Christine O'Donnell Surreptitiously Witch-Tested in Swimming Pool, Floats

Nervous neighbors ask a collective, "What now?"

ORD HAS gotten out that skittish neighbors of suspected witch Christine O'Donnell staged an end-of-summer pool party to test whether the Delaware Senate candidate would sink or float.

"She floated," confirmed a worried-looking neighbor who asked not to be identified for what he called "obvious reasons."

The neighbor said his fellow witch-testing partyers made sure that "all rafts and other flotation devices were occupied," and that the shallow end of the pool was too crowded for the suspected witch to wade in, thus avoiding the risks "of not learning the truth" before the November election.

"Yes, it wasn't long before she just jumped right in the deep end and began floating," recounted the anonymous neighbor. "Now the question is, what do we do about it? We can't have a witch in Congress, for Pete's sake."

Traditionally, a woman suspected of witchcraft would have been killed, "but I don't know if that's legal now," said the neighbor, "what with all the laws that have gone on the books since the olden days. We're going to Google that and find out," he confirmed, adding, "because time is of the essence."

Said the man's wife, who also witnessed the floating, "It's really too bad, because I agree with Christine's policies and would have voted for her. But a witch is a witch, so let's get cracking."

Despite the large numbers of people these days who can actually swim, Ms. O'Donnell's neighbors remained confident of their conclusion that the Senate candidate must be a witch based on her ability to float in a swimming pool.

"Most normal people tread water in order to float," he explained, "but Christine, she sort of almost stood in the deep water, hardly moving. I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I!" exclaimed another neighbor, who happened by. "In fact, I'm pretty sure she was floating on top of the water, and no one's supposed to be able to do that but Jesus Christ, if you ask me."

"I believe the tradition was to burn them, wasn't it?" suggested the first neighbor's wife. "Why don't we invite Christine to a nice autumn bonfire? She can bring her wonderful s'mores recipe. It has a little something special in it. She calls it her secret—uh-oh."

"She can just bring some potato chips," said the husband. "I don't think there'd be any harm in those, as long as the bag is sealed."