Pillsbury looked out of his window at the crowds of protesters
“Let justice be served!” one sign said, another “Kill the boy!!”
The chant so far had been,
“Justice, Justice, Justice!”
Pillsbury had worked too hard and too long to lose his job because of some salt killer.

That midnight, Detective Pillsbury hid in the fridge. The kid, Tommy, had a record of eating “a few” late night snacks.
All he had to do now was wait.

The door opened and he catapulted himself onto the face of Tommy. He gurgled as Pillsbury shoved himself down his throat. If Tommy chewed, the detective would most surely die. Luckily he didn’t.

As Detective Pillsbury slid down Tommy’s esophagus he took out the explosive he had brought. After planting the bomb he let himself travel down the intestines out the “exit”. He snuck back to police headquarters.

The next morning, the Cupboard City watched as the family came down for breakfast. When Tommy’s stomach exploded cheers rang out.

Justice had been served.