A Brown student was killed last night, a spokesperson announced. The victim, found without his head, was promptly dead pronounced. Young Martin Pitt, a Jabberwock, had barely turned nineteen. His family, when notified, was shockingly obscene:

"What a fucking moron," said Pitt's mother, Martha Rentence, who didn't take her husband's name so I could rhyme this sentence. "To call yourself a Jabberwock you have to be insane. The well-read murderers assume you're asking to be slain." Police admit their only lead's a less-than-stellar witness: Jed, a homeless vagrant of uncertain mental fitness:

"The culprit is, according to the vagabond's report, 'a Lilliputian child with a Brobdingnagian sword.' Excuse me?" said one officer reporting to the press, "Is there some book I should have read to understand this mess?" The Noser took the time to track down Jed and get his take, though as he spoke, there was no
doubt the man was clearly baked:

"Twas brillig, man. Real brillig. The most brillig shit I've seen." Jed paused to cough and snort and spit and take a hit of green. "That Martin dude was walking down the street humming some song, when suddenly, this boy appeared, assaulting him head-on. 'Snicker-snack!' the kid exclaimed with prepubescent thunder, and with a slew of vorpal strokes he cut poor Pitt asunder. He danced a merry jig and hollered out 'Callooh! Callay!' He grabbed Pitt's severed head and, just like that, galumphed away."

Since hearing of the incident, the Jabberwocks refuse to sing, to go outside, or even grant phone interviews. As family and friends all do the best they can to cope, police are urging everybody not to give up hope. Said one investigator, "On this matter you can trust us: the criminal in question will be served poetic justice."

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