Funny Boy Versus the Bubble-Brained Barbers from the Big Bang Page 2

  “You’ll have plenty of time to save the world when you come home from school,” Bob Foster said. “That is, after you finish your homework.”

  “Homework? Oh, man! I don’t want to go to school.”

  “You’re going, and that’s final!”

  “Can I go to school?” my dog Punch asked.

  “No!” Bob Foster was getting angry now.

  “Why not?”

  “Dogs don’t go to school.”

  “Dogs don’t talk either,” I pointed out. “But she does.”

  “You’ll do fine at school,” Bob Foster insisted. “Just try to fit in with the other kids, okay? Here, I bought you some new school clothes.”

  Bob Foster handed me a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of LeBron James on the front.

  “Why would I want to wear that silly outfit?” I asked. “I’ll just wear what I always wear.”

  “Aren’t you afraid the kids might poke fun at you?” Bob Foster asked.

  “If they don’t like the way I dress, that’s their problem.”

  “Have it your way,” Bob Foster sighed.

  I took my yellow cape out of the closet and put it over my pajamas. Then I put on my fake nose and glasses. I was ready for school.

  I went to the mirror to adjust my cape. I looked good. Real good. Maybe going to school wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Whatever it was that I had seen in the sky the previous night had not attacked Earth yet. Maybe I had just been imagining things, I thought. Maybe there would be no attack.

  Bob Foster pulled up to the front of Herbert Dunn Elementary School and let me out of the car.

  “They told me you’re going to be in Mrs. Wonderland’s class,” he said. “Remember—no jokes. You’re here to learn.”

  I walked around the hallways for a few minutes until I saw a sign on a classroom door that read MRS. ALLISON WONDERLAND, FOURTH GRADE. I took a deep breath, adjusted my cape and fake nose, and walked in.

  Everybody turned to look at me. Some of the kids started giggling and poking each other. I hadn’t even said anything yet, and already they thought I was funny. See the power of my humor? Things were off to a great start.

  “Check out the dork!” somebody snickered from the back of the class.

  “Salvatore!” Mrs. Wonderland said sternly. “Do you want to go to Principal Werner’s office again?”

  I sat in the empty seat next to Salvatore, the kid who had said, “Check out the dork.”

  Sal Monella was an enormous boy, nearly twice the size of all the other kids in the class. He had big muscles in his arms and he barely fit behind his desk. I could see he had a tattoo on his arm that said I HATE EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY YOU. Salvatore looked old enough to be a college student.

  CROUTONIAN

  DICTIONARY

  Most words are the same in Croutonian as they are in the English language. There are, however, a few exceptions. Memorizing the following definitions will help you as you read this book.

  Doofus: A smart, athletic person. “Look at that doofus! He runs like a dork.”

  Dork: A really cool person. “That guy looks like a dork.” See also: dweeb

  Dweeb: A really cool person. “That doofus who runs like a dork is also a dweeb.” See also: dork

  Feeble: A great effort. “Did you hear that dweeb’s feeble attempt at humor? What a dork!”

  Jerk: A good, nice person. “Most jerks are also dweebs and dorks.”

  Lame: Very funny. “That jerk made a very lame joke! What a dork!”

  Moron: A person who is very smart. “Listen to that moron! Doesn’t he sound like a dweeb? What a dork!” See also: dunce, lamebrain, imbecile, cretin, blockhead, bonehead, dumbbell, numbskull.

  Pathetic: Very well done, competent. “That moron told a lame joke. Isn’t he pathetic? What a dork!”

  Wimp: A very strong and assertive person. “Only a pathetic wimp like that dweeb would tell such a lame joke. What a dork!”

  “Thanks for the compliment, Salvatore,” I whispered.

  “Anytime, moron,” Salvatore replied.

  “You look pretty old,” I said. “How many years have you been in fourth grade?”

  “Ten.”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. “You must really like it!”

  Salvatore looked at me for a second, shook his head, and went back to what he was doing, carving on his desktop with a pocketknife.

  I wanted to make a good first impression on Mrs. Wonderland and the kids in the class, so I thought I would loosen everybody up with a joke or two.

  “Hey,” I said cheerfully. “Do you know the difference between mashed potatoes and pea soup?”

  “What?” somebody asked.

  “Anyone can mash potatoes,” I said.

  Nobody laughed except Salvatore.

  “Man, that is lame!” Salvatore said. “This guy is pathetic!”

  “Thank you, Salvatore!”

  I could see that Salvatore and I were going to be good friends. He really appreciated my sense of humor.

  “Settle down, everyone,” said Mrs. Wonderland. “We have a new student in our school today. His name is ... uh ... ”

  “Funny Boy,” I announced.

  “Dweeb boy is more like it,” Salvatore announced, getting some giggles from around the room.

  “Thank you!” I whispered to Salvatore again. What a nice guy!

  “Quiet!” Mrs. Wonderland said, raising her voice. “Tell the class a little bit about yourself, uh ... Funny Boy.”

  “I was born on the planet Crouton,” I began. A few of the kids started giggling. “Crouton is 160,000 million light-years from Earth, in the Magellanic Cloud galaxy. It is shaped like a loaf of bread. Crouton is about the size of Uranus—”

  I couldn’t continue, because the whole class was laughing too loud. A few of the kids fell off their chairs. Kids were pounding their desks. One kid passed part of his breakfast through his nose. Like I said, something about Earth’s atmosphere had made me incredibly funny.

  I looked at Mrs. Wonderland. She had closed her eyes and was rubbing them with her thumb and first finger. She looked like she was really tired, even though it was only the first day of school.

  “I see we have a little comedian on our hands this year,” she said. “I guess you like telling jokes, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” I said enthusiastically. “I’d love to! Where do you find a dog with no legs?”

  “Where?” asked one of the kids.

  “Right where you left him.”

  “Yes, thank you,” interrupted Mrs. Wonderland. “Let’s all take out our math books—”

  “What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the Batmobile?” I asked.

  “What?” Mrs. Wonderland asked wearily.

  “Robin, get in the Batmobile!”

  A few of the kids rolled their eyes, which on Crouton means that something is really funny.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Wonderland said. “That will be enough jokes, Funny Boy. I would like you to be serious now. Perhaps you can tell us what you did over summer vacation.”

  “Sure,” I said “After my rocket crash-landed into the underwear factory, I singlehandedly saved the world from a hideous purple monster with one furry, dripping eyeball who wanted to eat Earth. Her name was Betty.”

  The kids were falling all over themselves laughing again. Salvatore was pounding his own head against his desk. The kid in front of Salvatore turned around and told him, “Looks like you might pass this year. This kid is even worse than you!”

  “Okay, that’s enough!” Mrs. Wonderland hollered, clapping her hands together. Everybody quieted down immediately. “Listen to me good, Funny Boy, or whatever your name is. I don’t tolerate silliness in my classroom. Do you understand me? We’re here to learn, not to listen to your jokes. You’d better shape up young man, or you’ll be spending a good part of this term in Principal Werner’s office. And if you think I’m mean, wait until you meet him.”

&
nbsp; “Oooooooh!” went all the kids.

  Salvatore slipped a piece of paper on my desk. I unfolded it. It said:

  TELL HER ANOTHER JOKE

  “Mrs. Wonderland,” I said, “Do you know why the chicken crossed the road?”

  “Enough!”

  So far, school wasn’t going quite the way I expected.

  If your mom calls you to dinner right now, don’t stop reading. It’s more important for you to finish this book than it is for you to eat.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE BUBBLE-BRAINED BARBERS AND THEIR AMAZING HAIR-REMOVAL SYSTEM

  It was hard to concentrate at school. All day long there was something in the back of my mind—that enormous barber pole I had seen in the sky the night before. What was it doing up there? Where was it now? After school I rushed home so I could look in the telescope and see if it was still orbiting Earth.

  “So how was your first day at school?” Bob Foster asked as I rushed past him.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “What did you learn?”

  “Nothin’.”

  No way I was going to tell him the one thing I had learned at school—that you should never, never tell your parents what you learned in school.

  A boy on the playground explained to me that any kid who reveals what happens at school will be cursed for the rest of his life. He told me about this one girl in Canada who told her parents what she learned that day at school. The next day her video game system busted, her life savings fell down a sewer, her hair caught on fire, and her dog exploded. So even if they torture you, I was told, never tell your parents what happened at school.

  “Well, something must have happened at school,” Bob Foster insisted.

  “Nope,” I replied.

  It had been a rough day actually. Mrs. Wonderland was going over fractions, and I didn’t get it. And every time I tried telling a joke, she got angrier with me.

  Punch and I took Bob Foster’s telescope outside and pointed it in the direction where I had seen the big barber pole in the sky. We both looked through it, but didn’t see anything.

  “Are you sure you weren’t just imagining that you saw a big barber pole?” Punch asked.

  “Oh, I saw it,” I insisted. “Either it flew right past Earth, or it landed somewhere.”

  Bob Foster let us stay up to watch TV before bedtime most nights. Punch was flipping through the channels, hitting the remote control with her paw.

  Suddenly, the screen was filled with the faces of three odd-looking men. They were all completely bald, but they had bushy eyebrows and mustaches that looked like push brooms. Punch was about to hit the remote control again.

  “Stop!” I shouted.

  “Greetings, brainless Earthlings,” the guy in the middle said. “My name is Barry Barber and these are my mentally challenged brothers, Bo Barber and Burly Barber. We are barbers from outer space.”

  I was right! It was a barber pole I had seen up in the sky. That must have been their spaceship.

  “This show looks funny,” Bob Foster said. “Leave it on.”

  “Me am Bo Barber,” grunted the barber called Bo.

  “Me am Burly Barber,” grunted the barber called Burly.

  “We are from the planet Depilatory,” Barry continued. “We have come to take over Earth.”

  Bo and Burly nodded their heads and grunted. Then they pulled a lady with long dark hair in front of the camera. Her hands were tied behind her back. Bo had a large gun—it looked like the ray guns you see in old movies—and he pointed it at the lady’s head.

  “There is no point in resisting,” Barry told the lady “Observe the power of our amazing hair-removal system.”

  Bo pulled the trigger on the gun. A bright blue beam of light shot out of it and hit the lady on the head. Instantly, she was totally bald.

  “Eeeeeek!” she shrieked. “Where did my hair go?”

  “It’s right here!” Barry said cheerfully. He was holding the lady’s hair in his hand.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!” the lady screamed, running away.

  “See how easy it is for us to remove Earthling hair?” Barry said, looking directly into the camera. “Surrender your hair now, or we will have to take it from you!”

  “These guys are a riot,” Bob Foster said, chuckling.

  The barber named Barry, who appeared to be the leader of the group, picked up a telephone.

  “Earthlings who would like to turn their hair in should call 1-800-999-8778,” he said. “Operators are standing by to take your hair.”

  The phone rang and Barry picked it up.

  “Uh, hi,” a guy on the line said. “Your hair removal system looks really cool. I was wondering if I could order one through your 800 number?”

  “We’re not selling it, you idiot!” Barry yelled, hanging up on the guy. “We are going to use it to take over your planet!”

  The phone rang again and Barry picked it up.

  “I work in a beauty salon,” a lady said. “How much is the hair-removal system? Do you accept credit cards?”

  “Don’t you Earthlings get it?” Barry thundered as he slammed down the phone. “This isn’t some infomercial!”

  Bob Foster almost fell off the couch laughing. “Those barbers crack me up,” he laughed.

  “Crack you up?” I said, astonished. “They mean it!”

  “It’s just a joke,” Bob Foster assured me. “You, of all people, should know a joke when you hear one. I thought you had such a highly developed sense of humor.”

  “I do!” I replied. “But this is no joke. Those barbers are for real! I’ve got to save the world!”

  “You can save the world tomorrow,” Bob Foster said, clicking off the TV. “Right now, you’ve got to get to bed for school in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 5

  PRINCIPAL WERNER, THE LUNATIC WHO TORTURES, KILLS, AND EATS CHILDREN

  I couldn’t sleep. As soon as daylight came, I ran outside to get the morning paper. I figured there would be a big front-page story about the barbers who were invading Earth. But there was nothing on the front page. I flipped through the paper until I finally found a short article in the entertainment section. ...

  HYSTERICAL NEW COMEDY DEBUTS

  There are three new stars on prime-time TV. Last night, television viewers were treated to “The Bo, Barry, and Burly Show,” a clever new comedy about three bubble-brained barbers who claim to be from another planet and threaten to take over Earth by stealing our hair.

  Ridiculous as the concept sounds, “BBB” is funny, hip, and very possibly the most innovative comedy to come along since “Seinfeld.”

  The show drew huge overnight ratings. Instant viewer polls indicated “BBB” was embraced by everyone from preschool children through the elderly. Viewers particularly like Barry, the leader and most articulate of the trio. But sidekicks Bo and Burly, dumb as they are, have charms of their own. The actors who portray the barbers are so convincing, it almost seems like they really do want to take over the planet.

  Catch “BBB” every night at 9 P.M. This one looks like a winner!

  The Bo, Barry, and Burly Show wasn’t funny to me. I would have to figure out a way to stop those insane barbers before it was too late.

  Unfortunately, I would have to do it in my spare time, because Bob Foster refused to believe the barbers were for real. I begged him to let me go to Washington and tell the President, but Bob Foster insisted I go to school.

  When I walked into class that next morning, Mrs. Wonderland was yelling at Salvatore. I didn’t know what he did this time, but it must have been pretty bad.

  “If you don’t behave,” she hollered, “you’re going straight to Principal Werner’s office!”

  Salvatore slunk into his seat. As Mrs. Wonderland turned around to write on the chalkboard, I leaned over and asked Salvatore what was so terrible about the principal.

  “Principal Werner used to be the captain of a ship in the Navy,” Salvatore whispered to me. “They kicked him out
because he went berserk. So he became a school principal. When kids get sent to his office, he tortures them and kills them. Then he eats them.”

  I looked at Salvatore to see if he was joking. He looked completely serious.

  “How come Werner didn’t kill you and eat you?” I asked.

  “He tried,” Salvatore replied. “But I’m bigger than he is. He only kills and eats little kids. Like you.”

  I turned back to the front of the class. Mrs. Wonderland had drawn a big circle on the chalkboard. Then she put lines through it to cut the circle into halves, quarters, eighths, and so on.

  “Class, we’re going to continue our work with fractions,” she announced. “Let’s say I have a pizza. The pizza is cut into eight slices. If I give you three of the slices and I keep the rest, what would I get?”

  My hand shot up and she pointed to me.

  “A stomachache,” I answered. Most of the class laughed, but not Mrs. Wonderland.

  “Very funny, Funny Boy. Let me put this another way. If I give Salvatore four slices of the pizza and I give you four slices of the pizza, what fraction of the pizza do you get to eat?”

  “None,” I replied.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because I don’t like pizza.”

  Just about everybody laughed. Mrs. Wonderland gave me an angry look.

  “Are you playing games with me, young man?”

  “Can we play games?” I asked. “It would be much more fun than doing math.”

  Mrs. Wonderland rubbed her forehead with her hand and mumbled something that sounded like “Why me? Why me?”

  “Mrs. Wonderland,” I said, raising my hand. “May I ask a question relating to math?”

  “I wish you would,” she said. “That would show you can be serious about something for a change.”

  “How many idiots does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ten,” I replied. “One to hold the bulb, and the other nine to rotate the ladder!”

  “That’s it!” she shouted. “Go to Principal Werner’s office!”