Funny Boy Versus the Bubble-Brained Barbers from the Big Bang Page 5

  They stared at me.

  “Get it?” Punch asked. Then she sang, “Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier ...

  “Me no get it.”

  “These guys are really dumb,” Bob Foster whispered. “Try something simpler.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Why don’t cannibals eat clowns?”

  “Me not know,” Bo Barber said.

  “They taste funny.”

  Bo Barber and his brother barbers just stared. Bob Foster leaned over to me.

  “Maybe they can’t relate to these jokes. Have you got anything about hair?”

  “Good idea,” I said. “What kind of hair do oceans have?”

  “Me not know.”

  “Wavy hair,” I replied. “Get it?”

  Nothing. Not even a smile. These barbers were tough!

  “You not funny,” Burly Barber said, taking a step toward me.

  “Him be funnier bald,” Burly Barber said, reaching behind his back for something.

  “It’s the hair gun!” Punch shouted.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Bob Foster exclaimed.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I wasn’t about to stick around and let some nutty barber point that thing at me. I ran for the door. Bob Foster was right in front of me, and Punch was at my heels.

  “Run for it!” I yelled as we dove out the door.

  “We’ll get you, Funny Boy,” yelled Barry, “and your little dog, too!”

  We made a dash for it and we didn’t stop running until we were safely out of there. I reached up and ran my hand across my head. My hair was still there.

  “Where’s Punch?” I asked Bob Foster.

  “I thought she was with you.”

  Suddenly, Punch came scampering over. She looked okay, but as she got closer I could see that ... she had no hair!

  I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a cocker spaniel that has been totally shaved, but it’s not a pretty sight. It’s amazing how much of a dog is just hair. Without her fur coat, Punch looked like a starved rat.

  “Punch!” I shouted. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” Punch said sarcastically. “Look at me” I might as well be a Mexican hairless! I can’t walk down the street like this! I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole animal kingdom.”

  After a while, Bob Foster and I were able to calm Punch down. The limousine took us back to the airport. A plane was waiting to take us home.

  I was glad we were safe, but I felt terrible at the same time. Our mission had been a failure. I hadn’t stopped the barbers. I had let down my President. I had let down my adopted world.

  “Why did you run away?” Punch asked me once our plane was in the air. Bob Foster was sitting a few rows away.

  “I couldn’t defeat them,” I explained sadly. “It was hopeless. I told them joke after joke and they didn’t crack a smile.”

  “You can’t give up,” Punch said. “You’re Funny Boy! You’re the funniest kid on the planet. Never forget that.”

  “They’re too tough,” I moaned. “Those guys wouldn’t laugh if their lives depended on it.”

  Unfortunately, it was our lives that depended on it. I spent the rest of the flight staring out the window. I was a failure. For once, I didn’t feel funny at all.

  If your dad tells you to go to bed this instant, don’t stop reading. It’s more important for you to finish this book than it is for you to sleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  PATHETIC EARTHLINGS ALLOW THE BARBERS TO EXECUTE THEIR DIABOLICAL PLAN WITHOUT PUTTING UP A FIGHT

  Every night that week, we gathered in the living room so I could watch whatever was on the Weather Channel. Usually, it was the weather.

  “Why is there a channel for weather?” I asked Bob Foster. “Can’t people just look outside and see what the weather is?”

  “The Weather Channel is supposed to cure you of funnyitis,” Bob Foster said. “It’s working, too. I’ve noticed you don’t crack nearly as many jokes as you used to.”

  He was right about that. Ever since my miserable confrontation with the nutty barbers, nothing seemed very funny to me. But the Weather Channel had nothing to do with it. I was just depressed.

  When two hours were up, Bob Foster would tune in The Bo, Barry, and Burly Show. He said it was okay for me to laugh, but I never did.

  By now, the three barbers were a worldwide sensation. They were on the cover of every magazine. There were rumors about a Bo, Barry, and Burly movie in the works, a Bo, Barry, and Burly book, a Bo, Barry, and Burly cartoon series.

  Every night, we would watch as Bo, Barry, and Burly removed the hair of another nation. Spain. Egypt. Germany. China. The barbers were moving across the globe. One by one, people all over the world were going bald.

  And here in America, everybody still thought it was a big joke. Articles like this one were in the paper every day. ...

  CHINA JUMPS ON BALD FAD!

  The entire nation of China went bald today, demonstrating the incredible popularity “The Bo, Barry, and Burly Show” has in Asia. People all over the world love these wacky barbers so much they are shaving their heads so they will resemble their heroes. Being bald is the hottest trend.

  “It is the coolest look,” said Zang Chen of Shanghai. “And I save a lot of money on shampoo!”

  One billion Chinese can’t be wrong, can they?

  Little by little, the barbers were removing the hair of the human race. And nobody seemed to care. I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt so helpless. My sense of humor was slipping away.

  In school, Mrs. Wonderland couldn’t have been happier at the change that had come over me.

  “I’m just amazed at the improvement in your behavior!” she gushed one morning before school started. “No more silly jokes while I’m trying to teach the class. No more pranks, remarks, or dumb riddles. It’s like you’re an entirely different child! I can see that Dr. Breznitski’s therapy is working. I just might have the whole class watch the Weather Channel!”

  I lumbered to my desk and sat down heavily. Maybe the world was going to be destroyed, but as long as I was serious and not making jokes in class, Mrs. Wonderland was thrilled.

  “Hey, doofus!” Salvatore whispered to me. “Whatsa matter with you? You ain’t told none of your feeble jokes in a long time.”

  “I just don’t feel like it,” I answered weakly.

  I felt even worse the next day. The kids had talked Mrs. Wonderland into having a Bo, Barry, and Burly Day at school. I walked in that morning and everyone in the class was wearing baldy wigs.

  Not only that, but they brought in all kinds of Bo, Barry, and Burly stuff for show and share. Bo, Barry, and Burly backpacks and T-shirts. Bo, Barry, and Burly trading cards and magazines. Bo, Barry, and Burly bobble heads. It was revolting.

  Even Salvatore got into it. He brought in his talking Bo, Barry, and Burly action figures. When you squeeze their hands, they say catchphrases like “Give me your hair, or die!” and “Soon the entire Earth will be bald, bald, bald!”

  All the kids were laughing, high-fiving each other, and having a great time. They were clueless. I couldn’t believe the people of Earth were just letting these insane barbers take over without a fight.

  An announcement came over the loudspeaker that we should all rise and recite the pledge of allegiance.

  “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America ...

  I had to do something, I thought to myself. I was Funny Boy, wasn’t I?

  “And to the Republic for which it stands ...

  It was my duty to protect Earth, wasn’t it? If I didn’t act, nobody else would.

  “One nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

  I bolted out of the classroom.

  “Hey, I didn’t say you could leave the room!” Mrs. Wonderland hollered at me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To save the world!”

  CHAPTER 12

  AND NOW, FU
NNY BOY, IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO DIE!

  The president had put planes, helicopters, and limousines at my disposal so I could get to the barbers at a moment’s notice. Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to go far. I called the White House and the President told me that the barbers were now in Toronto, Canada.

  “They’ve already removed most of the world’s hair,” the President said mournfully. “North and South America are all that is left.”

  “They’re going to pay for this!” I said. “Get it? To pay? Toupee?”

  “You’ll need to be a lot funnier than that, Funny Boy,” the President replied. “You’re our last hope.”

  The seriousness of my mission had hit home with me. I was starting to feel funny again. Jokes were welling up inside my brain, ready to burst out and reduce even the most serious villain into a convulsion of giggles.

  I called Bob Foster at work and he rushed home. We put Punch in her little cage and took a government jet to Toronto. From there, it was minutes by limousine to the Rogers Centre, where the Toronto Blue Jays baseball team plays. It was also where Bo, Barry, and Burly Barber had set up their North American headquarters.

  Bob Foster, Punch, and I marched inside the Rogers Centre. It was an enormous stadium. But it wasn’t the field that caught our attention. It was the huge barber pole at second base that reached almost to the roof. I had been to the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., but I had never seen a rocket so big.

  This was the spaceship I had seen through the telescope. It was probably filled with hair and ready for launch, Bob Foster whispered to me. Stolen hair. Once they shipped the hair back to Depilatory, they would be heroes to their people.

  I spotted Bo, Barry, and Burly at the bottom of the rocket, tinkering with switches and dials.

  “Halt, hair thieves!” I shouted.

  “Well, if it isn’t Funny Boy and Tan Man!” Barry Barber said, almost gleefully. “We meet again. Your little dog looks kind of cute without its fur coat.”

  “Your hair-robbing days are over!” Punch shouted.

  “Me torture them, okay, boss?” Bo Barber asked.

  “Not yet,” Barry Barber said. “First, let them watch as we remove the hair of every Canadian citizen. And when we’re done, the United States will have its turn. Then we will flush enough hair down the drains of North America to blow this planet to smithereens!”

  “Hahahaha!” the three barbers guffawed.

  “I’ll give you one last chance,” I said, trying to remain calm. “Surrender now and leave Earth alone. Go quietly and you won’t be punished so severely for your crimes.”

  “Why should we?” Barry Barber asked, defiantly.

  “If you don’t, I will tell a joke that is so funny that you will fall to the ground, helpless with laughter. You will be totally unable to perform your evil deeds. You’ll be lucky you don’t cough up your appendix or some other internal organ.”

  “Ha!” snorted Burly Barber. “Me hear that last time. Me dare you. Make Burly laugh.”

  “Who’s dumb and flies a plane?” I asked.

  “Me not know.”

  “Amelia Airhead.”

  The three barbers looked at each other.

  “That’s it?” Barry Barber asked. “That’s the joke that was going to make us fall over dead?”

  “That was just his warm-up joke,” Punch explained. “Now he’s going to tell you the real joke. Right, Funny Boy?”

  “Uh, right.”

  I felt sweat beading up on my forehead. The Amelia Airhead joke was the best one I had. I would have to come up with a good one right here or it would be good-bye Earth.

  “Here comes the real joke,” I continued. “This centipede walks into a shoe store—”

  “Enough!” bellowed Barry Barber. “Seize them!”

  Bo and Burly grabbed Bob Foster, Punch, and me. They strapped us into the three barber chairs.

  “You’ll never get away with this!” Bob Foster shouted. “NATO forces will track you down and bring you to justice!”

  “Me not think so,” Bo Barber said, smiling his evil smile.

  “After we clog all your drains with hair,” Barry Barber explained, “we will dump tons of shampoo into your oceans. Your waters will be filled with foamy white lather, making it impossible for ships to find us. Then we will surround Earth with a cloud of talcum powder, making it impossible for airplanes to find us. Escape will be simple. Hahahaha!”

  “You’re madmen!” Punch yelled.

  “Thank you!” Burly Barber grunted.

  I tried to free my hands from the straps that were holding me in the barber chair, but it was impossible.

  “Do something!” I yelled to Punch.

  “Like what?”

  “Growl! Bare your teeth or something!”

  “Baring teeth is so ... animalistic!”

  “You’re an animal!” I screamed. Ever since Punch discovered she could talk, she refused to lower herself to things she considered “doglike.”

  “Why don’t you do something?” Punch said. “Tell a joke. You’re Funny Boy!”

  I tried to think of a joke, any joke. Nothing came to mind.

  “I ... I can’t think of one!” I replied.

  “What do you mean?” Punch yelled. “You know hundreds of jokes. Night and day you’re always telling your stupid jokes. And now, now when we really need it, you can’t think of a single joke?”

  “My mind is a blank!” I moaned.

  Bob Foster tried to bail us out. “Be sensible,” he implored the barbers. “On Earth, you guys are superstars. You’ve got the number one show on TV. You could be bigger than the Beatles. Why destroy Earth and go back to your planet, where you guys have no jobs, no lives?”

  “Silence!” Barry Barber boomed. “We must warm up the hair-removal generator.”

  “Wait!” I shouted desperately. “Aren’t you going to give us a last request? Even a condemned man gets one last request.”

  “What is your last request?” Barry said grudgingly.

  “I want to make a phone call.”

  “All right,” Barry said, handing me a cell phone. “But don’t try any funny stuff.”

  Fumbling with the buttons, I punched in the number for Dial-a-Joke. In seconds, I had what I needed.

  “Why do seagulls fly over the sea?” I shouted at the barbers.

  “Me not know.”

  “If they flew over the bay, they’d be bagels.”

  Barry Barber ripped the phone from my hand. “I said no funny stuff! You’re beginning to get on my nerves.”

  “Me say shoot him,” Burly Barber suggested.

  “No,” Barry Barber replied. “I have a better idea.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a battery-operated hair clipper, the kind barbers use to trim sideburns. He turned it on, and it made a loud buzzing noise.

  “I’m going to remove Funny Boy’s hair personally!”

  “No,” I shrieked. “Stop! Stop!”

  It was no use. He was too strong. He took the clipper and ran it right down the middle of my scalp. Hair went flying everywhere. Down my back. In my eyes. It was horrible.

  When he was done, I ran my fingers across the top of my head. There was nothing there but skin. He had cut a straight strip right across the middle, like a farmer who plowed a row of a field. I had a negative Mohawk.

  “You’re not barbers!” I screamed. “You’re ... barbarians!”

  “Yes, we are,” agreed Barry. “And now it is time for you to die!”

  So how are you enjoying the story so far? Exciting, isn’t it? Do you think Funny Boy can escape from these bubble-brained barbers? Or is it all over for him? What about Punch? Will her hair grow back? Will Bob Foster lose his job at the underwear factory? Does Principal Werner really kill children and eat them?

  You know that you’re almost at the end of the story, because there are only a few pages left in this book. We thought we could build the suspense by forcing you to read th
is meaningless stuff before revealing the ending. Pretty clever, huh? It pads the book out a little, too. We know you’re already sick of this. Well, too bad, you have to read the whole thing.

  Okay, okay, back to the story ...

  CHAPTER 13

  THE BIG SURPRISE ENDING THAT WILL COMPLETELY SHOCK YOU, UNLESS YOU’VE ALREADY GUESSED IT

  So like I was saying, Bob Foster, Punch, and I were strapped to barber chairs in the middle of the Toronto Rogers Centre. The loony barbers had just cut a swath of my hair out right down the middle of my head. Barry Barber had this evil grin on his face, and I had the feeling he was going to do some other terrible thing to me.

  “Do you still think we’re fictional characters?” I asked Punch.

  “I’m not so sure anymore,” Punch replied. “But your fictional hair is all over the floor.”

  “Enough chitchat, Funny Boy!” Barry Barber said. “Now it is time for you to die!”

  “You’re going to kill me?”

  “Not D-I-E, you idiot!” Barry said. “Dye! D-Y-E. We’re going to dye your hair ... purple!”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because purple is my favorite color.”

  Purple is my favorite color. That’s it! The word “color” sparked something in the farthest corners of my memory. Jokes started flooding into my brain.

  “Speaking of the color purple,” I said, “what’s the difference between a grape and a chicken?”

  “Me not know,” Bo Barber said.

  “They’re both purple, except for the chicken.”

  “Please stop that,” Barry said. “It’s annoying.”

  “More jokes!” Punch shouted. “Quickly!”

  “What’s red and shaped like a bucket?” I asked.

  “Me not know.”

  “A red bucket!”

  “Please!” Barry moaned. “Nobody wants to listen to that. You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Tell another one!” Bob Foster yelled.

  “What’s black, white, and a zebra?” I asked.

  “Me not know.”

  “A zebra!”