I've got a bomb in my backpack.

I've got a bomb in my backpack. It's light, you can't detect it with a metal detector and the explosion will be most impressive. Also, it's pink and it's got my name on it.

I'm not planning to blow up an underground station or anything.

Nah, I'm just going to displease my mommy very, very much. She won't like it, this bomb. Oh no she won't. There will be severe consequences.

Oh, right, didn't tell you what it is yet. Kind of... my not so good grades of the last two months. I certainly know how to start the school year in style. Good thing that there isn't too much commentary.
I got three fails, various tests where I barely passed and two bad commentaries. Of course, nobody's going to see the good grades. That's because they are parents. Parents are extremely serious about high school grades, especially when it's your last year. Well, mine are, anyway.

There are three things you must never joke about with your parents: your bad grades, the way they educate you, and the life choices they made for you. Because they're all doing it for you, you know. "C'est pour ton bien!" "Plus tard, tu nous remercieras!"

I've got a pink bomb with my name on it in my backpack. Explosion planned tonight after dinner. Get in your shelters, everybody.