My Life as a Human Hairball
Page 7
Of course she was right. Already we were approaching his tonsils. And just past them, directly in the center, was that pink, dangling, thingama-jigger— you know, that weird piece of flesh that just hangs there in the back of your mouth doing nothing? Well, doing nothing was exactly what Opera’s was doing as I raced toward it at a gazillion miles an hour.
“Duck, Wally! Duck!”
I dropped my head and just missed getting clobbered by the soft, meaty stalactite. Wall Street followed right behind.
Amoment later we were sailing over a pink, flat something with hundreds of bumps. Of course, it was Opera’s tongue (you could tell by the stray potato chip crumbs clinging to it).
Next came his teeth, which had more holes than Swiss cheese (which is what he should have been eating instead of all that junk food).
Then came his lips.
Then came nothing.
Then came nothing!?
I’m afraid so. Suddenly we were free-falling toward the lab floor in a major I-sure-hope-somebody-catches-me-’cause-this-is-going-to-hurt kind of way.
“AUGH!”
The good news was Opera paid attention to all those health films in school that say we should cover our mouths when coughing. The bad news was that we were growing so fast that by the time we hit his hand, he could barely hold us.
But knowing how allergic I am to dying (I break out in a bad case of death every time it happens), he hung on as all three of us fell to the floor.
“OAFF!”
I tell you, it was great finally seeing the lab again, even if it was from a mouse-size view. Better make that from a cat-size view . . . er, a dog-size view . . . er—well, you get the picture. We were growing faster than a weightlifter on steroids. It only took a few more seconds until we finally reached our original size. And it only took a few more seconds before we were both hugging Opera.
Of course there was the usual, “Oh Opera, I never thought I’d see you alive again,” kind of stuff and more than the daily minimum requirement of tears streaming down our faces (though I’m sure mine were from some unknown allergy). Talk about mushy. It was almost as bad as getting hugged by your grandma and all your aunts at one of those family reunions.
We’d probably still be going on like that if it wasn’t for the sudden
K-RASH! K-BANG! K-TINKLE!
from the next room.
“What’s that?” I cried.
“It’s coming from the bathroom,” Opera exclaimed. He spun around and took off. We followed right behind. Well, actually, Wall Street followed right behind. It took me a little longer to relearn the fine art of:
K-FALL!
“Ouch!”
walking.
And a little longer than that to:
K-RASH!
“Ow!”
K-SMASH!
“Ooch!”
K-BAMB!
(“This is getting embarrassing.”)
remember the finer art of NOT walking into walls.
We finally reached the hall leading to the restrooms and came to a screeching halt. Well, Opera and Wall Street came to a screeching halt. I was now relearning how to
K-RASH!
“Ow, watch it Wally!”
“Sorry . . .”
use my brakes.
When I finally pried myself out of the back of my two buddies, I saw the reason for the sudden stop. There, exploding out of the bathroom wall, was the nose of the minisubmarine we’d traveled in.
“What on earth . . .” Wall Street cried.
We continued to watch as the submarine continued to grow, busting out more and more wall until it finally reached its full size, right there in what was left of the bathroom. Of course, it was broken up into dozens of pieces, but there was no mistaking it.
“How’d it get in there?” I asked.
Wall Street shook her head and glanced to Opera. “When we left it, it was still floating around in your intestines.”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“And since it didn’t follow us into your bloodstream, there was no way for it to get out . . .”
I turned to Opera, finishing her thought. “Except . . .”
Opera fidgeted nervously. “I guess I did kind of have to use the bathroom. I mean when I was in there looking for you guys inside my eye.”
We all exchanged glances. Now everything made sense. And now I was majorly grateful that we’d found an alternate route of escape.
We finally turned and headed back toward the lab. The rest of the place was still locked up which made it pretty impossible to get out. We cleaned up a bit and, although none of us was crazy about the idea, eventually we decided to call the police . . . who decided to call Mr. Pocket Protector who decided to call our parents . . . who we knew would definitely decide to ground us for life.
But at long last it was over. Of course, we talked about all the cool stuff we had seen and, of course, this made Opera a little embarrassed— after all, we were talking about his insides. But he didn’t have to be embarrassed. After all, we were all put together the same way, and it was all pretty awesome.
“It was incredible!” Wall Street said for the hundredth time.
“She’s right,” I said. “I had no idea how it all worked.”
Even Opera was nodding in agreement.
I don’t know how long we hung around the lab waiting for the police to show up. But as we waited, I pulled up to the control center Opera had been working from. After a little poking around, I found the computer. It had been quite a while since I’d worked on my Mirror Man story. And, since I wasn’t sure the police would let me have a computer while serving my life sentence in the county jail, I figured I better hurry and finish the story now while I had the chance.
I switched on the computer, quickly typed in what I had written earlier in my head, and then I went to work:
When we last left our gorgeously good-looking good guy, his arch villain the rip-roaringly repulsive RetroRunt was exiting a movie theater while preparing to send the world spinning backward again. But why? What is his purpose? Why would he want to do such a notoriously not-so-nice thing? And most importantly, what movie were they going to watch?
Good questions. In fact, they’re so good, Mirror Man thinks he’ll ask them. “But why?” he shouts to the mega-midget. “What is your purpose? Why would you want to do such a notoriously not-so-nice thing? And most importantly, what movie are you going to watch?”
(See, I told you so.)
“If you must know, we’re going in to see The Wizard of Oz,” the menacing micro-mite shouts.
“I don’t understand,” our hero asks, as he starts toward him. “Why?”
“Stop right there!” RetroRunt cries. His finger darts to the remote control on his belt. “One more step and I’ll fire up those retrorockets again!”
Mirror Man slows. But, knowing the story’s coming to an end and knowing he’s the hero who must end it, he continues forward. “Why this movie, RetroRunt? Why is it so important you see this movie?”
“Because of all the Munchkins,” the tiny tike answers.
“I still don’t understand.”
RetroRunt sighs and tries to explain. “When I watch them, I feel like a normal person.”
“But you are normal,” Mirror Man insists.
“You call being so small I have to run around in the shower just to get wet, normal?”
“Well no, but——”
“And what about handball? I’m the only one I know who plays it against street curbs.”
“I understand, but——”
“But when I watch all those Munchkins I fit right in. They make me feel good— —even if they are the worst singers in the world.”
“But the Munchkins, they’re only in the first part of the movie.”
“Exactly, that’s why I keep sending us back in time——so I can watch that same part over and over again.”
Now everything begins making sense. (Well, as much sense as any of
these superhero stories do.) Desperately, our good guy begins searching for some sort of solution. There must be some way to make this pinky high peewee feel good about himself——some way to convince him to stop using his Retrobelt and making us all relive the same day over and over again. (Of course, our hero could buy him a video of the movie and suggest he keep playing and rewinding it, but money’s been a little tight for Mirror Man these days——especially with the rising price of hair spray. Besides, that would be way too boring of an ending since, as we all know, superheros are never boring.)
Suddenly, he snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it!” he cries. “Let’s talk to our author.”
“You don’t mean that kid who’s writing this story?”
“Yeah.”
“No way. We’re make-believe characters. We can’t just barge into his reality like that.”
“Why not? He lets his other characters do it.”
“What good would it do?”
“Remember, how he got himself shrunk by that Miniaturization Machine back in chapter one?”
“Yeah.”
“So let’s use that same machine on you.” “But I want to get bigger, not smaller.”
“Oh, yeah.” Mirror Man scratches his head. He’s obviously stumped. So is RetroRunt.
“Oh, well,” Mirror Man shrugs, “I guess you’re right.”
“Oh, well,” the flea-high foe sighs as he reaches for his Retrobelt. “I guess I am.”
I stared at the screen, not believing my eyes. The answer was right there in front of them. And they still couldn’t see it. Finally, in frustration, I typed:
“Guys...Guys!”
RetroRunt ducks, looking in all directions for my voice. “Who’s there!?” he cries. “Who said that?”
“It’s the author,” Mirror Man whispers. “I told you he does this sort of thing. Just try and be nice.”
RetroRunt clears his tiny little voice and tries a tiny little con act. “Yes, oh Grand and Magnificent one. What does Your Greatness wish?”
“I wish for you to stop trying to butter me up,” I typed. Then I continued. ”Can’t you guys see the solution here?”
They exchange uneasy glances.
“Well, I, er...” Mirror Man stutters. “Um, er, uh...” RetroRunt stalls.
“Come on,” I typed, ”if it were any more obvious, it would bite you on the nose.”
“As long as it doesn’t leave a nasty red mark,” Mirror Man says as he nervously checks his back pocket for his makeup.
“I don’t understand,” RetroRunt asks. “What are we supposed to do?”
I explained. “The Miniaturization Machine makes things small, right?”
“Right,” Retro says, “but we want it to do just the opposite.”
“Then use one of Mirror Man’s mirrors.”
The two look at each other and in perfect unison said, “Huh?”
I rolled my eyes. In the future maybe I should make my superhero characters a little smarter. I tried again.
“When you look into the mirror, you get a perfect reflection, right?”
“Right.”
“Except it’s just the opposite, right?”
“Right.”
“So if you were to shoot the beam into a mirror at RetroRunt it would have the same effect, only just the opposite.”
Once again they look at each other and once again they answer in perfect unison. “Uhhh...”
I’ll definitely be making them smarter in the future. I typed,
“Just trust me on this one, okay?”
“Okay.”
“So, can we get on with the story?” I typed.
“You’re the boss,” RetroRunt says.
I nodded and continued . . .
“Hey,” Mirror Man cries. “Don’t ask me how, but I’ve just come up with the perfect solution.”
“And what is that?” RetroRunt asks.
“Let’s fire the Miniaturization Machine’s beam at you through one of my mirrors. It will have the opposite effect. Instead of making you smaller, it will make you bigger.”
“Hey, that’s a nifty-keen idea, Mirror Man. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re not the hero of this story.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.”
“But come on over to my house. We’ll set you up in front of my hundreds of mirrors and fire up the machine. Who knows, by the time we’re done you might be tall enough to play for the NBA.”
“Well, that would be just superswell of you, Mirror Man.”
“That’s because I’m a superswell guy. And hey, I bet with a little practice you could become superswell, too.”
“Wow, that would be sweller than superswell.”
“Well, come on then.”
So, as the sun sinks slowly in the west, the two turn and head toward Mirror Man’s house. And, once again we can all rest easier knowing that the world will be safer and saner and, although just a bit more boring, a superswell place.
I stopped and looked at the ending. On the McDoogle Corniness Scale of one to ten, it rated somewhere around a fifteen. But that was okay. It was nice to know somebody was having a happy ending. Because as I looked out the lab window and saw the police cars arriving, along with the usual ambulances, fire trucks, TV reporters, and three sets of concerned and very angry parents . . . I knew that a happy ending wouldn’t be making any guest appearances on my TV talk show of life.
At least not for a while.
Still, I had learned a few things . . . like never climb on board minisubmarines without permission—and, if you do, make sure it isn’t hovering over an open soda pop can. Then there was that little lesson on how wonderfully and incredibly we’re put together. I mean, let’s face it, God was definitely having one of his better days when He dreamed us up.
Besides, who knows, if I manage to survive the seventh grade, maybe I’ll become a doctor or a biologist or something like that. Of course, that would mean going to college, which would mean Mom and Dad would eventually have to let me off of restriction. Right now the chances of that looked pretty slim, particularly after what we’d just done. But, hey, if God can pull off something as awesome as making our bodies, I bet He can do just about anything.
THE INCREDIBLE WORLDS OF
WALLY MCDOOGLE
#1—My Life As a Smashed Burrito with Extra Hot Sauce
Twelve-year-old Wally—“The walking disaster area”—is forced to stand up to Camp Wahkah Wahkah’s number one all-American bad guy. One hilarious mishap follows another until, fighting together for their very lives, Wally learns the need for even his worst enemy to receive Jesus Christ. (ISBN 0-8499-3402-8)
#2—My Life As Alien Monster Bait
“Hollyweird” comes to Middletown! Wally’s a superstar! A movie company has chosen our hero to be eaten by their mechanical “Mutant from Mars!” It’s a close race as to which will consume Wally first—the disaster-plagued special effects “monster” or his own out-of-control pride . . . until he learns the cost of true friendship and of God’s command for humility. (ISBN 0-8499-3403-6)
#3—My Life As a Broken Bungee Cord
A hot-air balloon race! What could be more fun? Then again, we’re talking about Wally McDoogle, the “Human Catastrophe.” Calamity builds on calamity until, with his life on the line, Wally learns what it means to FULLY put his trust in God. (ISBN 0-8499-3404-4)
#4—My Life As Crocodile Junk Food
Wally visits missionary friends in the South American rain forest. Here he stumbles onto a whole new set of impossible predicaments . . . until he understands the need and joy of sharing Jesus Christ with others. (ISBN 0-8499-3405-2)
#5—My Life As Dinosaur Dental Floss
It starts with a practical joke that snowballs into near disaster. Risking his life to protect his country, Wally is pursued by a SWAT team, bungling terrorists, photo-snapping tourists, Gary the Gorilla, and a TV news reporter. After prehistoric-size mishaps and a talk with the President, Wally l
earns that maybe honesty really is the best policy. (ISBN 0-8499-3537-7)
#6—My Life As a Torpedo Test Target
Wally uncovers the mysterious secrets of a sunken submarine. As dreams of fame and glory increase, so do the famous McDoogle mishaps. Besides hostile sea creatures, hostile pirates, and hostile Wally McDoogle clumsiness, there is the war against his own greed and selfishness. It isn’t until Wally finds himself on a wild ride atop a misguided torpedo that he realizes the source of true greatness. (ISBN 0-8499-3538-5)
#7—My Life As a Human Hockey Puck
Look out . . . Wally McDoogle turns athlete! Jealousy and envy drive Wally from one hilarious calamity to another until, as the team’s mascot, he learns humility while suddenly being thrown in to play goalie for the Middletown Super Chickens! (ISBN 0-8499-3601-2)
#8—My Life As an Afterthought Astronaut
“Just cause I didn’t follow the rules doesn’t make it my fault that the Space Shuttle almost crashed. Well, okay, maybe it was sort of my fault. But not the part when Pilot O’Brien was spacewalking and I accidently knocked him halfway to Jupiter. . . .” So begins another hilarious Wally McDoogle MISadventure as our boy blunder stows aboard the Space Shuttle and learns the importance of: Obeying the Rules! (ISBN 0-8499-3602-0)
#9—My Life As Reindeer Road Kill
Santa on an out-of-control four wheeler? Electrical Rudolph on the rampage? Nothing unusual, just Wally McDoogle doing some last-minute Christmas shopping . . . FOR GOD! Our boy blunder dreams that an angel has invited him to a birthday party for Jesus. Chaos and comedy follow as he turns the town upside down looking for the perfect gift, until he finally bumbles his way into the real reason for the Season. (ISBN 0-8499-3866-X)
#10—My Life As a Toasted Time Traveler
Wally travels back from the future to warn himself of an upcoming accident. But before he knows it, there are more Wallys running around than even Wally himself can handle. Catastrophes reach an all-time high as Wally tries to outthink God and re-write history. (ISBN 0-8499-3867-8)
#11—My Life As Polluted Pond Scum