As at any county fair or vaguely rural gathering, there were a long line of porta-johns at the outskirts. These were particularly rank porta-johns, as it was Saturday and the only maintenance they had received for the week were the occasional role of fresh paper chucked through the door. Their contents had been simmering in humid July heat for quite a while, and only the brave or desperate went near. Towards closing time, the five firees, still rather upset, saw Blake head for the porta-johns, and they made their move. It was late and dark by that time, with most of the fair-goers gone, and the five tailed Blake to the facilities and saw him go inside one. With no one nearby and watching, they ran up behind the porta-john and tipped it over frontwards onto its door. There was a giant slosh and a muffled scream as umpteen gallons of rancid waste enveloped Blake, who was trapped inside. The kids ran off, leaving him with no escape, since the weight of the porta-john made the door impossible to open. Blake spent the next several days (which were notably hot and humid) simmering in the noxious porta-john, and was not discovered until the fair reopened on Tuesday morning. It's not known exactly what happened to him; I gather he switched schools and paid frequent visits to a local dermatologist thereafter, though I prefer the rumor that he turned to a life of crime, much as the Joker did after he emerged from a vat of chemicals. In any case, he could never i.d. my friend, who was one of the five.