by B. P. Draper
Chapter Six
Finally on the twenty-fourth day of mental challenges, under the influence of significant sleep deprivation, one of them faltered.
“Okay, what was the name of the third president of the United States of America?” asked Franco in a sleepy, worn out voice.
Bubby clenched his fists and pounded his head on the table a few hundred times. He rubbed his stubble-covered face a couple of times, and cleared his throat to answer. “Thomas Jefferson?” he answered in an uncertain voice.
“Rats! Dang it! You remind me so much of a vacuum,” he didn’t wait for Bubby to question before he explained, “because you just plain suck!”
“I resent that. Compared to you, I’m just an itty-bitty little DustBuster. Anywho, here is my question: Franco, cyan is a shade of what color?”
Franco grasped for an answer of some sort, but seemed to come up short. “I… I… I don’t… I don’t know. It could be green… or it could be blue. I just don’t know!” he said in a surprised shock. He began to sob as he turned psychotic, yelling, “I don’t know,” over and over again. His head hit on the table and his shoulders began to shake violently.
“Do you need a hug?” Bubby said sympathetically, holding out his arms. Franco walked over, sulking, and was held in Bubby’s firm, yet consoling, embrace. He rested his head on Bubby’s shoulder, and Bubby patted Franco’s head gently. The tears poured onto Bubby’s shoulder and dried to form a firm crust, which Bubby brushed off.
Bubby led him over to a tub 90 feet high. “What you see before you is a new form of torture which I thought of while I waited for you to answer my questions. I merely ask that you don’t squirm, please.”
(Parents: This is a moment where you should turn on really loud classical music and read very quietly. First, because it is enlightening. Second, because some children may not be able to handle the concept of monsters being brutally destroyed.)
Using his sword, Bubby made intricate cuts into Franco’s flesh, all over the body. After all of the microscopic cuts—much like paper cuts—had been made, Franco got into the swimming suit that Bubby had so kindly provided for him. He was then led onto the diving board of the tub.
“What exactly is this liquid substance?” Franco asked cautiously.
“Just a little something I whipped up. Don’t worry, after enough time swimming in it, you won’t feel a thing.”
“That’s just fine and dandy, but what is in it?”
“Lemon juice, isopropyl alcohol, and an experimental dose of sulfuric acid,” Bubby explained calmly as he shoved Franco in. Franco cried out in extensive agony as the liquid penetrated his wounds. After a few minutes in the tub, Bubby let him come out.
Bubby brought out a towel made of scouring pads and laid it on Franco’s back. Because he was in such pain, Franco did not feel anything until he began to rub the towel vigorously, all over his body. Franco’s pain was so great that Bubby felt sorry and decided to put him out of his misery. Whipping out his sword, he shoved it through Franco’s heart and pulled it out quickly enough to not get any blood on the sword.
Chapter Seven
The spell over the citizens dissipated as soon as Franco passed on, and they came out of their homes. Seeing that good had once again prevailed, they threw a party in Bubby’s honor.
(Oh yeah, did I forget to tell you parents to turn down the classical music? Well, you could have done that at the beginning of chapter seven. Sorry for the delay).
Many grateful people offered him cash, jewelry, and other mementos. Bubby partook eagerly, without the slightest inclination to deny them his acceptance.
True to Tarkin’s words, the girls were in love with him. Of course he couldn’t deny that he loved them all as well.
Among the many cash-givers and the kiss-givers was the flower-giving committee. Bubby was quite surprised as he saw Paul walking up to him with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“I will not take flowers from the likes of you,” he said, putting his hand in Paul’s face.
“Please?” Paul pleaded in a sad, pitiful voice.
Bubby turned back around and faced him, flashing a very large smile. “I still won’t take it, but I will do this for you.” He grabbed Paul by the collar of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. “An old friend of mine wanted me to say ‘hi’ to you. So, hi!” With that, Bubby swung Paul around and around. When Bubby let go, Paul was sent sprawling over even the tallest of the city’s buildings.
The crowd cheered their approval of Bubby’s demonstration of his massive strength with cries of, “Encore! Encore!”
“Oh, squirrel muffins!” Bubby said to himself. “I forgot about those two sickos in the apartment!”
With that, Bubby disappeared to attend to the more pressing matters in his superhero life.
THE VERY END!
About the Author
Once a pathetic and lonely nerd, B. P. Draper was in high school in 1995, when he first wrote Bubby I. Since that time he has become increasingly nerdy, though somewhat less socially awkward. He is now a happily married adult and proud father of three children.
In his spare time he watches Star Wars and Tron and makes up funny bedtime stories for his children (some of which will likely be published one day soon).