Hardy knew that fucker spilled that scalding

Hardy knew that fucker spilled that scalding water on purpose. But Laurel's dead, soulless eyes, the eyes of a killer, meant he couldn't hurt him directly. Oh god, did he know?

Did he know about the warning label on the bottom of the glass? Did it not read that hot water causes burns? The Killer Laurel took out a gun aimed it at Hardy, and grinned. Gulp!

Killer Laurel smiled that evil dopey smile. He had Hardy. Killer Laurel pulled out a fork and poked Hardy in the double chin. Then stabbed Hardy in his clavicle meat

was by the knife itself. She dropped the knife out of her hand and started sobbing. "It's all your fault! You are the one that made me feel bad about my life." He stood there,

Unable to speak. Mack The Knife appeared and grabbed his knife while waving fairy dust to calm everyone down. Bertolt Brecht was standing in the doorway. A voice sang by itself

The voice had a low but beautiful pitch, cutting through the atmosphere and seeming to shimmer, even though it should not have been possible. There again, anything was possible.

As we found ourselves immersed in the warm, comforting sounds of that voice, something else caught our attention.

Just with a slight turn of our heads. If only we were brave enough. If only we were quick enough. We could've caught a glimpse of that fleeting creature.

We turned to go our separate ways, tromping ponderously back to our homes. Our mission had failed. We would never see the tuxedo-wearing walrus of Cassidy County ever again.