In a bizarre coincidence, Bob Rackleff's garage burns down. Shortly before dark, sea turtles begin circling the new Capitol like round, flat buzzards. The mullet, bass, bream, and onlookers gape upward with equally round, lidless eyes. The Or Else is left unspecified. A rumor is circulated that the entire day's events are the work of godless environmentalists in league with Satan.
Muscular stooges begin attempting to round up the icthyan protestors.
While the bream are easily taken with a bit of bread crumb on a cane pole, the bass hold out for live bait on spincast reels. Nets are attempted on the mullet, who refuse any lure. Most of the turtles escape through excluding devices. Before dawn the town is peaceful once again. The mullet have been driven back the St. Mark's, while the tankers have dispersed to various lakes and ponds to return their slippery contents.