The children are gone. My children. My neighbors’ children. The whole town’s children. Why? Because I have the worst government on the face of the Earth.

First, Gregor Boob, our illustrious mayor, talks us into getting into a fight with a tribe in Asia, claiming they have some sort of weapon that could wipe us all out.

It turns out he was right – but it wasn’t the weapon he was talking about. No, it wasn’t a new trebuchet or catapult of boiling oil or anything – it was the Plague. Thanks a lot, moron!

It turns out he was just trying to get a piece of the lucrative spice trade in India, plus get us taxpayers to pay Deputy Mayor Chinflea and his friends to rebuild the place they destroyed in the first place.

I’m already taking washing in twice a week while my husband busts his backside to both work the farm and build some furniture on the side for a little extra income. Now I’m supposed to hand it over to these bastards?

Then, when it turns out the rats are carrying the plague and spreading it everywhere, Mayor Boob and his pack of idiots eventually decide to do something about the rat problem. After a few thousand commoners die, mind you.

They hire this guy named Piper to rid the town of rats, and, unlike Chinflea’s band of robbers, he actually does the job. Then, get this, they try to stiff the guy. That’s right; the one competent governmental hire they ever made gets cheated out of his paycheck.

So the guy gets pissed. I mean, who could blame him? So he threatens to take our kids unless he gets paid. I don’t think he really meant to do it, he just didn’t know what level of cold-hearted lowlifes he was dealing with; he thought the threat would be enough to get his money out of those lying, cheating ass clowns.

Well, he should’ve asked me. I would’ve told him they wouldn’t care about human life.

But I do. I do.

Sorry, I teared up there a little. Yeah, a lot of my neighbors are mad at the Pied Piper, but I'm not. I'm putting the blame right square where it belongs -- on Mayor Boob and his incompetent town council. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a torch to set on fire and a pitchfork to sharpen. Have a good evening.

(This was my FFF number 12)