7:32 PM
As Strong Bad, Pom Pom and Homsar (or, as they called themselves, Poms, Homs, and Stoms), downed some cold ones, except for Homsar, who just stood there like a weirdo, The Ugly One was reading a story called The Last Miger, a story about a magical tiger/mouse mix to Meaghan, but quietly, so as to not attract insults from Strong Bad.
"…and then the prince was led into the hall of mirrors, where laser rock shows were king of the castle," read The Ugly One.
"You really need to take a class or something," commented Meaghan.
Strong Bad snatched the looseleaf paper.
"The Last Miger: A Story of Fiscal Earnings by The Ugly One," read Strong Bad, as him and Pom Pom laughed.
As Strong Bad and The Ugly One argued over whether Strong Bad had wrinkled the piece of paper in the snatching process, Pom Pom remarked, "Hey, it's 7:30. The bus is, like, twenty minutes late."
"Maybe Rex finally snapped and hijacked it?" suggested Strong Bad.
"You know, I think there's a rule that you get to go home at 7:45."
"There's no rule," muttered Strong Bad.
"Yes-huh! And even if there isn't—which there is—if we keep waiting, a guy in that 'white sedan' you always hear about might pull up and kidnap us."
"Then our parents could sue the schoolboard and get lots of money for us."
"And we could enjoy this money if we ever get rescued from the kidnapper."
"So, whether or not we got all of that money depends on the competence of the Free Country USA police force?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Okay, then it's settled, we go home if 7:45 is bus-less," said Strong Bad.
7:45 PM
The bus had not yet come."Time to go!" said Pom Pom, checking the clock on his cell phone.
"Come to my house," said Strong Bad. "So and So's at work and What's Her Face's at the high school. Coach Z is no doubt lying unconscious in a dumpster somewhere in the outskirts of town, so my place'll be good for hours."
"All right!" said Pom Pom. "C'mon, Homs."
Strong Bad, Pom Pom and Homsar began walking off the sidewalk.
"Come on, maybe-girls," said Strong Bad to The Ugly One and Meaghan. "You can call Meaghan's mom when we get home."
As Meaghan and The Ugly One began walking with the others, Strong Bad said to Steve, "You should go home, man."
Steve just glared at him and remained perfectly still on the bus stop.
"Go get kidnapped, Teller," muttered Pom Pom.
Just then, two ten-year-old girls that Strong Bad had seen twice or thrice around school ran up to the bus stop.
"My mom said schools cancelled," said one of the girls, "'cos the school's flooded."
"Good time!" cheered Pom Pom.
A look of horror crept over Strong Bad's face.
At the same moment, the Umpire, prinicpal of the school, had just arrived on campus and was standing with the school's janitor, Claude.
A torrent of water gushed past their feet.
"My school is ruined…when will this stop?" asked the Umpire.
"Well, there's no exact way of knowing, monsieur," said Claude. "But it will stop eventually…but until then, there's no way of…um…doing…that thing…"
"Knowing?"
"Uh…good enough. There's no way of knowing how long it'll go."
"Yeah. Thanks for nothing. Anyway…is there any other damage done, Cloud?"
"Claude."
"Right, right, whatever. Well, is there?"
"Cull-AW-duh."
"Yeah. Is there?"
"Like, if a bear scratched someone with its claw, the person would be claw'd. Think that."
"I know! I know! Is there any more damage?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, of course. Yeah, there's something else. It's uh…pretty big."
And so, Claude led the Umpire out to the courtyard behind the school, where stood the big ol' statue of the school's bulldog mascot, it's solid bronze self gleaming in the sunlight. But there was something else gleaming in the sunlight, too.
An axe. Embedded, rammed, into the head of the bulldog.
"Mearciful heavens," said The Umpire. "That thing's solid bronze, how could an axe get stuck into it? That's impossible!"
"Seeing is believing," said Claude.
"Well, I must be blind, 'cause this is unbelievable."
"What's worse, that's not all."
"Huh?"
"Look down."
The Umpire looked down, for a moment. Then, he took a step back to see what he was looking at more clearly.
In front of the bulldog with the axe in his head was a huge message, spraypainted in the ground in yella paint. The Umpire could just stare in shock at what he was reading. In mildly untidy, non-specific, all-capital handwriting was this:
THEY MADE ME DO IT.