Mr. Box woke up in a funk. He had been out all night, celebrating with all the other shape celebs, like Rudy Rhombus and the Triangle Triplets."It sucks being me," he said, his box-head resting forlornly on his non-existent knees.
"Hey, it could be worse--have you seen the kid they call the Octagon? This poor sap is eight-faced and in high school. That has to be tough!"
"Ahhh, I remember high school. I was popular. But, now I'm so has-been. I even lost my job selling skin care products on TV. Everybody used to love me. I was the toast of the town. Now everyone loves the new shapes, the Tommy Pentagons and the Opal Ovals of the world."
"What can I say, Boxy? That's the shape of the world nowadays. Hey, it could be a lot worse. You could be an integer or an adverb. Now, that would suck."
"Yeah, I guess it's not so bad being Mr. Box."
