Buttheads from Outer Space

by Jerry Mahoney

“Yeah,” I agreed. When in doubt, I’ve learned, always play along with Lloyd.

  “I wanted to goof off and play video games, but your son is very dedicated to his studies!”

  My mom and dad looked at each other silently for a moment. I was sure we were busted this time.

  “Boys, come down to the living room, please,” my mom said, finally. “Your father and I want to apologize for our behavior this morning.”

  Apologize? So that was what was going on? Lloyd patted me on the back, and I was filled with the pride that comes from getting away with something. I couldn’t help smiling. I had tricked my parents. This must be how Lloyd felt, every single day. It was such a rush.

  Lloyd and I followed my parents into the living room and sat down across from them on the sofa. My dad put his hand on his left temple and shook his head. “We acted like garbage,” he said.

  “Don!” my mom said, shocked.

  “No, there’s no other word for it. Son, Lloyd, I’m sorry.”

  “We love you so much, honey,” my mom said, leaning in for a hug, “even if you did one bad thing.”

  When I turned ten, I decided I was too big to cry, and I vowed never to do it again. Since then, there have only been two and a half occasions when I absolutely couldn’t avoid it. Once was in gym class when Kenny Ferris hit me full speed in the junk with a dodgeball. Once was when Mufasa died in The Lion King. And lastly, just a little bit, was when I realized at that moment that my parents still loved me. (No tears actually came out, so that’s why I only counted it as a half.) I couldn’t speak, because I was afraid I’d start blubbering like a baby. Besides, I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Lloyd stepped in to make things right.

  “We forgive you,” he said, pulling us all in for a group hug. “Even the best parents make mistakes.”

  As we all embraced, I saw Doodoofartmama’s butt bubble pulsing back in through the window. It was floating around, as if confused that the rest of the goo was no longer where it expected it to be.

  “Lloyd!” I whispered, swatting at it with my hands.

  “On it, Josh,” he said. He slipped away from the hug and grabbed the bubble with both hands. Then, he served it like a volleyball straight up the stairs and into my bedroom, where it seeped through the door. It was the most athletic thing either of us had ever done, at just the time when we needed it most.

  As the hug finally came to an end, Lloyd addressed my parents. “Now that that’s out of the way,” he said, “Josh has some big news!”

  “Really?” my mom said.

  I stood up, proudly, and smiled. “I kind of became the Smart-Off Super Brain today.”

  My dad gasped. “Did something happen to Quentin? Did he die?”

  “No!” I said. “I beat him! I got the highest score on the quiz!”

  “Really?” my mom said. “I mean, honey, that’s amazing!”

  “That’s my son!” my dad shouted. I’d never seen him so proud of me. “This calls for a celebration!”

  “A special celebration!” my mom said.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” my dad asked.

  My mom nodded. “It’s time to drink that special soda!”

  I nearly screamed.

  In an instant, all the joy and relief I’d been feeling transformed into utter terror. I nudged Lloyd, hoping he could come up with a way out of this. He sprang into action, pleading with my parents not to open the bottle.

  “No! It’s so old! It’s probably gone flat. This isn’t special. What are you going to drink when Josh gets married? Dr. Pepper?”

  Nothing worked. My dad pulled out the bottle and four small glasses, then began to pour. “Josh, you make me so proud. The only way to do this moment justice is with some Quokka Kola.”

  He raised his glass to toast, and we all clinked. I watched my dad close his eyes and smile in anticipation. He held the soda underneath his nose like he was taking in the bouquet of a fine wine. Then, he held the glass to his lips and ever so gently took his first loving sip.

  Which he promptly spat out in disgust, right in my mom’s face.

  “Aah!” she screamed, as the cut-rate cola shot directly up her left nostril.

  “This is the supermarket brand!” He turned to me and Lloyd, his face bright red with rage.

  “Did you boys break into my soda stash?”

  “No, Dad!” I said.

  “The label is wet. Someone opened this today.”

  “We didn’t do it!” Lloyd said.

  “Don’t give me that . . .” my dad replied, pausing as he pondered what to say next. I’d never seen him so angry, not even that morning.

  “Don, no!” my mom said. She was shaking her head, gushing tears of disappointment. “Don’t say it.”

  “GARBAGE!!!” my dad exploded. “That’s what it is! It’s garbage! It’s DARN garbage! And after we said we were sorry!”

  “Don,” Lloyd said, trying to stay calm. “Mr. McBain, please let me explain.”

  “Lloyd, go home!” my dad shouted.

  “Yes, sir,” Lloyd replied, running for the door. When Lloyd abandons ship, you know you’re in trouble.

  Then, my dad turned to me. “Joshua James McBain, the third,” he said, “You are grounded! You are not allowed to leave your room except for school, from now until the end of time!”13

  I wanted to defend myself, but I could tell from the look on his face that I’d never win this battle. “I understand,” I said, backing away with my head hung low. I was hoping he’d say something else to me as I walked upstairs, one final statement to let me know that, as enraged as he was, he still loved me.

  “Young man,” he said, as I reached the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, Dad?” I said hopefully.

  “I’m very disappointed in you.”

  It was then that my second-and-a-half time crying became an official number three.

  13 See page 266 for our blog on punishments, which are parents’ revenge whenever a kid does something cool.

  CHAPTER 13

  I was so upset about disappointing my parents that I forgot for a moment that more aliens were on their way to our planet and that all of Earth could soon be bathed in number four and Oreo barf. All I could do was hope this was a misunderstanding that I could quickly clear up with the buttheads.

  As I approached my bedroom, though, things didn’t sound so simple. There was a lot of farting coming from the other side of the door, and a lot of evil laughs, too. I decided to eavesdrop for a minute, so I quietly pushed the door open a crack and began to observe.

  The buttheads looked normal again—well, normal for them, at least. They’d reformed from their jellylike state, and they’d returned themselves to their usual proportions. The butt cheeks bulging out of their craniums were back to the size and shape I remembered.

  It wasn’t their appearance that stood out the most, though. It was what they were doing—bent over my globe with a red Sharpie.

  “FRRT FRRT FRRT Paris?” IAmAWeenieBurger asked.

  “FRRT!” Doodoofartmama agreed eagerly. Then, IAmAWeenieBurger drew a giant X over half of France.

  With every successive fart, the room filled more and more with the smell of raw beef. It was like the butcher counter at the supermarket.

  That couldn’t be a good sign.

  There were X’s all over the globe, as it turned out—dozens of them, everywhere from Wagga Wagga, Australia, to Walla Walla, Washington. This was exactly what Mr. Mudd warned us about. One provocation could make the buttheads turn on us, and that’s exactly what Quentin’s picture did. Now it looked like they were going to destroy our planet, one city at a time. Talk about being oversensitive! I needed Lloyd more than ever. Only he could talk them out of it, but instead it was just me here, on my own. The fate of the planet rested on my shoulders. I was so terrified, I did something I had never done before.

  I fear-farted.

  Yes, I farted out of fear. I didn’t even know it was possible, but apparently,
my butt did.

  IAmAWeenieBurger whipped his head around instantly. “Watch your mouth!” he admonished. I don’t even know what I said, but I guess I fart-cursed.

  Very nervously, I stepped into my bedroom and shut the door behind me so my parents wouldn’t know that a plot to destroy our planet was being hatched there. “Please don’t kill us all!” I whimpered.14

  IAmAWeenieBurger put down his Sharpie, a hurt look on his face. “Hold on, bro. You think we’re going to kill you?”

  “That’s why you’re drawing X’s on my planet, isn’t it? Those are the places you’re going to attack?”

  Doodoofartmama rolled his eyes. “FRRT!” he laughed.

  “You’re not going to kill us?” I said. It was kind of cool that I knew what he meant, even without taking a sniff. I was actually starting to understand their language.

  IAmAWeenieBurger rested one of his three hands on my shoulder. “Like I said, man, on our planet there’s no war; everyone’s just chill. So the thought of attacking never entered our buttheads. I forgot humans were such jerks.”

  “But if you’re not going to attack, then why did you cross out Paris?”

  “We didn’t cross it out. We renamed it!” He pointed to the X on the globe. “That’s what we’ll be calling Paris now!”

  “And Tokyo? And Seattle? You renamed them all X ?”

  “FRRT!” Doodoofartmama was laughing his head off.

  “Those aren’t X ’s!” IAmAWeenieBurger explained. “We’re using our written language. If you look closely, you’ll see the two lines meet at different angles each time. That’s how we differentiate our words.” He pointed to Paris. “Paris will now be called FRRT!” He tooted out a bouquet of perfume and strawberry crepes.

  Then, he pointed to Chicago. “And Chicago will be called FRRT!” This fart smelled like deep-dish pizza. The difference in the sound was subtle, but it was noticeable. Sure enough, when I looked, the two X’s weren’t identical either. Paris was like this:

  And Chicago was more like this:

  “So you’re not going to take over the Earth?”

  “Of course not! Our homies are just coming to hang out! No biggie.”

  “Actually, it’s kind of a biggie,” I warned him. “Quentin already knows you’re here, and soon other people will, too.”

  “Aw!” IAmAWeenieBurger mussed my hair with his fingerless hand. “You Earthlings are adorable when you’re needlessly concerned.”

  “You mean you’re not worried humans will hurt you? Um, haven’t you seen what we do to aliens in movies?”

  “Oh yes. And we have learned from the mistakes the fictional aliens have made. We’re not just sending one or two thousand buttheads. We’ve invited seventy billion of our closest friends! We’ll outnumber you ten to one.”

  “Seventy billion?” I gasped. “You’re talking about an invasion!”

  “I guess that’s the closest Earth word for it,” IAmAWeenieBurger said cheerfully. “Though grasshoppers are a little more precise when they call it a—” He rubbed his legs together, making a chirp-chirp sound. “Don’t worry,” IAmAWeenieBurger explained. “This will all be much simpler when we make FRRT the official language of Earth.”

  “You’re going to change our language?”

  “Well, yeah. It’ll be much easier for us all when we talk the same, don’t you think?”

  “I guess,” I said. “But why your language and not one of ours? Like Spanish?”

  “Dude, it’s so hard to trill those r’s,” IAmAWeenie-Burger said. “And all that business with nouns being either male or female is kinda silly, don’t you think? Everyone can fart, though. It’s what bonds all the creatures of the universe.” He was so calm and reassuring. Maybe the aliens coming to our planet wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least I wouldn’t have to take Señora Acosta’s class anymore. I could learn to speak in farts, I guess. I was already starting to understand Doodoofartmama.

  “Is that all that’s going to change?”

  “Yes. Just that and a few minor little things. Like we’ll be bringing Snertflings with us, of course.”

  “What are Snertflings?”

  “They’re our pets.” He started talking in a cutesy voice, the way someone does to a puppy. “They’re fluffy and cuddly and have big cute wittle eyes, and you just wanna squeeze ’em, you do!”

  “They sound OK. And they’ll get along with cats and dogs?”

  “Well, Snertflings do get a bit territorial, to be honest.”

  “A bit?”

  “They usually eat any other pets they come across. But we’ll work on it.”

  I was starting to get nervous again. I decided to dig a bit deeper. “What about the government? Will we still be a democracy? Will people have the right to vote?”

  “Of course! We wouldn’t mess with your system of government. Democracy rocks, yo.”

  “OK, whew,” I sighed.

  “Then again, we’ll outnumber you ten to one, so buttheads will probably control the Senate, the House, the Supreme Court, the White House, and most state legislatures. Don’t worry, though. We’ll amp up your quality of life by giving you new, less stressful jobs.”

  “New jobs? But what about important people like doctors or lawyers? Even teachers?

  “Oh, silly you! We won’t need humans to heal us, teach us, or mediate disputes. We’re so much more intelligent than you single-brained life-forms. Besides, we’ve heard your parents talking. All they do is complain about their jobs. So we’ll have Earthlings do things that are very low pressure. Wouldn’t they like that?”

  I tried to imagine my parents not complaining about work. They’d hardly be the same people anymore. “What kind of jobs are you talking about?”

  “Well, we’ll need skilled laborers to build landing pods for our spaceships and toilets you can rest your head on. The rest of your humans will be put on brain jam duty.”

  “Brain jam?”

  “Yeah, it’s, like, this sticky gunk that accumulates between our toes. We don’t always have time to dig it out ourselves, so humans will pick it out for us and then dump it in a big giant tub of acid. Trust me, it’s way cool if you can stand the smell.”

  “Um . . .” I wanted to protest, but I didn’t know where to begin. Lloyd was the king of persuasion. The only thing I could think of to say was, “Oh, just blow us up already.” Thankfully, before I could speak, Doodoofartmama interrupted with a massive sneeze.

  “Uhh-SHOOZ!” Snot spurted out of his toes across my bedroom floor.

  “Of course,” IAmAWeenieBurger said, “we’ve gotta fix your planet’s germ problem, man. I mean, it can’t be too hard to find a cure for the common cold, right?”

  “Please, no! Don’t do this!”

  “But they’re already on their way. Doodoofartmama just invited them.”

  “When?” I asked. “When are they getting here?”

  “They’ll arrive here on FRRT in two days,” IAmAWeenieBurger said. He paused, then added, “Oh yes, by the way, the new name of your planet is FRRT.”

  This fart smelled like McDonald’s.

  14 If this is getting too intense for you, take a little break and read our blog on parents, on page 268–unless you are a parent, in which case, please don’t read what we really think of you.

  CHAPTER 14

  As I walked to school the next morning, I wondered how much longer Earth would continue to look like the planet I’d come to know. There would be new buildings soon—and new faces everywhere I went, many of them with butts on them. Some of my neighbors would have spaceships parked in their driveways and their yards would be full of Snertflings, whatever those were. I wondered what else would change.

  Would aliens adopt our culture, or would we behave more like them? Would humans start giving their kids names like IAmAWeenieBurger? Would we have a President Doodoofartmama? Would buttheads star in all our TV shows and movies? Would the next Spider-Man be a Spider-Butthead?15

  I wondered how long it woul
d take me to learn their language, and if I’d have to drink more soda so I could fart out everything that was on my mind. I was pretty sure my parents would never quite get the hang of it, and they’d constantly be asking me to translate for them when a butthead song came on the radio or a breaking news report interrupted their favorite TV show, The Big Bang Butt Factor. That made me wonder if buttheads would keep our old songs in their native tongues, the way we do with operas, or if everything would be rerecorded with farts. Some songs might actually sound better that way.

  Then I wondered if buttheads would bring their own religions with them, with butthead gods and a butthead bible? Or would they just tell us which one of our belief systems was the right one? “We appreciate your multi-millennia-spanning quest for spiritual enlightenment, but let’s end the suspense. The true religion is Shintoism.” Then suddenly, there’d be no more Christmas or Passover and we’d get off from school on Japanese New Year.

  As soon as I saw Lloyd, I ran up to his locker to tell him the news. He would know what to do.

  “Eh, we had a good run.” Lloyd shrugged. He hung up his coat and his backpack and waited for me so we could walk to homeroom together.

  “Lloyd, we can’t just give up our planet to the buttheads!” I said. “This is the only planet we have. The only one we know how to get to!” I grabbed my US history textbook for first period and closed my locker. “Will you talk to them? You’re a master at getting people to do what you want.”

  “Yeah, people,” Lloyd said. “I don’t know how to talk to these things. I’m not even sure where to look, to be honest. Their eyes? Their mouths? Their butts? And you said they outnumber us ten to one. How am I going to convince seventy billion aliens of anything?”

  He was right, of course. This was an intergalactic takeover we were talking about, with humans versus far superior creatures from across the universe. What were the odds that two barely twelve-year-old kids like us could save all of humankind in a situation like this?

  Then I saw Quentin heading to the principal’s office to do the morning announcements. This was all his fault. He and his stupid picture ruined everything. I wanted to shout, “Traitor!” down the hall, but I realized that would only make me look like the crazy one.