Thanks for reminding me, John.
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There was a little boy by the name of Mike. Mike was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, avoiding his bath, breaking things, and going to school. One day, when Mike went down to the school bus stop, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about a Wreltney.
Being a little boy, Mike was curious. So, he asked them, "What's a Wreltney?"
"You don't know what a Wreltney is?" the kids exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the wait, they would not go near Mike, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Mike, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Otto!" one of the children shouted. "Mike doesn't know what a Wreltney is!"
The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what a Wreltney is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Mike to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Mike got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the Pledge of Allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on the history of picture framing. Mike was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about a Wreltney.
Mike's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Mike asked, "Ms. Crabapple, what's a Wreltney?"
"You don't know what a Wreltney is?" the teacher cried in alarm, "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man. No, don’t act so surprised … no ifs, no ands, no buts … march!"
So, Mike headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin, pencil mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. His mere presence was enough to send little boys like Mike who had been sent to his office trembling with fear.
"Well, Mike," he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?"
Mike whimpered, "Mr. Skinner, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like Ms. Crabapple … she just sent me to you and I don’t know why."
"Now, Mike, “said the principal in a voice oily and dripping with menace, “I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-Pal, after all. Heh, heh! Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?"
"It's because I don't know what some stupid Wreltney is."
"What? You don't know what a Wreltney is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended.", roared the principal.
The principal threw Mike out of his office and told him to go home. Mike, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Mike!" she sobbed, "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"Mom," Mike cried, "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what a Wreltney is!"
"What? You don't know what a Wreltney is?" Mike's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So, Mike marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his anxious parents muttering downstairs but couldn’t make out the words. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Then his door was thrown open.
"Mike," his father began in that lecturing, father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?"
"Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what a Wreltney is!"
"You ... you don't know what a Wreltney is”, he sputtered. “Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. No TV, and forget about dinner!"
Mike's father slammed the door and stormed off. Mike collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way, lying there, miserable, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: "Mike. I am a Wreltney, Mike."
Mike sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he couldn’t.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. Find me, Mike."
It was coming from outside. So Mike got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out onto the roof.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. Follow my voice."
Mike jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a forbidding forest.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. Follow me, Mike."
The voice was coming from inside the woods. It was very dark and very frightening, but Mike didn't care. He had to find out what a Wreltney was. So, bravely, he entered the woods.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. Keep going, Mike."
Mike kept going into the forest. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But, he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. This way, Mike."
Eventually, Mike emerged from the woods. He was on the shore of a lake.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. I'm out here, Mike."
It was coming from out across the lake. Mike got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But, he had to find out what a Wreltney was.
"Mike. I am a Wreltney. Row, Mike."
The voice was coming from across the lake. Mike doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Mike, I am a Wreltney. Look up, Mike."
It was coming from directly above him. Mike stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Mike didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
Moral of this story: Don't run with scissors.
:lol:
