“Oh I’m not going to give you time in prison. Your punishment is going to be far much harder. You! are going to help judge Children’s Talent Quests. May the Deity of your choice have Mercy on you!” Have fun, endless repetitions of the same routine come to mind, but be as evil as you like.
[AN: This might work on thieves and killers, but it would not be the thing for pedos or molesters]
“Betcher bottum dolleeeeerrrrr… that tomorrOOOOWWW… there’ll be fuuuun!” Screeched the kid. Evidently this ‘little darling’ had opted for volume over tonal control. And they didn’t know the words.
What passed for a dance were spasmodic gyrations out of sync with any known beat and a beat behind the more sophisticated moves the mother was doing just inside his peripheral vision.
The kid didn’t have rhythm. They didn’t have music. They weren’t even telegenic and their ‘costume’ looked like one of those store-bought smocks made out of flimsy shopping-bag plastic.
He wrote his notes in cryptic cypher and called for the next kid.
Their costume was overalls and a styrofoam Minecraft Pick. They proceeded to holler out a rendition of I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.
These kids had to be the most tone-deaf, uncoordinated, talentless piles of consumers that had ever been born. And ugly. Yikes. Forget being beaten with the Ugly Stick. The entire population of this dirt water area had grown up repeatedly smashing themselves into the Ugly Forest.
Sure, Gareth had repeated crimes. He’d done damage to communities… but did he deserve the rest of his life with this?
He decided not.
After the twentieth rendition of Little Boat on the Sea, he decided. Gareth stood up. “That’s it. You can all go home. They’re all ugly, talentless little bastards who can’t dance, can’t sing, and can’t act.”
He didn’t even get as far as the final “Fuck you all.”
It was suicide by mob.