by R. L. Stine
Mama swung her cane and smacked Nervous Rex in the knees with it.
He uttered a sharp cry of pain.
“Hey, cluck-cluck—why didn’t you laugh at my joke?” Mama demanded.
Rex started to shake. “Because I’m a little afraid of you,” he murmured. “You—you’re making me nervous.”
“Your face is making me nervous!” she exclaimed.
Luke Puke jumped up and went running to the bathroom, his hand over his mouth.
“Janey, where did you find her?” I asked.
“I rented her,” she replied.
“I’m a Rent-a-Mom,” the woman said. “You’ve heard of us, haven’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” I lied. I didn’t want to be smacked by the cane again.
I came close and whispered in Janey’s ear: “She’s a little weird.”
“That’s why she was half price!” Janey whispered back.
“Awwwk. Give me a kiss, Mama!” Ptooey squawked. “I’ll bite your beak!”
“Somebody toss that bird in the oven for me,” Mama ordered. “I’ll have it for dinner with lettuce and tomato on ciabatta bread!”
THIRTY-FIVE
Cranky Frankie here. I have to continue the story because Adam Bomb’s head blew up. And it wasn’t pretty.
It’s kind of a long story. With an explosive ending.
But I’ll get to that later.
For now, we were all staring at our new mom. She sure was tough, swinging her cane around and calling us names.
But, I thought, maybe she’ll fool the Perfects when they show up. And then we’ll be done with our Perfect problem for good.
The kids in this house are all gross, lame-brained, worthless slobs. But they are my friends. No, change that. They are my family. And I didn’t want to see my family scattered.
Babbling Brooke has a picture on her bedroom wall. It says: HOME SWEET HOME. I don’t know about the sweet part. But it is home. For all of us. And we really wanted to keep it that way.
“Stand up, you dum-diddies!” Mama shouted, waving her cane. “We have a lot of work to get this place looking good for the Perfects. She then gazed down at the floor. “Has any of you cluck-clucks swept the floor lately?”
“There’s too much junk and stuff on it,” Handy Sandy answered. “We can’t find the floor.”
“Stay away from that squishy part over there,” Nervous Rex said, pointing to the corner. “It might be quicksand.”
Mama smacked her cane down on the floor. “Somebody bring out the broom!”
“We don’t have a broom,” Adam Bomb said.
“Okay, then, bring out a mop!”
Adam shook his head. “We don’t have a mop.”
“How about a DustBuster?”
“What’s that?”
“Okay,” Mama said. “Bring out a cleaning brush.”
“We don’t have one of those, either.”
“How about a rake?”
“No,” Adam said, “no rake.”
“A shovel?”
“No shovel.”
“How about a sponge?”
“We had a sponge once, but Pooper ate it.”
Mama tore at her purple hair with both hands. “Does anyone have a toothbrush we can use?”
Silence.
“How about a toothpick?”
Silence.
“What about a fork? A screwdriver? A butter knife? Tweezers?”
Adam Bomb suddenly grabbed the sides of his head.
“Stop! Please—stop! I—I can’t take any more of this!” he cried. “We don’t have any cleaning tools. No one ever told us we’d have to clean up!”
His eyes spun crazily as he gripped his head. His face went from red to purple.
“Can’t take it! Can’t take it!” he repeated.
There was a low BUZZ. It became a rumbling sound—like an earthquake in a movie.
Adam’s eyes bulged. His face darkened to a deep magenta.
And then . . .
BAAAAARRRRRRROOOOOOOOMMMMMM!
His head blew up.
Adam’s head just exploded all over.
A shocked silence fell over the living room.
We all gaped in horror, gasping and choking, staring at a headless Adam as he slumped to the floor.
Finally, Mama broke the silence. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Forget about cleaning up. Some other time, maybe.”
THIRTY-SIX
Luke Puke and I carried Adam to his room and dropped him onto his bed.
We’ve seen him explode many times before. Adam has a very explosive personality.
I’ll admit watching a friend’s head blow up can be pretty upsetting. But once you’ve seen it a bunch of times, it’s no big deal.
When Luke and I returned to the living room, everyone was discussing dinner.
“We need to show Mr. and Mrs. Perfect that we’re a normal family,” Brainy Janey said. “When they arrive, we need to crowd around the table, and have a family dinner cooked by Mama. That will send the Perfects on their way.”
I squinted at Mama. “Can you cook?”
Mama nodded. “I was a cannibal for ten years when I was younger. I can cook anything.”
Janey grinned. “See, Mama is going to save the day.”
Mama rubbed her hands together. “You diddy-wads are in for a treat,” she said. “Lead me to the kitchen and bring me your biggest frying pan.”
Janey took Mama’s elbow and led her into the kitchen. I heard pots and pans clanging and banging in there.
“Okay,” Mama called. “Bring me that fat parrot so I can cut its head off! Who wants to help me pull off its feathers?”
“I will!” Wacky Jackie volunteered. She jumped up from her chair and started to the birdcage.
“Awk. You shut up!” Ptooey squawked.
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“Wait! Stop!” Nervous Rex cried. “We can’t eat the parrot.”
“Why not?” Wacky Jackie demanded.
Rex held his belly. “Every time I eat parrot, it upsets my stomach.”
“Ptooey! How about a bite?” the parrot squawked at Mama. “Come over here. I’ll give you a bite you won’t forget!”
Mama shook her head. “Okay, I’ll make something else for you cluck-clucks.”
She turned and looked out the window at our backyard. “I see you have vegetables growing in the garden. I’ll pick some of them and make a stew.”
“Uh . . . those aren’t vegetables,” Janey told her. “It’s garbage that has taken root.”
Mama stepped into the dining room. “Let me think . . . let me think of something I can cook. I think—”
She stopped with a short cry. And her eyes bulged as she stared at our dining room table.
She pointed with a trembling finger. “Is that . . . is that a dead cow on the dining room table?”
Everyone turned to the table.
“No,” I said. “It’s Junkfood John. Sometimes he falls asleep there.”
I poked John in the stomach. “Wake up. Come on, get up. We need the table. It’s almost dinnertime.”
John groaned and rolled off the table and onto the floor.
“Hey, everyone—” Babbling Brooke called from the middle of the living room.
We all turned to her.
“Whose turn is it to walk Pooper?” she shouted.
Handy Sandy raised her hand. “It’s my turn,” she said.
“Well, good news. You don’t have to walk him,” Brooke said. “He just made a big pile on the floor.”
Mama’s little eyes went wide as she stared at the floor. “Does anyone ever clean up after Pooper when he does his business in the house?”
“Almost always,” Sandy said.
And that’s when the front doorbell rang.<
br />
The Perfects were here.
A STRETCHING EXERCISE FROM COACH SWETTYPANTS
Listen up, people.
This story is getting tense.
Here’s a simple stretching exercise you can do to help you stay relaxed through the next part of the book. It’s easy. And you don’t need any special equipment, either. You can do it wherever you are, indoors or outdoors or even without doors.
1. Let’s start at the top. Move your head around and around in a circle until you hear a soft cracking sound in your neck.
2. Ignore the pain and keep rotating your head, listening for the CRACK CRACK CRACK of your neck muscles loosening up.
3. Raise your right hand high above your head. Higher. Higher. Now lift your right foot off the ground and balance yourself on the toes of your left foot.
4. Now reverse. Raise your left hand and your left foot and balance on your right toes. Listen up, people. If you fall over, don’t get discouraged. Try balancing from a sitting position.
5. Now here’s the real stretch. Bring your left leg up and entwine it under your right arm.
6. Bring your left arm under your right leg and hold it till you feel the stretch behind your knees.
7. Fold both hands under your knees and tuck your legs over your arms.
8. Hey, I seem to be stuck here. I can’t seem to untangle my arms and legs.
9. Can anyone help me? I’m in a lot of pain here, and I just heard something snap in my back.
10. I really do need some assistance. Is anyone out there? Can anyone help get my legs free so I can crawl to the nurse’s office?
11. Anyone?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Cranky Frankie here. As I was saying . . .
You could feel the tension in the room. It suddenly felt as if the air had frozen, and some of us kids started to shiver. Nervous Rex bent over and tucked his head between his knees. Sort of like an ostrich hiding in the sand.
Luke Puke made an ULP sound and went running to the bathroom.
“Don’t panic, you dum-dum doo-doos!” Mama shouted. “I know how to handle these people. After all, I’m perfect, too!”
Handy Sandy held up her welcome mat with the bear trap hidden inside. “Is it too late to use this?”
“Put that thing away. We don’t need it,” Mama said. “Go on, get it out of here.”
Sandy took a few steps toward her room and—
SNAAAAAAAPPP!
“OWWWWWWW!”
She fell to the floor, howling in pain.
Mama waved her away with her cane. With her leg trapped inside the welcome mat, Sandy staggered out of sight.
The doorbell rang again and Mama turned back to us.
“Open the door, nit-nits! And stop panicking. We got this. First, I’m going to drive them crazy. Then I’m going to make it so they can’t wait to leave!”
“I know she can do it,” Brainy Janey said. “Renting Mama was the smartest thing I ever did.”
“True that!” Mama said, slapping Janey on the back so hard her bubblegum came flying out. “Now, keep them busy while I change.” Then she ran to the back of the house.
Junkfood John pulled open the front door.
Mr. and Mrs. Perfect grinned at him. “Surprise!” they cried in unison. “We thought we’d pay you a surprise visit.”
“You’re early,” John said. “Did you bring us treats again?” He started to drool. The word treats always gets him drooling.
“No treats. May we come in?”
The Perfects didn’t wait for an answer. They pushed past John and strode into the living room. As they stood at the entrance gazing around the room, they inspected us.
“I love that brown vase on the rug,” Mrs. Perfect said. “It’s so natural looking. Where did you get it?”
“Pooper made it,” I said.
She smiled at me. “Someone here is very talented.”
“Awk! Ptooey!” the parrot squawked from his perch. “Come over here, and I’ll make something for you!”
“Are your parents home?” Parker Perfect asked. “We’re so eager to meet them.”
“Mama is home,” Janey told them. “She’ll be right out.”
The Perfects blinked. “She is?”
They couldn’t hide their surprise. They had come to trap us, to find us without any parents. But we were prepared.
I held my breath. A lot of questions flew through my mind.
Could our Rent-a-Mom really fool them?
Could she convince the Perfects she was our mother?
And what about our dinner?
THIRTY-EIGHT
“Uh . . . how is your mother doing?” Penny Perfect asked. “The last time we were here, you told us she had all her teeth pulled.”
“Oh,” Janey said. “Well . . . they put them all back in.”
The Perfects blinked again. “That’s good news,” Penny said.
“She’ll be happy to show you her teeth,” Wacky Jackie said. “They came from a horse. They’re totally awesome.”
Mr. Perfect gasped. “Your mother’s teeth came from a horse?”
Jackie nodded. “Her old teeth were too small. She kept swallowing them.”
The Perfects exchanged a long glance. I could see this wasn’t going well. They were starting to get suspicious.
“Horse teeth?” Mr. Perfect asked.
Jackie nodded. “But you should see how Mama eats carrots now. She’s a champ.”
Mrs. Perfect turned to me. “Is your mother really home?”
“She told us she was home,” I said.
Mr. Perfect frowned at me. “When?”
“When she was home,” I said.
“She told you she was home when she was home?”
“She said she’d be home,” I said.
“Hold on,” Penny Perfect said. “Where was she when she told you she’d be home?”
“Home!” I answered.
“Here I am!” a voice called from the doorway.
Everyone turned as Mama strolled into the room.
Her cane tap-tapped the floor in front of her as she stepped up to greet the Perfects. She had dressed up as an old-fashioned housewife in a flowery skirt and a frilly white blouse. And she had a yellow apron tied around her waist.
“You must be the P-P-Perfects!” she gushed, and sprayed the P-P-Ps all over Parker Perfect.
He wiped his face with a handkerchief.
“So nice to meet you. And what is your name?” Penny Perfect asked.
Mama raised a hand behind her ear, as if she couldn’t hear. “Pardon?”
“Your name,” Penny Perfect repeated. “What should we call you?”
Again, Mama raised her hand behind her ear. “Pardon?”
“What is your name?” Mr. Perfect shouted.
“Pardon.”
“YOUR NAME! YOUR NAME!” he cried.
“You don’t have to shout,” Mama said. “My name is Pardon. Papa named me Pardon.”
“What a strange name,” Mrs. Perfect said.
Mama put her hand behind her ear. “Pardon?”
“Yes, Pardon,” Mrs. Perfect repeated. “Very strange.”
Again, Mama placed her hand behind her ear. “Pardon?”
“IT’S A STRANGE NAME!” Mr. Perfect screamed.
“You don’t have to shout!” Mama scolded him again. “Papa was sitting there in jail. Mama thought he was a goner. But, sure enough, the pardon came through from the governor. So he came home and named me Pardon.”
“How interesting. What did your father do for a living?” Penny Perfect asked.
Her hand went behind her ear. “Pardon?” And then Mama went, “Hic, hic . . .”
“Your father,” Mr. Perfect said. “What did he do for a living?”
“Pardon? Hic, hic.”
“WHAT DID YOUR FATHER DO FOR A LIVING?” Peter Perfect screamed.
“You don’t have to shout,” Mama said. “Hic, hic.
” “Why is she doing that?” Babblin
g Brooke whispered to me.
“I think she’s trying to be totally annoying,” I whispered back.
“It’s working,” Brooke whispered.
Mr. Perfect took a deep breath and curled and uncurled his fists. Both of their faces were red. I could see that Mama was driving them crazy.
“We just wondered what your father did for a living,” Mr. Perfect repeated, gritting his teeth.
“He was a murderer,” Mama said. “Can I offer you some cookies?
THIRTY-NINE
“I’m so happy to have visitors,” Mama told the Perfects.
“Come, sit down on the couch. Hic, hic.”
“That isn’t the couch,” I said. “That’s Junkfood John.”
“What adorable children you have,” Mrs. Perfect lied. She had a tight grin plastered to her perfect face. “Do I detect a slight accent? Where are you from?”
Mama cupped both ears with her hands. “Pardon? Hic, hic.”
“Do you have hiccups?” Mrs. Perfect asked.
Mama shook her head. “Hic, hic. No.”
“Where are you from?” Mrs. Perfect repeated.
“Pardon? Hic, hic.”
“Oh, never mind!” Mrs. Perfect snapped.
“Mars,” Mama said.
“Is that the way people speak in . . . on . . . Mars?” Mr. Perfect asked.
Mama cupped her ear. “Pardon? Hic, hic.”
Mr. Perfect uttered a cry of frustration.
Mama was driving the Perfects insane. Perfectly insane. She was driving me insane, too!
Parker Perfect turned to Wacky Jackie. “Let me ask you. Where did you all come from?”
Jackie cupped a hand behind her ear. “Pardon? Hic, hic.”
Beside her, Handy Sandy cupped her ear. “Pardon? Hic, hic.”
The hics traveled quickly around the room.
“Hic, hic.”
“Hic, hic.”
The Perfects covered their ears with their hands. They had their mouths wide open, like they both wanted to scream.
Mrs. Perfect turned to me. “So all you kids belong to her?” she asked.
I cupped my ear. “Pardon? Hic, hic.”
She muttered something under her breath. Then she turned back to Mama. “So all these kids are yours?” she demanded.
“Awk! Ptooey! Pardon? Hic, hic,” Ptooey squawked.