Felonium walked along the barren sidewalk of Buggermediddles Avenue, feeling down after a rough day at the park. It seemed as though everything had gone wrong (even more than usual in his mid-life crisis). He arrived in the morning to find that his favorite swing (the second from the left—if you were facing the schoolyard) was occupied by Oxykleen, the kid that had moved in to the ghastly pink house down the road from Felonium’s. Grudgingly, Felonium had taken the swing next to Oxykleen (not without a few scowls!) only to find that some derelict—quite frequent in these parts of Whatsthatdontstepinit—had apparently left sulfuric acid on the swing which then went on to burn out the bum of Felonium’s pants. Luckily, Felonium had decided to wear his fire-truck boxers today and thus saved himself the embarrassment of walking around in holey bottoms, as was his custom.

Now, you might be wondering what is so bad about this so far? Nothing, nothing at all. What happened next will really have you in a tizzy.