Andy Griffiths discovered a talent for annoying his parents at an early age. Since then he has gone on to annoy many other people including friends, neighbours, teachers and complete strangers with his silly noises, idiotic questions, stupid comments, bad jokes, inappropriate behaviour and pointless stories. His most recent book, Just Tricking!, was published in 1997.
Terry Denton hates writing illustrator biographies. He finds them annoying. So he draws them. The problem with this is . . . what do you draw about yourself? Well, what about your most annoying points? Terry has four of them.
Oh, by the way, Andy is right. He is very annoying. Typical author!
Also by Andy Griffiths
and illustrated by Terry Denton
Just Tricking!
Just Annoying!
Just Stupid!
Just Crazy!
Just Disgusting!
The Bad Book
The Cat on the Mat is Flat
Also by Andy Griffiths
The Day My Bum Went Psycho
Zombie Bums from Uranus
Bumageddon: the Final Pongflict
Also by Andy Griffiths
(with Jim Thomson and Sophie Blackmore)
Fast Food and No Play Make
Jack a Fat Boy: Creating a healthier lifestyle
for you and your children
Pan Macmillan Australia
First published 1998 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
These electronic editions published in 1998 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
Text Copyright © Andy Griffiths 1998
Illustrations Copyright © Terry Denton 1998
The moral rights of the creators have been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.
National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:
Griffiths, Andrew, 1961–.
Just annoying.
1. Short stories, Australian. I. Denton, Terry, 1950– . II. Title.
A823.3
Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-007-4
Microsoft Reader format 978-1-74197-208-5
Mobipocket format 978-1-74197-409-6
Online format 978-1-74197-610-6
ePub format 978-1-74262-216-3
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Typeset in l2/16pt New Aster by Post Pre-press Group
Macmillan Digital Australia www.macmillandigital.com.au
Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online.
You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.
Contents
Are we there yet?
Copycat from Ballarat
Wish you weren’t here
Imaginary friends
In the shower with Andy
Would you rather?
Murder, bloody murder!
The last Jaffa
Swinging on the clothesline
ad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are we there yet?’
‘No.’
‘Now?’
‘No.’
‘Now?’
‘For goodness sakes!’ growls Dad. ‘Will you stop it!’
Alright,’ I say. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot.’
We’ve been in the car for two days now. Mum and Dad are at breaking point.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want them to get mad at me—it just happens.
Like it or not, when you go on a long drive there are times when you just have to stop.
And my parents do not like it.
But what’s the alternative?
Do they want me to starve to death? To wet my pants? To be sick all over the back seat?
I think any of these would be a lot more annoying and inconvenient than the few stops it takes to prevent them. I’m actually doing them a favour.
Mum and Dad should save their energy for really annoying things. Like the fly that has been buzzing around in the car for the last half hour. It’s driving me mental. I’m going to do us all a big favour. I’m going to get rid of it.
I wind the window down. The fly jumps away.
It’s hiding, just waiting for me to wind the window back up again.
I have to lure it out.
I start doing my best fly-call.
‘Bzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!’
Still no fly. Have to do it louder.
BZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZ!’
‘Andy!’ yells Dad. ‘I can’t concentrate with you making that stupid noise. Do you want us to have an accident? Do you want us all to be killed?’
I hate it when Dad asks dumb questions like that. What does he expect me to say? ‘Yes, Dad, I want us to have an accident. I want us all to be killed.’
But I don’t say that. It might cause Dad to have an accident. We might all be killed.
‘Alright, Dad,’ I say instead. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot.’
‘And stop telling me not to get my knickers in a knot!’ he explodes.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Don’t get your trousers in a twist.’
Dad hunches over the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten. Tiny drops of perspiration appear on the back of his neck.
He knows he’s been outsmarted once again. It must be frustrating for him having a son as clever as me. It must be hard knowing that he can never win.
The fly lazily cruises in front of my eyes. It’s asking for trouble. Well, it’s come to the right man.
I once saw a movie where the door of an aeroplane opened mid-air and everybody was sucked out by the vacuum it created. I don’t need a vacuum quite that powerful, but maybe if I open and close the door I’ll be able to create one strong enough to suck the fly out.
I squeeze the door handle as carefully and slowly as I can so that it doesn’t make any noise. I swing it open, then shut.
Open, shut.
Open, shut.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ screams Dad.
‘I’m creating a vacuum,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘A vacuum! I’m trying to get a fly out of the car.’
‘Shut the door! And keep it shut!’ shouts Dad. ‘I’m warning you. If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll stop the car and you can get out and walk. Do you understand?’
‘But, Dad . . .’ I say.
‘No buts! Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
Dad’s knuckles are really white now. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard that his bones are practically breaking through his skin.
I hear a buzz. It’s coming from behind me. The vacuum didn’t work. I turn around but I can’t see the fly. Hang on—the noise is coming from outside.
I undo my seatbelt and kneel up on the seat to get a better view.
There’s this crazy-looking guy riding an old black Harley. He’s got a long red beard, a black bowl-shaped helmet and a pair of old-fashioned plastic riding goggles. They make him look like a fly. And his motorbike sounds like one. Only much louder.
Suddenly the fly shoots across the window.
Showdown time!
&
nbsp; I try to cup it in my left hand and hook it out of the window.
That’s my plan, anyway.
But the fly has other ideas. It skates across the window to the far corner. And then back again. I’m chasing the fly back and forth across the window when I notice that the bikie is making hand signals.
He thinks I’m waving to him!
I wave.
He waves back.
I wave again.
He waves back again.
We’re best friends now.
‘Stop waving,’ says Dad. ‘Sit down and put your seatbelt back on.’
‘But he waved first,’ I say.
‘Don’t annoy bikies,’ says Dad. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’
‘I’m not annoying him—I was just being friendly.’
‘Sit down!’
‘Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a knot.’
I give one last wave to Bike-man, but he’s pulling into a service station and doesn’t see me.
I feel like I’ve lost my best friend.
I notice a movement out of the corner of my eye.
I look up. The fly is on the roof. It’s taunting me. It buzzes again.
‘Andy,’ says Dad, ‘you’re pushing your luck!’
‘It wasn’t me,’ I say. ‘It was the fly!’
I have to get rid of this fly. And quickly. Before it gets rid of me.
I reach up and try to cup it with my hand.
It jumps to the left.
I try again.
It jumps to the right and then heads towards the front windscreen, daring me to come after it.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and dive into the front seat. I catch the fly in mid-air.
‘HOWZAT?’ I yell.
I’m lying with my head in Mum’s lap and my legs all over the steering wheel.
Dad slams the brakes on. The car lurches forward.
‘Get out!’ he says.
‘But it’s not my fault,’ I say. ‘It was the fly.’
‘I don’t care whose fault it was,’ he says. ‘Out!’
‘But look!’
I open my hand to show Dad the fly and prove that I’m not lying, but my hand is empty. It must have swerved at the last minute. Outsmarted by a fly! I hate that.
‘Out,’ says Dad.
Surely he can’t be serious.
‘I’m sorry, Dad . . . I was just trying to get the fly out of the car . . . in case it caused an accident . . .’
‘You’re the only one who is going to cause an accident,’ he says. ‘Out.’
‘Mum?’ I say. ‘Are you going to let him do this?’
‘It’s for your own good,’ she says. ‘You’ve got to learn.’
I open the door.
‘You’ll be sorry,’ I say, ‘when you come back and find my bones being picked clean by vultures.’
‘There are no vultures in Australia.’
‘Kookaburras then.’
‘Shut the door,’ says Dad. ‘You’re letting the hot air in.’
There’s no reasoning with him.
I get out of the car and shut the door slowly.
The wheels of the car spin. I am showered by gravel. I wipe the grit out of my eyes and look for the car. It’s gone.
I look down at my shoes. There is a big red bull ant on my toe. I brush it off. Maybe I should try to catch it. I might need it for food.
Nah. I won’t have to eat ants. They’ll be back. Any second. Five minutes tops. Just enough to give me a scare.
I start walking.
Actually, it’s quite nice. Fresh air. Blue sky. Space. No grumpy parents.
Five minutes pass.
Another five minutes.
And another five minutes.
Where are they?
I sit down.
I should just lie down and die—that would teach them.
The only trouble is that it could take a while because I’m actually feeling pretty healthy.
I hear a droning sound in the distance.
Ha! I check my watch. It took them fifteen minutes to give in and come back and get me. That’s really going to teach me a lesson I’ll never forget. Not.
But as I listen I notice the drone has a different quality. Throatier. Not the putty-putt-putt sound of Dad’s car at all.
It’s Bike-man!
I jump up and wave.
He waves back and pulls up alongside me.
He looks even crazier close up. His beard is full of insects. Some of them are still alive.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘if it isn’t my little mate. What are you doing out here all by yourself?’
‘My parents threw me out of the car,’ I say. ‘They told me I had to walk.’
‘You like bikes?’ he says.
‘Are you kidding?’
‘Hop on then,’ he says. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Andy. What’s yours?’
‘Max. Pleased to meet ya!’
He hands me a helmet.
‘Here,’ he says. ‘Put this on.’
It’s just like the one he’s wearing.
‘Hold on,’ he says.
‘To what?’ I yell, but he doesn’t hear me above the chugging of his bike.
He gives it full throttle.
My stomach drops as he accelerates up the road.
I grab him around the waist.
Roaring wind. My whole body shaking and vibrating. I’m freezing. I wish I had more clothes on.
I see Mum and Dad’s car in the distance.
‘That’s them!’ I yell into Max’s ear.
Max surges forward, the old Harley sucking up the highway like spaghetti.
As we pull closer to the car I signal to Max to blow his horn to let them know I’m here.
He blasts. I wave. But they don’t stop. If anything they seem to speed up.
Maybe Dad thinks Max is just trying to hassle him. They probably don’t recognise me with a helmet on.
‘Max!’ I yell. ‘Go up next to them. I don’t think they realise it’s me.’
Max pulls up alongside them.
I wave.
Dad just looks straight ahead.
‘Hey,’ I yell. ‘Stop!’
No reaction.
I wave both hands.
Dad flicks a nervous glance across at me, but he doesn’t show any sign of recognition. Instead he hunches over the wheel and pulls away from us at high speed. Wow! I never knew the car could go so fast. If Dad always drove like that, I wouldn’t have so much time to get bored.
Max accepts the challenge. He speeds up, but Dad veers onto the other side of the road to block us. Radical!
But Max knows a few tricks, too.
Max pulls back in and rides up the side of the road that Dad has just vacated.
We’re back beside them—on the inside lane this time.
Max turns to me and yells above the roar: ‘They’re not going to stop! You’re going to have to board ’em.’
He’s joking.
He’s got to be. Either that or he’s completely insane.
‘No way!’ I yell. ‘I’m staying with you.’
‘Stand up,’ he says. ‘I’ll go in as close as I can.’
He’s not joking.
He rides right up beside the car and signals for me to stand.
I kneel on the seat. I hold on to Max’s shoulders and pull myself up. My legs are shaking.
There’s still a huge gap.
‘It’s too far!’ I yell.
Max edges in as close as he dares.
The roof is only a metre away.
My stomach is churning.
I don’t want to do this.
I’m too young to die!
I bend down.
‘I can’t do it,’ I yell in Max’s ear.
‘You have to,’ he growls.
‘Why can’t I stay with you?’ I say. ‘I’ll be your apprentice.’
He laughs.
‘Highway’s no place for a nice kid like you. Go back. Finis
h school.’
‘I’m not nice,’ I say. ‘I’m really annoying.’
He laughs again, a scary, high-pitched sort of laugh.
‘Jump,’ he says.
He has a wild look in his eyes. Maybe staying here is not such a great idea after all.
I stand up again. This is freaky.
I take a deep breath. I close my eyes. Clench my fists. I don’t know what good clenching my fists is going to be in this situation—but it feels like the right thing to do.
Goodbye cruel world.
The wind picks me up and sends me hurtling sideways.
Thump!
I land on the car roof. I made it!
Dad starts swerving all over the road. He’s trying to shake me off.
I’ve got to make him realise it’s me.
I bang on the roof. Dad swerves harder.
I have an idea.
I edge forward, fingers spread as far apart as they will go.
One mistake and I’m gone.
If I can just let him see it’s me he’ll slow down.
I push myself down in front of the windscreen.
Mum and Dad freak. Eyes wide. Mouths open.
Suddenly I go flying forward.
Dad has slammed on the brakes.
I flip over onto my back and grab the aerial to stop myself sliding off the bonnet onto the road.
The car stops.
I’m lying on my back staring up at the sky. Panting hard. It’s over.
Mum and Dad get out.
I take off my helmet.
‘This is the limit, Andy! The absolute limit!’ says Dad. ‘What are you trying to do—get yourself killed?’
More dumb questions.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I was trying to get back into the car. You threw me out, remember?’
‘Yes,’ says Dad. ‘To teach you a lesson.’
‘What sort of lesson is that?’ I say. ‘To abandon me in the middle of nowhere with no food, no drink, no map and no sunscreen.’
Just Annoying! Page 1