If you liked my last story, My Friend Boogy, you'll love this one.
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Bobby Dango was a typical teenager. Raging hormones, peer pressure, and whatnot. But skip the characterization, let's cut to the chase.
One day, when he was cleaning his room, he discovered a mysterious box. It had a lock, but he ignored it and tried to pry it open.
When his mom, Michelle, came in, she gasped, and ripped the box from his hands. "NO!" she yelled. "No, Bobby. This is a box of secrets. No touchy."
"But Mom... I wanna know what's inside--"
"Don't talk back to me, mister. Go brush your teeth!"
"But Mom... I brushed my teeth 3 minutes ago--"
"I have had enough of your obnoxiousness. Go to bed!"
"But Mom... It's noon--"
"I DON'T KNOW YOU ANYMORE!"
And with that, she cupped her hands over her eyes, sprinting out Bobby's room, and began to wail.
Bobby shrugged this off. He continued to prying the box open. After a few minutes, it gave out, and Bobby happily reached for a folded piece of paper inside.
He unfolded it and gazed at it. It was a poem. He began to read.
"Your Face Is Like Wilted Flowers, an origanal poem by Michelle Dango.
Oh Richard Simmons, Richard Simmons
How I love thee
The way you lift your leg
When you want to pee
Your new shiny shoes
Your excercize routine
The way you bend your hips
When you're pumping"
The newspaper's headline the next day was "Dango, 15, Kills Self Over Mother's Poetry."
