Moptop and Jack were browsing the CD section of the warehouse when they were pleasantly surprised to see one of their professors, Dr. Hammerthorn, in the next aisle. Moptop called him over and the three chatted pleasantly for a while. "Do you have any recommendations?" inquired Jack, gesturing to the wide array of albums that surrounded them.
"Hmm. You know, you guys should really be listening to this. Parliament-Funkadelic. Check it out!"
"Ah, yes, that's good stuff," Moptop concurred. The three then said their good-byes and went their separate ways.
As Moptop moved on to another section of the warehouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. He continued pretending to nonchalantly browse the aisles, and, as he suspected, he saw a dark figure peek out from behind one of the displays. Turning quickly on his heels, he caught a clearer view of this shadow figure, and realized it was Hammerthorn, though he had undergone a transformation.
Hammerthorn now stood approximately nine feet tall, with a greyish pallor and rows of needles emerging from his skin. Upon the realization that he had been spotted, Hammerthorn cast aside any attempts at stealth and charged toward moptop, shaking his needle-covered fists and screaming, "YOU . . . CANNOT . . . SING!"
A short chase ensued, but, luckily for Moptop, he had a significant advantage of distance. Instead of continuing the pursuit, Hammerthorn skidded to a halt, snatched a bag from one of the warehouse shelves, and threw it.
The bag flew in a perfect arc, hitting Moptop squarely in the face, where it exploded on impact. Now covered in the contents of the bag--brackish water and kelp--Moptop pulled a starfish off his face and looked at the label on the bag. "Assorted Crustaceans." He had never felt such shame.
