Funny Boy Meets the Airsick Alien from Andromeda
136
Funny Boy Meets the Airsick Alien from Andromeda
136Overview
On the planet Crouton, kids never have to straighten their rooms or make their own beds. That’s because their rooms aren’t crooked, and when they need beds, they just buy them. It’s a pretty neat place. But when Funny Boy—a Croutonian smart-aleck with the galaxy’s best sense of humor—shoots his brother with a spitball, his parents strap him into a spaceship and blast him to Earth. Things get strange from the minute his spaceship crash-lands in the underwear factory. A planet-gobbling alien is about to attack his new home, and Funny Boy doesn’t have any weapons besides a talking dog and a razor-sharp wit. But there is good news: Something about Earth’s atmosphere has made Funny Boy even funnier. His job is to crack the jokes, but he needs somebody to turn the pages. So get to it! Earth won’t save itself! This ebook features an illustrated biography of Dan Gutman including rare images from the author’s personal collection.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781453259535 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 12/04/2012 |
| Series: | Funny Boy , #1 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 136 |
| File size: | 9 MB |
| Age Range: | 7 - 10 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Funny Boy Meets The Airsick Alien From Andromeda
By Dan Gutman, John Dykes
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1999 Dan GutmanAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4532-5953-5
CHAPTER 1
A PLANET THE SIZE OF URANUS
"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"Mickey Mouse's underwear."
That was the first joke I ever heard. I was three years old at the time. That's three Earth years, of course. On my home planet, a year only lasts one day. So I was actually 1,095 years old when I heard the Mickey Mouse joke. I am 3,287 years old now, or nine Earth years.
I was born on Crouton, which is a planet about the size of Uranus. It is the only place in the universe where anyone can say the word "Uranus" without giggling.
Crouton is shaped much like a loaf of bread. In fact, the planet is made entirely of bread. That, of course, is why it came to be called Crouton.
My people—the Croutonians—are gentle folk. Perhaps you've heard the Croutonian national anthem. It sounds like a bunch of pots and pans being banged with a wooden spoon and then thrown down a flight of stairs.
Crouton is 160,000 million light-years from Earth, in the Magellanic Clouds galaxy. It's just a stone's throw from Tinkle Major. That is, if you can throw a stone ten million miles.
For those of you who don't know what a light-year is, it's the distance light travels in one year. A light-year is very difficult to measure. That's because whenever they try to measure a light year, the batteries in the flashlight run out before the year is up and they have to start all over again.
In scientific terms, a light-year is really, really, really far away. It is farther than the longest, most boring car trip you have ever taken. It's so far, you could say "Are we there yet?" six billion times in a row, and you still wouldn't be there yet.
It's so far, that if you traveled from Earth to Crouton, the trip would take an entire lifetime. And then, when you finally arrived on Crouton, you would see that there isn't much going on and you would want to come back home. It's sort of like a trip to Canada.
Crouton is very much like Earth, but quite different in some ways, too. For instance, on Crouton golf balls don't have dimples. They have pimples. On Earth, you drive on the parkway and park on the driveway. But on Crouton, we drive on the sidewalk and park in the swimming pool. Also, Croutonian cows have thirteen udders and each one gives a different variety of soft drink.
Other than those minor differences, the two planets are pretty much the same.
Croutonians are very lazy people. Let me give you an example. My father was a volcano chaser. Not a tornado chaser. Not a hurricane chaser. He would chase volcanoes. It's much easier, because they don't move all over the place the way tornadoes and hurricanes do. Once you catch a volcano, it pretty much stays put. My dad would chase a volcano until he caught it, then he'd pull up a lawn chair and sit there watching it.
My mother was pretty average. She was a stay-at-home mom for five years, until the day my dad talked her into going outside. By the time my brother and I were in school, Mom started her own company making finger puppets for people with extremely large hands. In her spare time she would get together with the ladies in her bridge club, and they built some really nice ones.
My brother—his name is Bronk—and I always had a normal relationship. I hated his guts and he hated mine. Once, as a practical joke, he put chlorine from our swimming pool into my oatmeal. To pay him back, I put darts on the blades of the ceiling fan over his bed and programmed it to turn on when his alarm clock went off in the morning. Mom grounded both of us for a week.
We also have a dog, a cocker spaniel named Punchline, who doesn't do much more than bark all day. More on her later.
All in all, I had a typical, happy, carefree childhood on the planet Crouton. And then one day, something terrible happened.
CHAPTER 2HOW TO BE SO ANNOYING THAT YOUR PARENTS SHOOT YOU INTO OUTER SPACE IN A ROCKET
You're probably wondering how I became Funny Boy.
Funny you should ask.
It all started when I was a little kid back on the planet Crouton. Everybody always thought I was funny. When I fell down while learning how to walk, everybody thought it was funny. When I was learning how to use a spoon and the food fell out of my mouth and dribbled down my face, everybody thought it was funny. When I fell off a cliff into an active volcano filled with molten lava, everybody thought it was hysterical.
Okay, I made that last one up. But the point is, no matter what I did, people always thought it was funny. I discovered very early that I had this unusual talent to make people laugh.
It didn't take long to discover that I could use this talent to my advantage. For instance, one day for the fun of it I called up my dad's boss and told him my father had stolen a million blangs from the company. My dad was furious when he found out. But I guess he thought it over and realized how funny it was, because he was hardly mad at all when he got out of jail three months later.
Another time I was in art class at school and this bully started bothering me. I told him to leave me alone.
"Make me," he challenged.
So I took a piece of clay and built a statue that looked just like him.
"There," I said, as I presented the statue to him. "I made you."
The bully started laughing at me and never bothered me again.
I discovered something that has stayed with me my entire life—while people are laughing at me, they usually don't do mean things to me. So I figured that if I could keep people laughing at me, fewer mean things would happen.
On Crouton, I was a bit of a smart aleck, I must admit. My favorite thing to do was to play the "Why" game. Did you ever play this game with your parents?
It's simple. These are the rules: Anytime anybody says anything, you just reply, "Why?"
So, for example, if your mom asks you to tie your shoes, you say, "Why?"
"So you won't trip and fall."
"Why?"
"Because you might get hurt."
"Why?"
"Because a part of your body will hit the ground hard."
"Why?"
"Because of gravity."
"Why?"
See what I mean? You could go on forever like that. The "Why" game is one of the most annoying things kids can do to grown-ups. It ranks right up there with the "I'll Repeat Everything You Say Right After You Say It" game.
As you might imagine, I was pretty annoying. One day at breakfast, when my mom wasn't looking, I shot a spitball at my brother Bronk for the fun of it. He kicked me under the table. So I shot another spitball at him. Nailed him right in the forehead. So he told on me.
"I didn't do anything!" I lied. I made sure to start whistling, because people who are innocent always whistle.
"You shoot one more spitball at your brother," Mom said, "and I'm going to put you in a rocket and send you to Earth!"
"Earth?!" I shuddered with horror. "No, please! Anything but that! I'll do whatever you say! Just don't send me to Earth!"
You see, at Croutonian schools they teach kids about all the other planets, including Earth. It sounded like an awful place. My science book said that on Earth, kids have to straighten up their rooms and make their own beds.
Is that dumb or what? On Crouton, kids don't have to straighten up their rooms. Their rooms aren't crooked. And you don't have to make your own bed, either. You just go to a store and buy a bed.
I learned that in Earth schools, kids have to fold their hands and sit on the floor like a pretzel. I tried to fold my hands once. I tried really hard. But they just wouldn't fold.
I tried to sit like a pretzel, too. It was impossible, and it took me a week to get all the salt out of my ears.
On Earth, I learned, people go on vacation and take lots of pictures. How horrible! If Earth people ever came to Crouton for a vacation, I would hide all my pictures so nobody could take them.
Punch says:
That's the trouble with Croutonians—they're way too literal.
Earth sounded like a terrible place to me. When Croutonian parents get mad at their kids, they always threaten to send them to Earth.
Still, I never really believed half that stuff they told us about Earth. I never thought my parents would actually send me there, either. So I did what any other normal Croutonian kid would do.
I shot another spitball at Bronk.
The next thing I knew, I was strapped into a rocket on a launching pad.
10, 9, 8, 7 ...
My parents were doing the countdown.
... 6, 5, 4, 3 ...
Through the window of the rocket, I saw Bronk. He had his finger on the launch button. And an evil smirk on his face.
... 2, 1—Liftoff!
The force of the rocket taking off pushed my body against the seat so hard, my cheeks were flapping like a flag on a windy day. I felt like my flesh was going to fly off.
As you can tell, Croutonian parents are pretty strict. When Earth kids misbehave, you might get sent to your room. My parents sent me to another planet.
Still, Mom and Dad really loved me. They put my dog, Punchline, in the rocket with me to keep me company. That would have been great, but I never really liked Punch.
To protect us during our flight to Earth, Mom and Dad packed the rocket with croutons. They were supposed to absorb the impact when the rocket landed, sort of like those Styrofoam peanuts you use to send packages that you don't want damaged in the mail.
As Punch and I entered Earth's atmosphere, I looked out the small window of the rocket. We were heading directly for a building about the size of a football field. The rocket must have been going at least three hundred miles per hour. "This is it, Punch," I said seconds before we hit the roof. "It was nice knowing you."
I was sure we were about to die.
CHAPTER 3A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF UNDERWEAR
As luck would have it, there was a glass skylight in the roof. Our rocket smashed through the skylight and mysteriously began slowing down. It was as if we put on the brakes.
Finally, the rocket stopped with a gentle bump. It felt like I had landed on a soft pillow. There was no explosion, no fire. Punch and I were alive.
I looked out the window. Everything was white.
Snow, I figured immediately. We had crashed into a building filled with soft snow!
No, that didn't make sense. Why would they put snow inside a building? How could they put snow inside a building? I looked more closely at the window.
Underwear!
A lifetime supply of it. We had crashed into an underwear factory, and landed on tons of cotton boxers, briefs, and panties. Of all the places to land, we hit one of the softest things on Earth.
What were the chances of that, huh?
* * *
When somebody comes to another planet, he usually has superpowers, right? When Superman arrived from Krypton, he knew right away he could do things humans couldn't do. He had super vision and super hearing. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound. He could stop bullets. He could bend steel with his bare hands. He could always find a pay phone booth that wasn't in use.
Well, when I arrived from Crouton, I expected to have some superpowers, too. But nothing was different. I wasn't extra-strong or anything. In fact, I hurt my hand pounding on the door of the rocket trying to get it open.
"Nice move, brainless!" a voice suddenly said. "Now we'll never get out of here."
I turned around. There was nobody in the rocket besides Punchline and me.
"Who said that?" I asked.
"Who do you think, moron?" Punch replied.
"You ... can talk?"
"Apparently so," Punch said, looking quite pleased with herself.
This wasn't fair! Something about Earth's atmosphere had given Punch the ability to speak, but I didn't have any superpowers at all. What a rip-off!
"Now that your hand is possibly broken," Punch said, "do you have any other brilliant ideas to get us out of here?"
"You could try barking," I suggested.
"Sorry," Punch said, turning up her nose at the suggestion. "I don't bark anymore."
"Help! Help!" I hollered, pounding the walls. "Let us out!"
"Why are you so uptight?" Punch asked calmly. "This isn't the real world. We're just fictional characters in some book."
"Huh?"
"You and me," she explained. "We're not real. We're fictional. It's only a book that kids will read."
"It is not!" I exclaimed. "It's real! If we were fictional characters, my hand wouldn't hurt so much, now would it?" I had her there.
Punch says:
Does it still hurt if the dog that bites you is fictional?
"Believe whatever you want," Punch said, leaning back and putting her paws behind her head. "I'm not worried. We'll be rescued soon. Wait and see. Fictional stories always have a happy ending."
Punch had only been talking for a minute, and I was already sick of listening to her.
After about a half hour of yelling, I heard a noise outside the rocket. Somebody was digging through the underwear.
"I told you we'd be rescued," Punch said. "It never fails."
Finally, the door to the rocket creaked open. A man's face peered inside.
"Holy cow!" he said. "Now I've seen everything."
The man was wearing a white uniform with a name tag on it that read "Foster." He had brown skin, much darker than mine. I had never seen anyone with dark skin before.
"Are you tan from the sun?" I asked the man.
"No, I'm Bob, from Earth."
Earth!
All my life I had heard about Earth, with its vast continents, its abundance of living creatures, its ... underwear. And now I was actually there. I was so excited, I forgot how envious I was that Punch had a special power and I didn't.
"Do all Earthlings spell their names the same way forward and backward, Bob?" I asked excitedly.
"No," he laughed, "just a few of us."
"You must be a very important Earthling," I said, impressed. "But Bob, how do you know if you're spelling your name right? I mean, if you spell it B-O-B, how do you know it shouldn't have been B-O-B with the two Bs reversed?"
"Are you for real?" Bob asked.
"No," Punch replied. "We're fictional."
Bob staggered backward a few steps and looked at Punch, his eyes open wide.
"D-did that dog just say something?" Bob asked.
"Unfortunately, yes," I replied as Bob helped us out of the ship. "She seems to have developed that ability as we entered Earth's atmosphere. Now she won't shut up."
There was underwear as far as the eye could see. "Why do Earthlings need so much underwear?" I asked.
"We change our underwear every day," Bob replied.
"Change it into what?" I asked, but Bob just shook his head and laughed.
He carried us down the mountain of underwear. As he placed us on the floor, Bob asked me where I came from.
"My dog Punch and I are from the planet Crouton," I explained. "It's in the Magellanic Clouds galaxy."
He stared at us for a while with his hands on his hips.
"Are you putting me on?" he asked.
"How could I put you on?" I replied. "You're not clothes."
Bob stared at us a while longer before asking, "Why are you here?"
"It's a long story," Punch replied. "If you want to hear it, go back to page four and start reading. We'll wait here for you."
"Page four?" Bob asked. "What are you talking about?"
"You see, we're all part of a book," Punch continued. "Kids are going to read this. If you go back a few pages, you can learn how we came from the planet Crouton."
"Maybe you're part of a book, doggie," Bob declared. "I'm real."
"Oh no, you just think you're real," Punch told Bob. "You're just words on a page. A fictional character like us. We came from the planet Crouton, which is fictional, too."
"Crouton?" Bob looked at us with an amused expression on his face. "You mean like those little chunks of toasted bread they put on salads? That's a dumb name for a planet."
Croutonians are very proud and patriotic people. We don't like others making fun of our planet.
"Hey, what kind of name is Earth ?" Punch asked Bob. "Your planet was named after dirt!"
We could have argued over which planet had the dumbest name, but a loud whistle suddenly blew. The workers in the underwear factory began scurrying in every direction.
"Quittin' time," Bob said, waving good-bye to us. "Enjoy your stay on Earth, you two!"
* * *
I didn't know where to go. When Superman arrived on Earth, Ma and Pa Kent discovered his rocket and they became his foster parents. I would need a foster family, too.
"Wait!" I shouted after Bob as he walked out the front gate of the underwear factory.
"Huh?" he said, turning around.
"Can my dog and I come live with you, Bob?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Funny Boy Meets The Airsick Alien From Andromeda by Dan Gutman, John Dykes. Copyright © 1999 Dan Gutman. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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