Uh-oh. I haven’t known Professor Stupido for very long but I’m guessing he’s not the sort of person you should call an idiot.
‘Did I hear correctly, boy?’ says the professor, glaring at Terry. ‘Did you just call me an idiot?’
Terry looks terrified.
‘Uh, er, um …’ he stammers.
‘Well?’ says the professor. ‘I’m waiting!’
‘NO!’ says Terry, thinking faster than I’ve ever seen him think before. ‘I said, “Thanks for getting rid of it!”’
Professor Stupido beams at Terry. ‘Oh, don’t mention it,’ he says. ‘Nothing gives me more pleasure than to un-invent annoying and dangerous things. And speaking of dangerous, is that a tank of man-eating sharks I see?’
‘Y-yes,’ I say nervously, ‘but they’re not dangerous, they only eat fish.’
‘They did eat Captain Woodenhead, though,’ says Terry.
‘So they are man-eaters!’ says the professor. ‘I knew it! I’ll have them un-invented in a jiffy.’
‘Please don’t un-invent them,’ I say. ‘Man-eating sharks are cool!’
‘They’re not cool, they’re cruel!’ says the professor. ‘And that’s exactly why I’m going to un-invent them. Stand back!’
I stare at the empty shark tank.
I think Professor Stupido may have become a bigger threat to the treehouse than the Once-upon-a-time machine.
We have to get rid of him—and fast!
But before I can say—or do—anything …
a bowling ball falls through the air …
narrowly misses Professor Stupido’s head …
and crashes down onto the floor beside him.
‘Oh my goodness!’ says Professor Stupido. ‘Is there a bowling alley up there?’
‘Yeah,’ says Terry. ‘Our treehouse has got everything!’
‘Not any more it hasn’t,’ says Professor Stupido.
‘Oh no!’ I say. ‘There goes our bowling alley!’
‘Yes,’ says Terry, ‘but look on the bright side—at least he didn’t un-invent the penguins.’
‘Penguins?’ says Professor Stupido. ‘Did you say penguins? Can’t stand them! They’re even worse than frogpotamuses! I’ll un-invent them right away!’
Professor Stupido has barely finished un-inventing penguins when the doorbell rings.
‘What’s that annoying ringing noise?’ he says.
‘It’s just the doorbell,’ I say quickly. ‘But please don’t un-invent it or we won’t know when someone’s at the door.’
‘All right,’ sighs the professor. ‘I won’t un-invent your precious doorbell.’
‘Hi, Andy! Hi, Terry!’ calls a familiar voice. ‘Mail!’
‘Who’s that?’ says Professor Stupido.
‘It’s Bill,’ says Terry. ‘Bill the postman!’
‘Any mail for me?’ says the professor.
‘I’ll just check,’ says Bill. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Professor Stupido,’ he says.
‘I’m afraid not,’ says Bill.
‘Blast it all!’ says the professor. ‘I hate not getting mail. Consider yourself—and all your kind—un-invented, Bill the postman.’
Poor Bill!
Terry and I look at each other but don’t dare say a thing.
Professor Stupido yawns. ‘All this un-inventing has made me tired,’ he says. ‘I think I’ll have a little rest.’
‘Phew!’ I whisper to Terry. ‘At least he won’t be able to un-invent anything while he’s asleep.’
Professor Stupido has only been gone for a few minutes when the loudest guitar solo you ever heard fills the treehouse.
There’s only one guitar player on Earth who can play that loudly. Well, maybe two. And I’m pretty sure Professor Stupido is not going to like either of them.
Professor Stupido climbs back down the ladder. ‘I can’t sleep,’ he shouts over the music. ‘What is that awful racket?’
‘That’s not an awful racket,’ says Terry. ‘That’s Jimi Handrix and Superfinger. They’re playing at the opera house.’
‘Not any more they’re not!’ says Professor Stupido.
‘Oh no,’ says Terry. ‘You un-invented Jimi Handrix!’
‘And Superfinger!’ I say. ‘What will all the people with problems requiring finger-based solutions do now?’
‘I can fix that,’ says the professor. ‘I’ll just un-invent problems requiring finger-based solutions.’
But before he can do that, The Trunkinator stomps into the room and punches him in the nose.
‘What was that for?’ says the professor, looking up at The Trunkinator.
‘I think he’s upset about you un-inventing Jimi Handrix,’ says Terry.
‘Yeah. He’s a big fan,’ I say. ‘Possibly the biggest.’ The professor tries to get up but The Trunkinator smashes him back down and starts flattening him like a pancake.
‘Right, that’s it, pal!’ shouts the professor. ‘You’re un-invented!’
Suddenly the tree starts to shake.
‘What’s that?’ I say. ‘What’s happening now?’
‘It sounds like The Trunkinator stomping around,’ says Terry.
‘But The Trunkinator just got un-invented,’ I say.
‘Then it must be the volcano,’ says Terry. ‘I think it’s erupting!’
‘But when you put it in you promised me it was the non-erupting kind!’ I say.
‘I know,’ says Terry. ‘But it looks like I was wrong. Anyone can make a little mistake.’
‘This is not a “little mistake”!’ I yell. ‘It’s a HUGE DISASTER!’
‘No problem,’ says the professor. ‘I’ll just un-invent volcanoes!’
‘But I love volcanoes!’ says Terry.
‘So you’d rather be covered in red-hot lava?’ says the professor incredulously.
‘Um, let me think,’ says Terry.
‘It’s not something you need to think about, Terry!’ I say. I turn to the professor. ‘Un-invent volcanoes … quick!’
‘Consider it done,’ says the professor.
‘Oh no,’ says Terry. ‘How are we going to toast our marshmallows now?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘There’s no such thing as marshmallows any more, remember? Professor Stupido un-invented them.’
‘Oh yeah,’ says Terry sadly. ‘I remember.’
That’s when we hear the unmistakeable sound of Professor Stupido un-inventing something else.
‘Uh-oh,’ says Terry. ‘What has he un-invented now?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘But I’ve got a terrible feeling he’s not going to be happy until he has un-invented EVERYTHING!’
‘STOP!’ I yell.
But Professor Stupido doesn’t stop.
He keeps right on un-inventing …
and un-inventing …
and un-inventing …
and un-inventing …
until all that is left of our treehouse is the tree.
‘Our treehouse!’ says Terry. ‘Our 39-storey treehouse! It’s gone! All gone! You’ve un-invented the whole thing! Now it’s nothing but a 39-storey-less tree!’
‘Hmm,’ says Professor Stupido, stroking his chin. ‘Good point. I’ll un-invent that for you as well …’
‘Our tree!’ I say. ‘You un-invented our tree!’
‘I think you’ll find that one tree is very much like another,’ says Professor Stupido, ‘and there’s plenty more trees in the forest. Which makes me think that I may as well un-invent the rest of them while I’m at it.’
‘But what about all the birds and animals?’ says Terry. ‘Where will they live now?’
‘No need to worry about that,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘I’ll just un-invent them.’
‘Ah, that’s better,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘And now that I’ve rid the world of all those pesky animals, I may as well finish the job and un-invent humans too.’
Terry and I gasp.
‘Don’t worry,’ chuckles Professor Stupido. ‘I’ll un-invent everybody except you. After all, you’re the only ones who understand and appreciate my genius.’
‘Oh no!’ I say. ‘I think you’ve gone too far this time!’
‘On the contrary,’ says Professor Stupido calmly. ‘I don’t think I’ve gone nearly far enough. Imagine, if you will, a world in which there’s not only no people but there’s also no world!’
‘I can’t imagine a world with no world,’ says Terry. ‘It doesn’t make any sense!’
‘It makes perfect sense to me,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘In fact, the very idea of it makes me want to sing!’
Imagine a world
That has been un-invented.
Think of all the problems
That will now be prevented!
No boxing elephants
To punch your nose.
No crabs at the beach
To pinch your toes.
No polluting pollution,
No smoking smokestacks,
No overcrowded
Confusing bike racks.
No spots or pimples
Or itchy rashes.
No tripping or falling
Or nasty crashes.
No waste, no rubbish,
No junk and no litter,
No texting, no Facebook,
No spam and no Twitter.
No noise or fuss,
No bother or mess,
No need to worry
Or fret or stress.
No more noisy
Sporting events,
No more rained-out
Vacations in tents.
No more warnings
About global-warming.
No more boring
Boy bands forming.
No more fights
Or bites or bruises.
No more winners,
No more losers.
Nothing to lose,
Nothing to gain.
No more struggling
And no more pain.
How clean, how pure
And perfectly silent.
How wonderfully peaceful
And not at all violent.
Nobody could possibly
Be discontented
In a world that I
Have un-invented!
We are floating in the space where the world used to be.
‘Oh well,’ says Terry. ‘Our world might be gone but let’s look on the bright side.’
‘What bright side?!’ I say.
‘Well at least we’ve still got the moon, the sun and all the planets.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘I’ll take care of them right away!’
There’s a blinding flash and then no more solar system.
‘Oh, well, no use crying over un-invented solar systems,’ says Terry. ‘At least he didn’t un-invent the whole universe.’
‘What a good idea!’ says Professor Stupido. ‘Thank you so much, Terry! I’ll get right on to it.’
‘You and your big mouth, Terry!’ I say.
‘Relax,’ he says. ‘As if he could even do that!’
Professor Stupido takes a deep breath.
‘I’ve done it!’ says Professor Stupido. ‘I’ve un-invented the entire universe! Nobody has ever un-invented this much stuff before. I’m definitely without doubt the greatest un-inventor who ever lived!’
‘What are we going to do?’ I whisper to Terry. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he un-invents us as well!’
‘I know,’ says Terry. ‘I wish he would un-invent himself!’
‘That’s it!’ I say.
‘What?’
‘We’ll challenge him to un-invent himself,’ I say. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s definitely worth a try!’ says Terry. ‘If anyone could do it, he could.’
‘Hey, Professor!’ I say. ‘We just thought of something you can’t un-invent.’
‘Ridiculous!’ says the professor. ‘There is nothing I can’t un-invent!’
‘What about yourself?’ says Terry. ‘I bet you can’t un-invent that!’
‘Of course I can un-invent myself,’ says Professor Stupido, ‘but why would I want to deprive us all of the greatest un-inventor who ever lived?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ I say, ‘except perhaps to prove beyond all doubt that you actually could un-invent yourself.’
‘But we all know I could,’ says the professor. ‘I mean, I un-invented the entire universe—to un-invent myself would be child’s play in comparison!’
‘Do you know what I think?’ says Terry. ‘I think you’re chicken!’
‘I am NOT chicken!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Yes you are!’
‘No I’m NOT,’ says Professor Stupido, ‘and I’ll prove it, once and for all!’
‘We did it!’ I say. ‘We tricked Professor Stupido into un-inventing himself!’
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ says Terry.
‘Let’s get back to the treehouse!’
‘There’s just one little problem,’ I say. ‘There is no treehouse … no treehouse, no tree, no anything. He un-invented everything. Every single thing.’
‘No problem,’ says Terry. ‘Stand clear!’
‘Why?’ I say. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to draw it all back again,’ says Terry.
‘But you can’t redraw a whole universe!’ I say.
‘I mean, I know you’re a good drawer—and I admit that you’re much better than me—but … a whole universe? Really?!’
‘Sure!’ says Terry. ‘Universes aren’t quite as complicated as you might think. You just start with a big bang, a bit of space, a few trillion suns, a couple of billion planets, a bunch of moons, a black hole or two, and take it from there.’
‘But what about your sore hand?’ I say.
‘It’s not sore any more!’ says Terry. ‘When Professor Stupido un-invented bites and bruises it got better instantly!’
‘Well, that’s great,’ I say, ‘but he also un-invented pens and pencils.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ says Terry. ‘I’ve got a spooncil!’
‘What’s a spooncil?’
‘It’s half spoon and half pencil!’ says Terry. ‘I made it myself. Check out the ad!’
‘Wow, that’s brilliant!’ I say. ‘But how come you’ve still got it? Didn’t Professor Stupido un-invent spooncils as well?’
‘It’s the only one of its kind,’ says Terry, ‘which is maybe why he couldn’t un-invent it—he didn’t know it existed. Well, that and the fact that I keep it hidden up my nose.’
‘You keep it hidden up your nose?’ I say. ‘Why?’
‘For emergencies, of course,’ says Terry, ‘just like this one. The only problem is that it’s quite far up. Can you help me get it out?’
‘No way!’ I say. ‘I’m not putting my finger up your nose!’
‘But the fate of the whole entire universe depends on it!’
‘I DON’T CARE!’ I say. ‘I’m still not putting my finger up your nose!’
‘Never mind,’ says Terry. ‘I think I feel a sneeze coming on.’
‘Excellent!’
Terry tilts his head back. ‘Ah … ah … ah …’
I cover my face. Terry’s sneezes can be pretty messy.
‘Nah … sorry,’ says Terry. ‘False alarm.’
‘That’s a pity,’ I say.
‘No, wait,’ says Terry, ‘here it comes again.’
‘Thank goodness!’ I say.
‘Ah … ah …
ah …’
‘Nah,’ says Terry. ‘Another false alarm.’
‘Oh well,’ I say. ‘I guess we’re just going to have to float around in nothingness forever.’
‘Andy?’ says Terry.
‘What?’ I say. ‘Is your sneeze coming back?’
‘No, I just wanted to say that if I have to float around in nothingness for the rest of my life there’s no one I’d rather do it with than … AH-CHOO!’
‘Oh gross, Terry!’ I say. ‘You sneezed right in my face! That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever done!’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Terry. ‘I’d say it’s more like the third-grossest.’
I think for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘you’re probably right.’
‘Sorry about that, Andy,’ says Terry, ‘but at least I got my spooncil out!’
‘Before you start redrawing the universe,’ I say, ‘do you think you could possibly draw me a handkerchief?’
The 39-Storey Treehouse Page 4