Chapter 5
Friday dawned over Waterford with all the subtlety of a pie in the face. The cows gathered in the town square, holding a sympathy vigil for the "Lost BJ's," while the mayor was busy lobbying for a new initiative called "Bring Your Own Trash Day" (because apparently, the town's budget was as empty as the condiment trays at the BK Lounge). The BK Lounge itself had replaced its "Help Hotline" sign with a new one that read, "Justice Served—But You'll Pay for the Plates."
Colonel Mustard and Lieutenant Pickle were nursing their usual questionable coffee when Mrs. Peabody stormed in, waving a bill the size of a small novel and looking like she'd just been through a blender.
"They fined me for being a victim!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking like a broken record. "After the Great Condiment Caper, I got charged for the damages caused by the cartel cats. Apparently, I'm responsible for their 'sauce spill' on Main Street. They even billed me for the cleanup crew's coffee!"
Pickle nearly dropped his fry. "That's asa backwards, it's practically forwards!"
Mustard nodded gravely, his mustache twitching. "The system often punishes victims instead of protecting them. Justice should mean making things right—not handing out bills like party favors at a condiment convention."
Just then, the mayor burst in, waving a stack of papers titled "Victim Tax Proposal." "It's to cover the cost of cleanup and paperwork!" she announced cheerfully, as if she were unveiling the cure for world hunger instead of a new way to squeeze money out of the already squeezed.
Pelosi with the Clues appeared from behind the soda machine, holding a magnifying glass over Mrs. Peabody's bill. "True honor is earned, not given. And sometimes, the system confuses honor with punishment. Or in Waterford's case, punishment with profit."
Mustard slammed his fist on the table, making the ketchup bottle jump. "Waterford, we can't let this stand! Victims should be supported, not penalized. Otherwise, we're just feeding the cats—and they're already fat enough from all the stolen sardines."
Pickle added with a smirk, "If you get mugged and then billed for the mug, you're not in a justice system—you're in a sitcom."
The townsfolk murmured in agreement, and the BK Lounge erupted into an impromptu protest—led by Pickle himself, who grabbed a battered guitar and launched into a parody of Johnny Cash's classic "Folsom Prison Blues." The song quickly became an anthem for Waterford's beleaguered victims:
Parody Song:
"Fool Nun', Poverty Won the Blues"
(To the tune of "Folsom Prison Blues")
I hear the judge a-callin',
Ringin' that courthouse bell,
But I ain't guilty, Lord,
Yet here I am in this paper hell.
I bet there's rich folks laughin',
Drinkin' their fancy booze,
While I'm stuck payin' bills,
Singin' the fool nun', poverty won the blues.
When I was just a victim,
They handed me the blame,
Now I'm payin' for the mess,
And it's always the same game.
I shot my mouth off once,
Now I'm singin' these sad, sad tunes,
Of fool nun' and poverty,
And the system that's got me singin' the blues.
If I could turn back time,
I'd fight for what is right,
But here in Waterford town,
Victims lose the fight.
As Pickle's gritty vocals echoed through the BK Lounge, the crowd stomped their feet and clapped along, energized by the raw truth wrapped in humor.
Mrs. Peabody wiped a tear from her eye. "That's exactly how it feels!"
Colonel Mustard nodded, eyes shining with resolve. "Justice isn't about paperwork or fines. It's about making things right for the wronged. And if the system won't do it, then it's up to us to demand better."
The mayor's squirrel, perched on a nearby stool, squeaked indignantly and tossed an acorn at a nearby "Victim Tax" flyer.
Pickle grinned. "Maybe that's the start of a new revolution—one acorn at a time."
As the day wore on, petitions were signed, protests staged, and the mayor's squirrel finally filed a formal complaint (mostly about stolen acorns and lack of respect).
Colonel Mustard looked out over the crowd, feeling the stirrings of change. "Remember, Waterford: The system might be broken, but with a little common sense—and a lot of mustard—there's hope for justice yet."
Pickle raised his guitar. "And maybe a few more songs."
Because in Waterford, even when the system punishes victims, laughter, music, and common sense are the best weapons to fight back.
Colonel Mustard's Clue:
If you get mugged and then billed for the mug, you're not in a justice system—you're in a sitcom.