The Tri-Wheelers of Pittsburgh
August 16th, 2026
I woke up in a cold sweat as the sirens blared across the street; that was the fourth house burnt to a crisp this week. There's no way it wasn’t them. As I went to sleep, I noticed a faint shadow just out of my sight. As I turned to the shadow, it disappeared. Instead, I heard a faint laugh. It seemed like only one voice, but I realized with increasing dread that there were, in fact, three voices.
They found me.
I sprang to my feet as quickly as possible, and was met with the Lil Trikes gang: Timmy, Jimmy, and Emmie. All three of them — in all their 3foot glory. I go to flee, but I am met with hundreds of dumdum lollipops to the back of the head. Afterward, they wailed on me with their plastic bats, whose swings were strong enough to knock any man out. Disgruntled, but not deterred, I tried to play the hero and not retaliate— after all, they're only four.
Eventually, after the 50th time hearing how I was a poopy-head, I snapped. I grabbed Timmy up by his stupid Teletubbies graphic and raised my fist to meet his head, only to be hit in the back of the knee by Jimmy’s Little Tikes car. I crashed to the ground, screaming in agony. They started kicking me when I was down, while their light-up Skechers illuminated the newly placed bruises. They demanded that I give them my wallet, so they could afford nachos and chocolate milk at the school cafeteria. Ultimately, I gave in to their demands and conceded the entirety of my wallet to the Triker Gang. With their newfound chocolate milk money, they climbed on their Lil Tikes and disappeared into the shadows from which they came. I haven’t had the displeasure of encountering them since this fateful day, but I fear for the day they return. It's only a matter of time.