three years. And, yes, it was in Sprockhövel. Which of course makes me a suspect, because you know how vicious those little kids can be. Maybe they should have refined their SQL query take into account the age at which the men actually lived in Sprockhövel. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against DNA sampling to catch those scumbags, I just find it strange how ended up in the sample group.

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