Mr. Judge
In a future land on the other side of the ocean called Mega-City One, lived Mr. Judge. Mr Judge was an odd sort of a fellow by the standards of you and I. He never smiled and never took his helmet off, even when he was sleeping. Mr. Judge lived in a big house called the Grand Hall of Justice, and as it happens he didn't sleep in an ordinary bed. Instead, he had a sleep machine.
One morning after getting up out of his sleep machine and setting out on patrol on his Lawmaster bike, Mr. Judge felt a strange sensation. It was Mr. Tickle, who had decided it would be amusing to tickle Mr. Judge as he passed by on his bike. “Stop right there, Creep!” shouted Mr. Judge. “That's 20 years, assaulting a judge.” and he cuffed Mr. Tickle to the nearest holding post by one of his unfeasibly long arms.
He was about to move on when who should walk straight into him, but Mr. Bump. “Walking on the pedway without due care and attention!” barked Mr. Judge. “Six months! And interfering with Judge in the course of his duties. That's another 3 years, Creep.” and he proceeded to cuff Mr. Bump to the holding post along with Mr. Tickle.
With barely a pause for breath, Mr. Judge set out on patrol again. He judged nearly everybody he met that day. He judged Mr Clumsy for causing a public nuisance. He judged Mr. Bounce for illegal boinging. He judged Mr. Sneeze for failing to properly contain a biological hazard. He judged Mr. Messy for one-hundred and seventy-seven counts of littering, and Mr. Forgetful for three-hundred and twenty-nine overdue library slugs!
Eventually Mr. Judge encountered Mr. Quiet, who was looking rather nervous because of all the loud sounds in Mega-City One. “Right,” said Mr. Judge, his suspicions aroused by Mr. Quiet's nervous demeanour, “what are you guilty of?”.
“Nothing.” said Mr. Quiet, very quietly.
Mr. Judge wasn't convinced, and he decided to take Mr. Quiet in for interrogation. Mr. Quiet was plugged into special machines which could tell whether he was telling the truth, and Mr. Judge asked Mr. Quiet all kinds of questions for hours and hours, and Mr. Quiet answered all of his questions, very quietly. Mr. Judge had Mr. Quiet searched, and special machines even removed the entire top layer of Mr. Quiet's skin, looking for any sign of illegal substances.
After all that, Mr. Judge was forced to admit that Mr. Quiet was just...well... quiet, and try as he might he could not think of anything illegal about being quiet at all. “All right, Mr. Quiet” he said, “you're free to go”.
“Thank you.” said Mr. Quiet, very quietly, and he went home.
“Oh well.” said Mr. Judge “You can't win 'em all.” And he off he went back to his sleep machine. After all, tomorrow was another long, hard shift.
