Funny Boy Versus the Bubble-Brained Barbers from the Big Bang
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FUNNY BOY VERSUS THE BUBBLE-BRAINED BARBERS FROM THE BIG BANG
Dan Gutman
Illustrated by Mike Dietz
Dedicated to Leo Gerstenzang,
the inventor of the Q-tip.
Look it up if you don’t believe me.
Contents
Warning
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
WARNING: The story you are about to read is fictional. That means I made the whole thing up. If any of the characters in this book claim that they are real, they’re lying. This story is also extremely far-fetched and silly. If there is anything in this book that you find illogical or personally offensive, consult your physician immediately and ask about getting a sense of humor transplant.
Introduction
READ THIS BOOK, OR YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE PLANET WILL CEASE TO EXIST
AH, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Good day, human-type life forms! It is I, Funny Boy.
Or should that be, “It is me, Funny Boy”? How should I know? I’m from another planet.
The point is, I’m here, I’m back, and I’m ready to defend your planet against evil aliens, outer-space psychos, and other intergalactic no-goodniks.
You probably don’t know this, but as you read these words, some creep from another galaxy is preparing to invade Earth. You heard that right—invade Earth. It is my job to save your planet from almost certain destruction.
How will I, a mere ten-year-old boy with no obvious superpowers, rescue you? Simple. I use my superior sense of humor to fight evil. Jokes, puns, quips, riddles, insults, wisecracks, and inappropriate remarks are the only weapons I have, and the only weapons I need. If all else fails, I will resort to toilet humor. My mission is that important.
You see, when I crash-landed on your planet not long ago, I discovered that my sense of humor, which was already quite developed, was even more powerful in Earth’s atmosphere. It was then that I decided to use humor to protect Earth from the forces of evil and wickedness.
But I cannot do it alone. I need you to help me. That’s right. I’m talking to you, buster. Just like a tree that falls in the forest doesn’t make a sound if nobody hears it, if I save Earth and you don’t read about it, is Earth really saved? I think not. We must work together.
So read, dear reader. Read like the wind. Don’t stop until you reach the end of this book. If your mother calls you for dinner, don’t stop reading. If your dad says it’s time to go to bed, don’t stop reading. If your teacher says to put that stupid book away, don’t stop reading. If you’re so tired that you can barely hold your eyelids open, don’t stop reading.
Because if you stop, it could mean the end of life on Earth as you know it. And you don’t want to be responsible for the end of your planet, do you?
So get to work. Chapter 1 awaits.
—Funny Boy
CHAPTER 1
WHAT THE BACKSTREET BOYS AND FUNNY BOY HAVE IN COMMON
“What’s green and sings?”
“Elvis Parsley.”
That was one of the first jokes I heard upon my arrival on Earth. You see, I was born on the planet Crouton, which is 160,000 million light-years from Earth in the Magellanic Cloud galaxy. Crouton is so far from Earth, even Alex Rodriguez cannot reach it with a home run.
Crouton is a lot like Earth, but different in some ways, too. For example, on Crouton, we don’t keep airplanes in hangars. We store them in enormous Ziploc bags. We don’t eat pretzels, chips, or popcorn for a snack. We eat small wooden blocks. And legal decisions aren’t made by a Supreme Court. They’re decided by an inflatable beaver named Binky.
Other than those few minor differences, our two planets are basically the same.
I led a fairly normal life on Crouton. Mom. Dad. Brother. Dog. Personal nuclear reactor in my bedroom. And then one day I made a big mistake that turned my world upside down. I shot a spitball at my brother.
As a punishment, my parents put me on a rocket and sent me to Earth. Pretty harsh, it seemed to me. At least my parents were nice enough to put my dog, Punch, on the rocket with me.
After a week of flying through space, Punch and I had the incredible good fortune to crash-land into an underwear factory near San Antonio, Texas. If there hadn’t been tons of underwear to cushion our fall, we never would have survived the landing.
When Superman arrived on Earth, he suddenly had super strength, super vision, super hearing, and other superpowers. As soon as Punch and I hit the underwear, I realized that I had a superpower too—my sense of humor was heightened.
Everything that came out of my mouth sounded funny to me. Something about Earth’s atmosphere had turned me from a normal kid into ... Funny Boy!
The atmosphere here had an even weirder effect on my dog Punch. She was just a plain old cocker spaniel back on Crouton. But as we crashed into the underwear, she screamed, “Watch ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutttt!”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked when I realized we were still alive. “Did you say something, Punch, or am I crazy?”
“Both,” Punch replied. “I said something and you’re crazy.”
Punch had somehow developed the ability to speak. In English, no less! Amazing.
The first human to get to our rocket was an African American man named Bob Foster, who worked in the factory as an underwear inspector. (He inspected new underwear, not the underwear that people were wearing.)
I knew right away that Bob Foster had to be my foster father, because there was a little patch on his shirt that said “Foster.”
Well, that’s basically how Punch and I came to live on Earth. There’s a lot more to the story than that, but I can’t go into it right now. If you want all the details, you can read the first book in this series, Funny Boy Meets the Airsick Alien from Andromeda.
Go ahead, get the book. I’ll wait here.
Did you get the book?
Are you reading it?
What’s taking you so long?
Hurry up, will ya? I don’t have all day.
Okay, are you done reading the book? Good. Before I move on to our next adventure, let me just ask Punch if she has anything to add.
Punch says:
I’d just like to say that no matter what happens in this story, everything is going to work out in the end. Don’t worry about it. These fictional stories for kids always have a happy ending.
Oh, one thing I forgot to mention. Punch insists on believing that this book is fiction. She thinks that she, I, and all the other characters were just invented by some author. Where she got that crazy idea is a mystery to me.
This isn’t fiction, Punch! I’m telling my life story! It’s real!
Punch says:
Sure, and pigs can fly. If you’re real, how come nobody ever heard of you, huh? How come you haven’t been written up in the newspapers?
Punch brings up a good point. If I saved your planet from destruction, how come you don’t know about me? Why haven’t you read about me, seen me on TV, or heard about me on the radio?
I’ll tell you why. The American government is afraid that if the public knew that real aliens were attacking Earth on almost a monthly basis, people would panic. People would go crazy. So whenever there’s an alien attack, the government creates a bogus cover story to calm things down.
Trust me, this is true.
Let me give you an example. Do you remember the Backstreet Boys? You may have thought they were five big doofuses who sang dippy songs. Well, the truth is that they were actually evil aliens from Rosette Nebula, a star deep in the Monoceros constellation. They were disguised as five big doofuses who sang dippy songs. They were sent here to turn Earth into a burning pile of rubble.
Fortunately I was able to stop them. Soon after, this so-called “singing group” broke up and was never heard from again. Of course! After I defeated them, they went back to Rosette Nebula.
The media kept it quiet. People would have freaked out if they had known the truth behind the boy band. Being an alien myself I knew the truth. Now, so do you.
Each time one of these alien weirdos showed up, I prevented them from taking over the planet by using my superior sense of humor. That’s why you don’t hear much about the Backstreet Boys anymore.
Don’t thank me. I was just doing my job.
Why do I do it? Why devote myself to defending Earth when I wasn’t even born here? You see, in the short time I have been on your planet, I developed a deep fondness for it.
SUGGESTION TO READER: As you read the following, have a friend hum “America the Beautiful” in the background.
I love Earth, and everything about it. I wanted to make the world safe. Safe for SpaghettiOs and the Home Shopping Network. Safe for psychic hot lines and hats with little umbrellas on top of them. Safe for Weedwackers and miniature golf. Safe for fortune cookies and Reddi-Wip.
All of these wonderful things would be gone if I let alien nitwits like the Backstreet Boys destroy our way of life. That’s why I do it.
Shortly after the Backstreet Boys broke up, I had another, never-before-revealed encounter with an alien force that was even more evil and more sinister than the airsick alien from Andromeda.
Wanna hear about it? Read on, if you dare.
CHAPTER 2
THE NIGHT EARTH WAS ATTACKED BY A GIANT PIECE OF FRUIT, OR SO I THOUGHT
It was a steaming hot Monday at the end of August. My week began like any other. I was patrolling the streets of San Antonio searching for evildoers so I could rid the world of them. Suddenly, I spotted a large yellow truck driving slowly down the street.
There was a driver behind the wheel of the truck, and two other grubby-looking guys hanging off the back. I snuck behind a bush and watched them. I was fascinated.
The truck stopped in front of a house and the two grubby-looking guys jumped off the back. They grabbed these big cans in front of the house and threw the contents of the cans into a large opening in the back of the truck.
I mean, they just took the stuff without even asking anyone if they could! After they finished taking all the stuff from that house, the truck rolled forward, and they took all the stuff in front of the next house.
I was outraged! These guys were just stealing people’s personal property, in broad daylight! They didn’t seem to care if they would be caught or anything.
I wasn’t about to stand for that. This was a job for Funny Boy.
“Halt, evildoers!” I shouted, leaping from my hiding place and placing my fist on the hood of the truck.
“What’s the problem, sonny boy?” the driver asked.
“Not sonny boy,” I replied. “The name is Funny Boy, defender of all that is good and opponent of evil and badness.”
“Whatever,” the driver mumbled. “Can you get out of the way? We’ve got work to do.”
“So do I,” I announced. “You’re all under arrest.”
“Oh yeah?” the driver asked. “On what charge?”
“Robbery,” I replied. “You can’t just drive down the street and take a person’s personal property without asking their permission. That’s against the law.”
“Kid, it’s just garbage!”
“That’s your opinion,” I shot back.
“You don’t understand. We’re the garbagemen.”
“Look, I’ll give you creeps two choices,” I said. “You can either go to jail on your own, or I will tell you jokes until you cease your illegal activity.”
“Tell us a joke, kid,” one of the grubby guys said, coming around to the front of the truck.
“Okay. Why shouldn’t you play cards in the jungle?”
“Why?”
“Because there are too many cheetahs.”
The three men looked at each other. Then they looked at me.
“So you want more, eh?” I said. “Now I will tell you a joke so funny that you will wet your pants. Ready? What did the digital watch say to its mother?”
“What?”
“Look, Ma. No hands!”
The three men looked at each other. Then they looked at me.
“We’d rather go to jail than listen to any more jokes,” the driver said.
“I knew you’d see it my way,” I said, satisfied. “Go quietly and you won’t be punished so severely for your crimes.”
Because they had agreed to turn themselves in, I allowed them to drive to jail on their own. But before they left, I gave them a stern warning.
“If I ever catch you criminals driving around taking people’s things again, you’re going to be in big trouble,” I said, pointing my finger at them. “Next time, no more Mr. Nice Guy.”
“We’ll be good,” they said as they drove away. I heard their laughter echoing down the street, so I knew the power of my jokes had defeated them.
I was feeling pretty good after that incident with three criminals in the yellow truck. I had done a good thing. I was making a contribution to society. But I wanted more. I wanted to stop bigger crimes, bigger criminals.
And I got them. Oh boy, did I get them.
Sunday night, almost a week later. The sky was particularly clear on this night, the stars particularly brilliant. I went out in the backyard of my foster father, Bob Foster. I had Bob Foster’s telescope and pointed it at the night sky.
My home planet, Crouton, was so far away, just a tiny dot. When I moved the telescope across the heavens to look for Crouton, I spotted a fuzzy object. An immense fuzzy object seemed to be heading in the direction of Earth.
“It’s an enormous peach!” I screamed. “A giant piece of fruit is going to attack!”
Bob Foster and Punch came running out of the house.
“Shhhhh!” Bob Foster said. “Mrs. Miller next door will think you’re crazy!”
“It’s a flying peach,” I whispered. “See for yourself.”
Bob Foster looked into the telescope.
“That’s no peach,” he said.
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know,” Bob Foster replied. “It’s too fuzzy.”
“Peaches are fuzzy,” I pointed out.
“Peaches aren’t the only things that are fuzzy, lamebrain,” snorted Punch.
“You’re right!” I shouted. “Tennis balls are fuzzy, too! It’s a gigantic tennis ball! And it’s heading this way! Quick, we’ve got to construct a giant racquet to bat it away before Earth is destroyed!”
The lady next door, Mrs. Miller, came running out of her house in a bathrobe.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is there a prowler?”
“No, Mrs. Miller,” Bob Foster assured her. “Funny Boy is just getting overexcited again.”
Mrs. Miller looked at me suspiciously, and went back into her house.
Punch says:
Don’t worry about remembering Mrs. Miller. She’s not a major character in this book. She might show up in a future Funny Boy adventure, though.
“Will you calm down?” Bob Foster said, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Just because something looks fuzzy doesn’t mean it has to be a peach or a tennis ball.”
“Yeah,” Punch agreed. “Maybe it’s a big hair ball.”
“I’m going to bed,” Bob Foster said.
He and Punch went inside. I peered into the telescope again. The thing in the sky, whatever it was, was a little bigger. It
was getting closer.
As the image got larger, it became clearer. The thing was long and thin, like a rocket. I could make out curved red stripes running down the length of it. It was turning slowly, so the red stripes seemed to be moving up and down.
I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Either this thing was an alien, or there was something wrong with that chili I had for dinner.
I looked into the telescope once again. The thing was even closer. The image was even clearer. This thing that was heading for Earth was ... an enormous barber pole! It was one of those red-and-white things you see outside barbershops!
This looked like a job for Funny Boy.
“Dad!” I shouted, running into the house to find Bob Foster. “Wake up! An alien invasion is coming! I’ve got to save the world! Call the President!”
“It’s late,” Bob Foster yawned. “Saving the world can wait. We’ve got to get you up early tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Bob Foster said. “Tomorrow is your first day of school.”
I gulped.
CHAPTER 3
PROUD TO BE A DORK, DOOFUS, LAME DWEEB, JERK, FEEBLE MORON, AND A PATHETIC WIMP
I had been on Earth for a few short months. Bob Foster had never mentioned anything about school. I just assumed that I wouldn’t have to go.
“Why do I have to go to school?” I whined when Bob Foster opened my bedroom door at the ridiculous hour of seven o’clock in the morning.
“All Earth kids go to school,” Bob Foster informed me.
“But I’m not an Earth kid,” I complained. “I’m from Crouton.”
“As long as you’re living on Earth, you have to go to school. It’s the law.”
“How am I supposed to defend Earth if I’m in school?” I asked. “What if some alien attacks while I’m taking a spelling test or something?”