"Kiss? We can't have that in our song." The headmaster of Kidz Bop said, sighing and scribbling out a piece of lyrics and writing down new lines. "Hug? Touch? No, we'll have to change those, too."
The headmaster looked up for confirmation at the huge crowds of kids sitting in a row of desks. Each one nodded, not wanting to taint their innocence by speaking such words. Most of them agreed - except the fakers - that they couldn't bring themselves to say any of those words, even if they did get paid two grand for each song they participate in.
The headmaster, a man of forty years old, looked up and glanced around the group of kids, who were in their school desks innocently whispering to each other. He smiled before reading out loud their 'fixing' of Lady Gaga's song 'Alejandro', changing so many words in it that he could change the tune and pass it off as his breakthrough single.
The kids loved the new version, applauding him simultaneously and orderly once he was finished reading it over. Saying the lyrics out loud made it very hard to say and not sing when he knew the song so well. His hookers really loved singing it, and he requested it often with his new round each night.
Speaking of which... He was supposed to meet his scheduled hooker (Brooke? Or was it Beth? Becky?) tonight at seven. He lifted his hairy arm and looked at his studded watch, reading five-thirty. He shoved his papers around and got to the very large sack of hate mail - he pushed the bag aside. The headmaster moved on to the corresponding very small sack of fan mail. It was almost as small as his -
"Alright, Group G," He began, referring to his last group of Kidz Bop singers/dancers of the night, untying the sack of mail. "Let's move on to fan mail, shall we? We need to get this show on the road." He did not mention his hooker.
He read several aloud, including one from an eight-year-old named Jenny, who loved their music videos so much that that was all she ever listened to and even said that she forced her mother to buy her a laptop so she could fall asleep to it and watch them daily. It was odd, really, but nothing out of the ordinary for fan mail. The children clapped at the friendly ones, laughed at the funny ones, and cried at the sob-stories.
By the time he reached six-thirty, they had finished reading this month's fan mail, only having one left. By then the headmaster was so ready to get out of the building and leave work to get to his awaiting prostitute. This being said, he rushed to reading the letter before so much as glancing over it first.
"I personally think your Kidz Bop things are only so popular because of some diddler somewhere really gets excited at the thought of kids singing. The only reason those climb so (okay, moderately) high on the charts is because that's what molesters listen to while they rape children. Like, it's their background music. Raping background music... Love, Jake from Ohio."
The headmaster perked his eyebrows, widened his eyes, and pursed his lips, one eye twitching. The children said nothing, glancing at each other. What did those words mean? The fakers knew what they meant, so they asked them, tainting every single one of them as the fakers spoke tales of butts and breasts and women's no-no places, and yes, tallywhackers.
The headmaster was baffled! The whole batch of them was unpure now! He ran out of his office with his briefcase, never to be seen again. It was figured out later that, on his way home from banging his hooker, he died spontaneously.