Boris is blissfully unaware how revolting his nose-picking habit is. Will he ever learn?

Boris Biggie Picks His Nose

Central Australia, dessert and a few scattered trees, an old weathered house / Boris standing in front of the house

In Australia (somewhere in the middle) was a young chap named Boris Biggle.


Boris

Rocks and trees in the Australian desert, Boris picking his nose

He had big, brown eyes, ten fingers and toes, and a terrible habit of picking his nose. To make things worse, more often than not, he made a meal of his sticky snot.

Part 2

Elementary classroom with students looking nauseous / Boris at his desk picking his nose

His classmates often felt the need to belch when they observed the deed.

His teacher, Mrs. Wondercheese, with twenty-seven kids to please, tried to find a simple cure with pungent herbs and some manure.


Classmates

Mrs Wondercheese stirring a cauldron at home in her kitchen at night

She stayed up late one Monday night stirring the blend ‘til it smelt just right, then carefully, she cooled the pot; the end to Boris Biggle’s snot.


Mrs Wondercheese

Boris yawning in bed surrounded by a thick green mist

When morning came, Boris yawned.
Another day, another dawn.
He noticed nothing straight away until he heard his father say,

"In haste, I must set out to quell
this mysterious, ungodly smell!"

Morning

Dad wearing a green shirt, running out of an old wooden house in outback Australia with his mouth open

Mr. Biggle swiftly departed through the front door, like a bullet he darted.


Boris sneezing with a green mist around him

Using his hands to capture the waft,
Boris first gagged, then choked, then coughed,
but it was a sneeze that produced the green.
Unable to resist, he licked it clean.


Ew, gross!

And as he chomped on his projectile treasure,
the horror he tasted (too awful to measure),
would determine the end of his snot-eating ways
and all such cringe-worthy displays.


Conclusion

Mrs Wondercheese on her reclining chair in her living room laughing

From the reclining chair in front of her telly, Mrs Wondercheese laughed and she wobbled like jelly. Committed to teaching, her methods weren't right when she emptied her pot in the dead of the night. To a young, sleeping Boris, he breathed it all in; it went straight to his boogers for marinating.


Wondercheese

A bubbling cauldron releasing green fumes

It didn't take long for the concoction to dwindle and the regular smells to return and rekindle. The Biggle's remained blissfully unaware of the source of the smell that polluted the air. 