Funny Business

by Jon Scieszka

  Papa Red looked back out the window.

  After a minute he said, “Iron John stopped using the hot dog as a pointer and broke it in half. For a second, I thought he was gonna give me one of the halves, but I should’ve known better. He started eating from the broke-off end of one of the pieces and kept the other one tight in his hand.

  “Sure, I wondered why he started eating a hot dog from the middle like that, who wouldn’t, but there’s some things that you don’t wanna drag out by asking questions.

  “I still didn’t say nothing when he ate everything on both hot dogs except the tips then set the two little round pieces of meat on the dashboard.

  Papa Red said, “Iron John pointed at the glove box. I opened it and looked back at him.

  “‘Reach me that,’ he said.

  “There was some papers, some tools, and a half-froze can of something. I dug all the tools out of the glove box and set them on the seat between us.

  “‘That there can, too.’ He kept his hand out.

  “It was one of them aerosol cans. It had Starting Fluid writ ’cross the top. I gave it to him. He lifted his jacket, sweater, and undershirt and put the icy can right on his chest.

  “I know, but remember I wasn’t ’bout to keep this man-work lesson going one second more by asking questions.

  “He said, ‘You see the suffering I go through for you brats?’

  “I didn’t see nothing, but I knew the words he was looking for. ‘Yes, sir.’

  “The car-starting lesson got real complicated but I was on top of it. He showed me how to open the hood and loosen the air cleaner off the carburetor and why he had to use his body heat to warm the starting fluid so it would unfreeze and spray and how much to pull the choke out and how long to wait if the car didn’t fire up after the first try. To finish off the lesson he explained to me when the proper time was to tromp on the gas and when to ease off the ignition.

  “That had been a good day for the Packard and it fired up on the first try. Iron John slapped the dashboard and said, ‘You ain’t gonna be this good at it but you’ll learn.’

  “He turned the car off, scooped the two hot dog ends into his hand, and got out. He had me put all the tools back in the glove box except for the starting fluid, which he put back under his sweater.”

  Papa Red paused for a moment and looked over at me. “Don’t ask.”

  He threw up his hands. “That was it! The ‘man-work’ was over! I felt so good when I walked back into the house. Things were going perfect. I’d gotten a ‘man-work’ lesson and there weren’t no tears, bleeding, or punching involved; it looked like Iron John didn’t want nothing else from me; and soon’s I walked in the house the smell of spaghetti hitched a ride on the heat and sank into my bones right along with the warmth. Perfect.

  “Then Iron John told me, ‘Gather them kids up right now.’

  “I knew things were going too perfect. I went upstairs, tapped and yelled at the girls’ door, ‘Iron John wants to see you all.’

  “Tee-Tee called out, ‘Is supper ready?’

  “‘Almost, but that’s not what he wants; he wants to talk to everybody.’”

  “Someone behind the door slammed something on a table and swore.

  “I walked over to the boys’ room. Little John was in the bottom bunk bed and Herbert was reading a book to him from his bed above.

  “‘He wants all of us together.’

  “Herbert said, ‘All of us? What he find out?’

  “‘I don’t know, maybe nothing. He was showing me how to start the Packard.’

  “When we got into the hall the girls were waiting for us in front of their door. LaWanda said, ‘I don’t know which one of y’all did it, but I ain’t taking no heat for no one.’

  “Herbert said, ‘Who asked you to?’

  “Once we were in the kitchen Iron John made a show of unbuttoning his coat. I noticed he never pulled the can of starting fluid from under his sweater.

  “He said, ‘I know how low y’all ungrateful little brats is. I know you be chewing me up in your ungrateful little mouths soon’s my back’s turned. But I’m here to tell you you ain’t got no idea how much I do for y’all, none at all!’

  “He pulled out the can of starting fluid. ‘Who knows what this is?’

  “LaWanda was the only one allowed to talk at these gatherings. She said, ‘Isn’t that the stuff you spray in the car to get it running?’

  “‘That’s right. And you seen where I was keeping it?’

  “‘Under your shirt.’

  “‘And why was it under my shirt? Why would anyone do something that crazy?’

  “The answer to that one was pretty simple but none of us was stupid enough to walk into that open door.

  “LaWanda cut her eyes to the side and said, ‘So it would unfreeze and you could spray it in the engine.’

  “‘And would a bad man do that for his kids? Would someone who’s as evil as y’all say I am put a freezing can on his chest so his kids could get in a warm car?’

  “Like I said, LaWanda was the only one allowed to talk at these gatherings but we all were allowed to keep quiet. And we did.

  “‘I axed y’all a question. Would a evil man do that for his kids?’

  “‘No, sir.’

  “‘So, I guess that proves my point; that proves how wrong y’all is. That proves y’all ain’t got no idea how much I sacrifice for you worthless little brats. I’d do anything for y’all, even if it meant hurting myself. Even if it meant I had to damage parts of my own body. Even if it meant doing this….’

  “Iron John set the can on the kitchen table, reached his bare hand back under his shirt, and clenched his teeth and his eyes at the same time. He tugged hard at the right side of his chest, let out a little yip of pain then did the same exact thing on the left side of his chest. Keeping his eyes squinched shut, he took a couple of deep breaths like he was trying to get his strength back. Then he brought his balled-up, shaking hand from under his shirt. He opened his eyes and blinked real fast for a few seconds.

  “‘Would a selfish, stingy man do this for his kids so’s they could ride in a warm Packard auto-mobile?’

  “He put his still-clinched fist right in front of all of us before he said, ‘Would a bum risk this for some trifling, low-life babies?’

  “He slowly unclinched his fist and no one even breathed for a good three seconds as we all stared into his palm. There sat two round, reddish brown, raggedy little circles of meat.

  “Iron John said, ‘Now I’ma have to find me a doctor to sew these back on.’

  “One part of my mind knew exactly what these little circle things were but another part of my head was spinning and thinking, ‘His nipples! This country fool ripped his nipples off his chest!’

  “Iron John dropped them on the table, said, ‘One of y’all wrap them up in some wax paper so I can take ’em to the emergency room after I eat,’ then walked out of the kitchen.’

  “I looked at the little kids and they’d all gone stiff with the same look of shock and horror. Even LaWanda had a minute of doubt. She walked up to the table, looked close, and said, ‘No way.’

  “Herbert went over to the meat circles next. He picked them up and sniffed.

  “Little John yelled, ‘No, Herbie! Don’t touch them things! Daddy’s said he’s gonna see a doctor and—’

  “Before L.J. could finish Herbert popped the hot dog tips into his mouth. He chewed loud with his mouth wide open then said, ‘A little salty but not bad considering they come off such a stinking, nasty old goat.’

  “That was too much for the kids. They grabbed each other and screamed out of the kitchen, looking like a four-legged ball of teeth and tears.

  “LaWanda told Herbert, ‘What do they say? When it comes to being a idiot the apple never falls far from the tree. I don’t know which of y’all is the biggest fool.’

  “Me and the older kids had figured it out. Sure it took a little longer for some of us to get it
than others, but before we left the kitchen that Friday night we knew Iron John and Herbert hadn’t done anything more than pull a stunt with some hot dog tips. After a while it even seemed kind of funny.

  “Tee-Tee and L.J. all saw it as something a whole lot more serious. And I guess you really can’t blame ’em neither.”

  Papa Red stopped talking again. I thought the story was over. I could see tears in his eyes. But then he said, “I was probably a lot smarter than L.J. and Tee-Tee when I was their age, but it still might’ve give me a night or two of being scared if I really thought someone was pulling chunks off their body. And I know it would’ve shook me up even more if I saw my idiot brother, who one time ate a dead, maggoty sparrow on a dare without throwing up, had gone and swallowed someone’s nipples before the person could get ’em sewed back on by a doctor.”

  Papa Red covered his face with his hand and sobbed.

  I went to his chair and touched his arm.

  He looked at me and said, “They couldn’t sleep for months without waking up screaming.

  “That last night before he died me and Herbert and LaWanda had laughed about it.”

  My grandfather cried into his hands again.

  Man, why does this stuff always happen to me? I didn’t know what to say, so I said what everyone does and sounds so stupid saying, “It’s gonna be okay, Papa Red.”

  He said, “It’s kind of funny, we all remembered that night with the hot dogs in different ways. LaWanda called it ‘The Night Iron John Lost the Ability Ever to Nurse Anything.’ Tee-Tee and L.J. always called it ‘That Night When Herbie Ate Daddy’s Nibbles.’ And Herbert always called it ‘The Spaghetti Night That I Got More Meat Than the Rest of You Fools.’”

  He cried harder into his hands.

  Great. Now I started getting teary. I told Papa Red, “Hold on, Gramps, I’ll get us some tissue.”

  I took a couple of steps toward his door when it felt like a red hot bolt of lightning shot through my shoulder. I didn’t know what it was until I heard the “Pie-ow!” sound. I’m a whole lot smarter than Chester: I fought the pain and got out the door. I turned back and looked at Papa Red and his old, shorter switch.

  He said, “Don’t bother with the tissue. I gotta perfectly good sleeve. What I want you to do is send in that smart-mouth one and don’t tell him nothing ’bout this. Me and that boy still got some business to take care of.”

  He cracked the glowing, humming switch twice more.

  I shook my head and walked down the hall. I sure hope this insanity stuff isn’t inherited, ’cause it’s obvious I come from a whole long line of nutcases.

  “Chester? Where you at? Papa Red wants to see you.”

  MY PARENTS GIVE MY BEDROOM TO A BIKER

  BY PAUL FEIG

  This all started because I wouldn’t take out the trash.

  Now, before you go judging me, I just want to make it clear that I’m not the kind of lazy kid who’s bad or hates to be useful around the house. I’ve helped my mom vacuum and my dad clean out the garage so many times I should get some kind of gold medal from the President of the United States. I’ve heard them tell our relatives on several occasions that I’m a “good son.” I’m the only kid I know who actually likes broccoli and eats it at every meal. Even my teachers say I’m pretty polite and responsible and always get my homework in on time. (Well, except for once when our neighbor’s dog escaped and attacked me when I was waiting at the bus stop with my science project and since it was a moldy bread experiment, a dog actually did eat my homework.)

  So, the fact that my parents would get that upset at me about something so stupid and trivial as not taking out the garbage one time only makes them look bad, not me.

  Especially when you hear about all the trouble it caused.

  This whole insane episode started on this really hot day in July when it was super humid out. You know, that kind of humidity where you come out of your air-conditioned house and before you even close the door behind you, you’re sweatier than some guy who just ran across a boiling desert. I had decided to avoid the heat and was comfortably lying on the living room couch watching a supercool show on TV where they blow up stuff to prove scientific theories. So, when my dad told me to take out the garbage as he was leaving to go to work, I just said okay and told myself I’d do it as soon as there was a commercial break.

  And then I forgot all about it.

  And since my mom didn’t hear my dad ask me to take the garbage out and must have assumed he did it himself and since she didn’t leave the house all day and didn’t see that the cans weren’t out front when the garbage truck came by, no one knew there were still three full cans of really smelly garbage sitting in our roasting hot garage until my dad came home and opened the garage door and got a barf-inducing whiff and flipped his lid.

  “You never do anything we tell you to do!” he yelled at me after he burst into my room without knocking even though for all he knew I could have been in my underwear or had my finger halfway up my nose because I didn’t have any warning that someone was going to barge in. “You only think of yourself! You’re the most irresponsible, self-centered, lazy kid I’ve ever met!” And then he slammed the door and stormed off down the hallway.

  A bit scared by how angry he had been, I just sat there and waited for him to come back and tell me what my punishment was going to be even though it was totally unfair of him to say such mean things to me. I figured I was probably going to get grounded or have to give up a week’s allowance or lose my TV privileges, since that’s what happened the other few times I’ve gotten in trouble. Making things worse, however, was the fact that I had screwed up just the day before when I accidentally broke the window on my mom’s china cabinet because I thought it would be a genius idea to try and hit a golf ball with a tennis racket in the living room. My folks were so mad at me about that goof-up that they hadn’t even thought of a punishment severe enough to fit my crime yet. And so I had to figure that whatever double sentence was about to be handed down to me was going to be a doozy.

  But no punishment came.

  The only thing that happened was my mom knocked on my door and told me it was time for dinner. I came out and sat at the table and my mom brought me my side plate of broccoli (that neither of them would touch because they hate broccoli) and we all ate. Neither of them would talk to me and they kept exchanging looks with each other, but no one said anything about me being punished.

  And so I did my homework, watched TV for a while, and went to bed.

  The next day, I went over to my friend Brian’s house and we sat in his basement and played a video football game. For some reason, my brain was working pretty well because I ended up beating Brian three times in a row, which I had never done, since Brian’s pretty much the greatest video football player I know. The few times we had played actual football in gym class, Brian had been about the worst player in the history of the world. But when it came to pushing buttons and coming up with strategies for fake guys on the TV screen, Brian was the king.

  I was feeling pretty triumphant as I walked home through the humid afternoon air and was even rehearsing an apology to my mom for all the trouble I had caused in the past couple of days, complete with a plan to use some of my secret savings to pay for a new china cabinet window.

  So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked through the kitchen and down the hallway and opened the door to my bedroom and found a guy sitting on my bed.

  “Who are you?!” I blurted out, practically pooping in my pants from the shock of seeing some strange guy sitting in my room. He looked to be in his thirties and had a scraggly beard and was chewing gum and wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and big black boots, which were getting mud all over my bedspread.

  “Who the crap are you?” he said back, not looking up from my expensive, limited-edition Spider-Man comic book that he had taken out of the wrapper and was now getting all creased with his giant dirty hands.

  “This is my room,” I said, bot
h scared of him but also mad that he was making such a mess.

  “Not anymore it’s not,” he said as he flipped a page, then tore off a corner and stuck his gum inside it.

  “Hey, that costs a lot of money!” I yelled. “Put it down and get out of my room!”

  He lowered the comic book down onto his chest and stared at me like he thought I was the biggest pest he’d ever met in his life.

  “Look, kid, are you deaf or something?” he said calmly. “I just told you. This ain’t your room no more. Your parents gave it to me. They also said I could have everything in it. So, if you got a problem, why don’t you go cryin’ to them about it? Meanwhile, quit flappin’ your lips and beat it.”

  He started reading the comic book again, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

  “Hey, you can’t smoke in my room!”

  “Already told you once, ain’t your room no more,” he said again as he flung the smoldering match onto the carpet and blew a ton of smoke toward the ceiling.

  Unsure what to do, I ran out of the room to find my mom.

  “MOM!” I called. “MUH-THER!”

  “Keep your voice down!” I heard her yell from the living room. “You know there’s no hollering in the house!”

  I ran in and found her sitting on the couch watching TV, drinking a cup of tea like there was nothing at all wrong.

  “There’s a guy in my bedroom,” I said, panicked.

  “His name is Carl and it’s his room now,” she said as she lifted the teacup to her lips and took a sip.

  “What do you mean it’s his room?”

  “Carl is a very nice person and he takes out the garbage and he doesn’t break things, and so your father and I decided that he should have your room.”