Like a choir of heavens hanging stars in the night sky, that tinkling angelic voice—it never failed to titillate Stewie to no end. Though he'd never admit it, he derived a marked, naughty pleasure reveling in the divine serenade of a certain young boy. This is why he'd decided to kidnap him.

"Oooh," Stewie squealed, tiny fists curled girlishly to his chest. "You know, every time—every time—I hear your song 'Baby,' you know, I always feel like you're actually singing it to me. You are, aren't you? Won't you?"

Illuminated by a single, dim basement light, a barely pubescent pretty-boy sat, frozen, staring in horror at this toddler captor of his, able only to squirm against the ropes binding his body and whimper into the gag stuffed into his mouth.

Salvation proposed to arrive in the form of a dog. A switch flipped and halogen tubes flickered to life, and down the narrow, wooden stairs trotted white fur in a red collar, Brian Griffin, with a sizeable bone clutched in his jaws. Stewie turned from his quarry with surprise, wary to this intruder, who, upon his arrival, assessed the situation and turned a stern expression onto Stewie.

Stewie spoke first: "It's not what you think!"

"Did you kidnap a little boy?" Brian scolded from around the bone. "God, even Herbert's perverted obsession with Chris hasn't gone this far. Yet."

Stewie derailed, frowning, then, replied, "How can you bash someone's kinks like that, huh? It's awfully narrow-minded for a dog with permawood for a married mother of three outside his own species."

"Yeah, but have you seen her ass?"

"Eeeeeeew!"

"Besides," Brian reasoned, "There's all sorts of legal loopholes, there. Kidnapping is a felony, though. We live next door to a cop, for Christ's sake!"

Stewie rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Joe would love to know about that stash you keep under the hedge." The boy's eyes, as he said this, fell on Brian's muzzle. "Um… Brian?"

"What?"

"What were you comin' down here for?"

"Huh? Why?"

"What'cha got in your mouth, there?"

Brian dropped the moist bone from his mouth into his paw, and said, defensively, "It… It's a turkey femur. I was… gonna bury it."

"Uh-huh," Stewie positively purred, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "And… And do you often have bones in your mouth?"

Flatly, Brian responded, "Well, usually. All dogs carry things in their mouths."

"No, no," Stewie continued, determined, "I mean, do you like taking bones in your mouth?"

Brian was silent, a moment, then, "What are you getting at?"

"Gah!" shouted Stewie, frustrated. "Nevermind! You always ruin my fun!" The toddler bounded up the stairs and out of the basement muttering obscenities.

Brian shook his head, then, turned to bound teenager and approached him with a smile and friendly wag. Kneeling, and removing the handkerchief from the boy's mouth, he said, "Hi. I'm Brian. What's your name?"

The boy gasped, sputtering out a frightful "Thank you so much. I thought he was going to kill me. I'm Justin Bieber."

Brian's smile vanished with a soft "Oh." Without more than a moment's hesitation, he stuffed the gag back into the Boy's mouth, ignoring the terrified cry from behind it. The dog sniffed out a suitable spot for his bone, paw-dug a hole, dropped it in, then, scratched dirt over it. After patting the ground firmly, he made for the stairs but, once there, turned a contemptuous glance on Justin. He growled, then, ascended, cutting the lights—all of them-once he reached the top, and slammed the door.

In the darkness, Justin Bieber whimpered once more.