“Ewww…”

Trevor tried to pull the stick back out of the goop, but there was no saving it now. Poking it had naturally been his duty, as he was both six years old and the Magistrate, a title he had heard somewhere once. Plus, he was wearing a cape.

There were three boys present at the crimson goop exhibition. To Trevor’s left, stooped Brandon, who opted to be the Professor, because he was smart like that, and wore glasses. On the opposite shore of the jellied pool was Gregory, the Pope.

“How’re you gonna get that stuff off of the stick, Trevor?” inquired Brandon.

“I don’t know, you’re the Professor.”

“It’s a shame,” mumbled the Pope sullenly, “we’ll have to find a new poker.”

Trevor dropped the poker completely and leaned a little closer to the red mess.

“Yeah, well, what about Philippe?” their Magistrate mumbled.

Philippe had been to all members of the Earth Exploration, Defense, and Evil Fighting Justice League the finest pet trout they had ever seen. Trevor’s dad had just that day caught and brought him home.

It had been decided by the League that Philippe swam so fast in his Igloo cooler because he was cold and was trying to keep warm. Naturally, being close friends with all members of the Animal Kingdom, the League sprang into action and moved Philippe out of the cooler and onto the moist August sidewalk, where the humidity could warm him up a bit.

“I didn’t know fish could melt,” documented the Professor.

The Pope, “It’s like a hundred and seventy-eight out today.”

And so, the League melted Philippe into a glowing magenta trout puddle on the sidewalk outside the Pope’s house. But it was all in his best interest. After close examination, it was determined that Philippe must not die and so was shoveled into a Radio Flyer and taken to the Professor’s house, where the whole string of events would be undone.

Three hours later (the precise time it had taken Philippe to turn to scaly jello), the trout was removed from the innards of a stainless steel Frigidaire freezer. He had not changed color. He was, however, solid.

The Magistrate was appropriately the first to ask, “So Professor, what is he now?”

“I, I think he’s Swedish.”

The Pope leaned over Philippe and with an air of officiality proclaimed, “Philippe, I dub thee ‘Swedish Fish.’ You were a good boy, a loyal trout.”

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