Funny Boy Meets the Dumbbell Dentist from Deimos (with Dangerous Dental Decay) (2 page)

Q: What did one eye say to the other?

A: Between you and me, something smells.

Something about Earth’s atmosphere had made me hilarious.

STOP! TURN BACK! IT’S NOT TOO LATE TO DITCH THIS AND READ THAT BOOK THAT WON THE NEWBERY AWARD.

My spaceship crash-landed near San Antonio, Texas, just as Punch was singing “I Feel Pretty.” In an amazing stroke of luck, we smashed through the roof of an underwear factory. Tons of Fruit of the Looms cushioned our fall and enabled Punch and me to survive the impact. We also received free underwear for life.

Or I did, anyway. Punch prefers to parade around underwearless. She is, after all, a dog. On Crouton as on Earth, dogs do not wear underwear. But they do wear wristwatches. Why would a dog wear a wristwatch, you ask?

To tell time, of course!

When Punch and I landed in the underwear factory, we were discovered by a kindly underwear inspector named Bob Foster who became my foster father, whether he wanted to or not. He took us home against his will, and we became one big happy family, except for Bob, who wishes we would leave already.

Earth had been very, very good to me, and I wanted to do something to help my adopted planet. But what could I do? I had nothing except the clothes on my back, and I couldn’t exactly take
them
off. If I walked around naked I would get arrested, or have my life made into a reality TV show.

Then it hit me—I would be a force of good and use my super sense of humor to fight evil on my new planet! I would don a cape (well, a yellow-checked tablecloth) and a fake nose and glasses to become a superhero I call . . . wait for it . . . Funny Boy!

WARNING! THIS BOOK SHOULD NOT BE READ BY PEOPLE WITH BACK PAIN, WOMEN WHO ARE PREGNANT, OR ANYONE WHO HAS A BRAIN.

THE BABY BOOM. WHEN FUNNY BOY ATTEMPTS TO APPREHEND A PERFECTLY INNOCENT PERSON ON THE STREET BECAUSE HE MISTAKENLY ASSUMES SHE’S COMMITTING A CRIME.

Why is “abbreviation” such a
long
word? I think there should be an abbreviation for “abbreviation.”

Anyway, it was a lovely sunny Sunday, with a few lazy clouds hanging in the sky. There was a slight breeze, and spring was in the air.

But the weather has absolutely nothing to do with the story, so there was really no reason to bring it up. Don’t you hate when they do that in books?

I was sitting in Bob Foster’s house minding my own business and watching some adorable cats play the piano on the Internet. Suddenly I felt a rumbling.

“It must be an earthquake!” I shouted to my dog Punch. “Quick! Let’s go hide in the bathtub!”

Somebody once told me that during an earthquake, you’re supposed to hide in the bathtub. I think it’s because you might get all dirty in the earthquake, so you’ll want to take a bath as soon as it’s over.

“It’s not an earthquake, you dope,” Punch told me. “That’s your stomach rumbling.”

Oh yeah. She was right. I was just hungry. So I went and got some Doritos.

(THIS IS CALLED FORESHADOWING, BY THE WAY. LATER IN THE STORY, FUNNY BOY IS GOING TO FEEL A RUMBLING AGAIN, BUT IT’S GOING TO BE
REAL
RUMBLING, BECAUSE THE EARTH WILL BE INVADED BY SOME INTERGALACTIC NUTJOBS! ONLY REALLY HIGH-QUALITY LITERATURE HAS STUFF LIKE FORESHADOWING.)

Bob Foster wasn’t home. He had to work over the weekend, inspecting underwear at the factory. Just so you know, Bob inspects underwear as it comes off the assembly line,
not
underwear that people are wearing. If you try to inspect underwear that people are wearing, they scream and you get thrown in jail.

When Bob inspects underwear, he puts a little slip of paper inside that says INSPECTED BY BOB. So if you ever buy underwear and there’s a slip of paper inside that says INSPECTED BY BOB, that means that Bob inspected it. Inspecting underwear is a tough job, but it’s a lot easier than cutting out those leg holes.

Anyway, Punch said she wanted to go for a walk. Man, she has to go for a walk
all the time
! I would think that if a dog was smart enough to talk, it should be smart enough to use a toilet like the rest of us.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll take you out for a walk. Maybe we can catch some bad guys while we’re on the street.”

So after I ate a few more Doritos and watched a cat play Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, I put on my Funny Boy costume and we headed for the great outdoors.

You would think that bad guys would be all over the streets, wouldn’t you? I mean, on TV the streets are filled with robberies, murders, fires, kidnappings, carjackings, and people shooting guns and committing crimes all the time. But when we got out on the street, it was amazingly quiet and peaceful. The only person I saw was some lady pushing a suspicious-looking frilly basket with wheels.

“Halt!” I shouted to the lady.

“Good morning,” she replied. “Lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?”

“The weather doesn’t interest me,” I said. “I am Funny Boy, defender of all that is good in the universe! And you’re under arrest!”

“What did I do?” she asked, acting all innocent.

“I have reason to believe you have illegal contraband in that rolly basket,” I said. “Come with me. You have the right to remain silent.”

“But it’s just my baby,” she said, picking it up. “See?”

“Put that thing down!” I shouted. “Are you trying to get us all killed? Run, Punch! Run for your life! It’s a baby bomb!”

Have you heard about baby bombs? They’re bombs made in the shape of babies. Nobody suspects a thing, because babies are so cute. But when you pull the pacifier out of the mouth and you throw the baby bomb at your target, it explodes into a million pieces.

BOOM! A well-made baby bomb can reduce a small building to rubble in seconds.

“It’s not a baby bomb,” she said. “It’s my son, Benjy.”

“Oh,
sure
it is,” I told her. “Let me see that baby’s driver’s license.”

“He’s a
baby
!” she replied. “He doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

“Well, I can see that you’re not going to come quietly,” I said, “so I need to question you. Tell me, how do you communicate with a fish?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.

“Just answer the question,” I said. “How do you communicate with a fish?”

“Uh . . . you . . . drop it a line?” she guessed.

“Okay, you got lucky on that one,” I said. “Well, how about this? Why don’t oysters give any of their money to charity?”

“Uh, because they don’t have any money?” she guessed.

“No!” I informed her. “Oysters don’t give any of their money to charity because they’re shellfish. Get it? Shellfish? Selfish?”

“That was worse than the first one,” said the lady.

“I’m just getting warmed up,” I told her. “Now I’m going to bring out my ‘A’ material, and you will be unable to resist the awesome superpower of my humor.”

“Knock yourself out, Funny Boy.”

“A string walks into a bar and asks for a drink,” I said. “The bartender says, ‘We don’t serve strings in here.’ So the string walks out, rubs himself against the curb, and ties himself into a knot. Then he walks back into the bar and asks for a drink. The bartender says, ‘Aren’t you the string that was just here a few minutes ago?’ And the string replies, ‘No, I’m a frayed knot.’ ”

Get it—a frayed knot? Afraid not? That’s what I call high-quality humor!

“How could a string walk into a bar?” the lady asked.

“It can’t!” I told her. “That’s part of the reason why it’s funny!”

“Look, I’d really love to stay and chat with you,” the lady said, “but it’s time for Benjy’s nap. Say bye bye, Benjy.”

“Bye bye,” said Benjy. “Gurgle gurgle.”

“A baby bomb with a built-in speech synthesizer!” I marveled. “What will they think of next?”

“Just ignore him,” said Punch, who had kept her big mouth shut up until this point. “He’s an idiot.”

The lady looked at Punch.

“Uh, your dog just talked,” she told me.

“Yes, she did,” I replied, “and do you know what’s even more amazing than a talking dog?”

“What?”

“A spelling bee!” I told her. “Get it? Spelling bee?”

“I don’t get it.”

Clearly, this woman was not that bright and could not appreciate the immense magnitude of my wit.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time,” I told her. “But don’t even
think
about blowing up one of those speech-synthesized baby bombs in this town. I’m keeping an eye on you, lady.”

SO, ARE YOU ENJOYING THE BOOK SO FAR? IS THERE ANYTHING WE CAN DO FOR YOU? A NICE COOL DRINK? A PILLOW? A NECK MASSAGE? ANYTHING TO MAKE YOUR READING EXPERIENCE MORE PLEASURABLE.