Ah, Summer.

Marissa's Attempt at Cleaning Her Room, Part Deux:
I ventured deeper into the room, pushing past the vines to glance at the walls, which were painted a sort of Pepto Bismol pink, only even more nauseating to look at, if you can believe it.
It has been awhile since I've been in my room, I thought, scowling.
When did I stop liking the color pink? 5?
And is that a N'Sync poster I spy?
Curious.
If I am not mistaken, they stopped being popular before I was born...
I took a moment to stop and glare angrily at Justin Timberlake's faded, smarmy face.
"Your songs are atrocious, and your acting is even worse." I said aloud to the poster.
His smile seemed to dim a bit from my unkind words, and his eyes, usually devoid of any sign of intelligence, seemed to grow slightly sharper.
I didn't think anything of it at the moment, simply shrugging it off and continuing onward, straightening my safari hat a third time.
When I was finally satisfied with the straightness of my headgear, a sudden eerie wind came from behind and knocked it clean off, blowing it underneath a nightstand.
Well crap, I thought. That was my favorite hat, and now it's probably being devoured by the dreaded Chapeau Mangeur that often lurks underneath bedroom furniture.
As I pondered how my hat could've got knocked over by the wind whilst indoors, I heard laughter. Prententious laughter that could have only come from one person. A certain fallen pop star...
"Justin Timberlake," I whispered as realization dawned.
"Baby, bye, bye, bye." the poster said, suddenly in front of me, and then I blacked out.

(Oho. Suspense.)