*dashes in* I AM HERE!

Gypsy Rosalie: The best part is the thousand or so ways it can go.

xx99'luftBALLONS: U WANT MOAR WELL HERRE ISH TEH MOARZ

DoOfY aNd PeRrY: Tank you vewwy much! And, judging by your username, you know where it came from, too.

LET US BEGIN.

This could not be true. Nay, nay! Well, of course it was. After all, he just gave himself a paper cut with the thing.

Malachi sat in his mailbox-less (for they are evil weapons of Satan) dead yard, staring at the bill. This couldn't have been right, could it? His family was poor, yes, but his father had been certain he had already paid these expenses! And the local market was in trouble, too, but clams did not cost $45!

Malachi sighed, scratching the back of his head. Why on the holy Earth would yon pigtail one try and milk such currency from such a poor family of a former pastor? Why would she stoop to forcing out from them money they did not possibly have? Why would she force such fiends upon them if they refused? Why would she resend a bill that was already paid for to a family already struggling?

…Oh yeah, she was evil.

Malachi sighed again, now more heavily, and stood. What could be done?

"YO, SADBOY!" A piercing voice wailed now. The purple boy's blood froze. Ensuing tackle in three, two, one-

A brighter purple girl in a sock hat pinned Malachi face-down to the lifeless brown lawn. Oh, the infinite nuisance.

"Thou must removeth thineself from my spine…" he squeaked in utter pain. With a smirk, the girl stood, allowing Malachi to stand. He dusted off his pants, regained his stature, and asked, "Why hast thou taken thine unfathomable satanic energy out upon me once more, Lady Monica?"

The girl stared blankly. Malachi groaned, pressing a hand against his head. He then started again, speaking slowly, for he did not know the proper words. "Why…are…you…crazy…and…jumping…onto…me…again…Moni…Moni…"

"Monique!" the girl finished for him, slapping his back. "Just trying to grab ya. Why the long face, boy?"

"'Tis this bill!" Malachi replied, holding up the paper. "T'was paid for, thee can be certain! But nay, yon pigtailed one says naught. And…and…she insisteth we repay these expenses, but we may not!" He buried his face in his hands, feeling Shakespearean tragedy course through his veins. In under a moment, Monique had grabbed him by his few strands of hair and pulled him up to her eye-level. "Well!" she exclaimed. "Y'all best get yo money back with yo peace o' mind!"

"…Hm?"

"I want ya to go back to Shmendetta's joint and tell her, 'it ain't yo job to make me choke up more money than I owe y'all!' Go!" Monique gave Malachi an encouraging shove, who stared in horror. It could only lead to certain death.

A large, blue fiend leapt out from behind a tree. It had overheard everything. It slapped Monique in the face with its tail, sending her flying. It then picked up Malachi and whisked him away to the decrepit house on McEvil Boulevard.