Work Text:
“I’m nine,” she says.
“What?”
“I’m nine years old. A child. Ya darn creep.”
“But your tombstone says-“
An immense explosion of pain shoots through your skull as a large, cartoony mallet suddenly smashes down against the top of your head and forces it into the asphalt. All the viscera hangin’ out in there has been reduced to goop. A meaty smoothie. You’re dead, at this point, or at least one would hope so, for your sake. Dot is extremely pleased with herself. She swipes her gloves together to rid them of any dirt as she turns and proudly parades back to the tower — Yakko and Wakko aren't gonna believe she got another one!
All is well.
The end.