The Principal calls you into his office and immediately accuses you of having written a wonderfully elegant poem utilizing no less than thirty-eight different definitions of the word "shit." All while keeping form, you prodigy you.
Unfortunately this is not an invitation to join the PSA. You have the smarts to deny such a ridiculous claim, but the Principal insists that it was you, and he knows for a fact.
"How do you know?" You demand, weary of the circular argument.
The Principal looks at you dead in the eyes and says: "Because I have eyes in the back of your head."
