My Life as a Smashed Burrito with Extra Hot Sauce

by Bill Myers

  No need to worry your pretty little head. Superheros are always prepared for such emergencies. Reaching into his other back pocket, he pulls out a piece of Muton Sugarless Bubblegum—— the preferred gum of superheros everywhere. Quickly popping it into his mouth, he chews and blows a bubble. But not just any bubble. This is a Muton Bubble——so big that it could pass for a hot air balloon!

  And, amazingly enough, that’s exactly what it becomes!

  Expertly, he maneuvers the balloon toward Dr. Ghastly. Once beside the hairy ape’s helicopter, he pops the bubble and makes a superb superhero leap toward the cockpit. It’s a close call, but he makes it. He has to. There are still five more chapters left in this book.

  Now inside, they begin a fearsome fight. Holding each other in their clutches, they dance this way and that. That way and this. Pretty soon they’re doing the fox trot, then the hokey-pokey, then...

  But hold the phone! This is no time for dance class!

  In one swift move, Mutant reaches over, turns off the helicopter’s key, and throws it out the window. The chopper chugs to a stop. A brilliant move. Now the helicopter will glide safely to earth, and they can finish their fight on the ground. There’s only one little detail...this helicopter doesn’t glide. It falls. Like a rock.

  Ahhhh! Dr. Ghastly screams.

  Ohhhh! Mutant Man cries.

  The ground races at them.

  “What do we do!?” yells Ghastly.

  “You’re the supervillain,” Mutant shouts. “Think of something!”

  “Yeah, but this is your story!”

  Whatever they do, they’ll have to do it together. And whatever they do, they’ll have to do it quickly. Because in just 5.8 seconds they’ll be hitting the earth. Better make that 4.7 seconds...Ah, 3.6...2.5... Come on, guys...1.4...

  “Shhh! Here he is; here he comes now.” The crowd grew quiet as Dale approached the bleachers. I quickly shut down Ol’ Betsy and waited.

  The guy looked pretty good—except for the chocolate syrup still around his fingernails and the faint aroma of rotting garbage.

  “Well,” he said slowly, looking around the group. And by looking I don’t mean a quick glance. I mean, this guy managed to lock eyes with every one of us. “To say I’m disappointed might be an understatement. Deeply discouraged is more like it . . .”

  I squirmed in my seat. This was going to be worse than I thought. Why didn’t the guy just scream at us like all the other grownups?

  “I don’t know what more I can do. Haven’t our talks on wisdom meant anything?”

  We all stared at the bleacher seats in front of us . . . hard, real hard.

  Dale continued. “We’ve discussed how it’s wise to choose good friends.”

  I threw a look over at Opera and Wall Street. They were good friends. Then I spotted Jimmy Jack. Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

  “We’ve talked about the wisdom of being kind to others.”

  I threw a look over at Gary and his Goons. Strike Two.

  “And we’ve said that wisdom is more than just learning what God wants. It’s doing what He wants. Wisdom is obeying.”

  Strike Three.

  “I actually thought you guys were listening. That is, until last night. . . .” He reached into his ear and pulled out a small feather. “And this morning.”

  More silence.

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’m almost tempted to cancel today’s canoe trip.”

  The canoe trip? With all of the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about the canoe trip!

  But the rest of the campers hadn’t. A murmur of protest swept through the crowd until Dale raised his hands. “But I don’t think so.”

  The murmurs turned to sighs of relief.

  “That’s too easy.”

  The sighs stopped. What could be worse than canceling the canoe trip? We were about to find out. Forget being tortured on the rack, forget the electric chairs, forget a day without TV. What Dale had planned for us was worse than all those punishments put together.

  “You know,” he continued calmly, “the Bible tells us that it’s also wise to settle conflicts peacefully. And if I’m not mistaken, we definitely have some conflict going here. Wouldn’t you say so, Gary? Wally?”

  Every eye in the camp turned to Gary and me. Yes sir. Dale was definitely up to something.

  “So . . . to help you better understand wisdom I’ve devised a little competition of my own. Starting at noon, Gary and Wally will begin a competition that will teach you wisdom in a way that you will never forget.” The group started to buzz. But Dale was on a roll. “Over and over again the Bible talks about the wisdom of serving others and of loving your enemy. So . . .”

  Uh-oh, I thought, here it comes.

  “For the next two days—throughout our entire canoe trip—Wally and Gary will be competing . . . competing to see which of them can outserve and outlove the other.”

  The group buzzed louder.

  “If Gary wins, Wally’s group will have to pick up all the trash around camp before we go home. If Wally wins, that will be Gary’s group’s job.”

  The buzzing turned to a loud drone. Was the guy crazy? Who ever heard of this kind of punishment— having to outserve the other guy?

  “Wall Street,” he called, “you will be the score- keeper for Wally. Jimmy Jack, you keep track of Gary’s score.”

  Jimmy Jack started to protest, but Dale cut him off. “Now, we all have some serious packing to do for the trip, so I suggest we get started.” Then, without another word, he turned and headed back toward the cabins.

  The loud drone of the group turned to a roar. But I barely noticed. My head was too busy spinning. I mean, let’s face it, on the McDoogle scale of craziness, this was definitely pushing an 11. But things were going to get even crazier.

  Chapter 7

  The Competition Begins

  “The guy’s nuts!” Opera shouted. “Loony Tunes.” He threw another handful of cassettes into his backpack on the bed. “Whoever heard of a competition where you have to outserve the other guy?”

  I nodded in silent agreement.

  “If you ask me—”

  But no one had time to ask. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. More like a bunch of mini-explosions.

  Opera and I both went cold.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  More banging. “Open up, Weasel, it’s me!”

  I swallowed hard. There was no mistaking Gary the Gorilla’s cheery voice.

  “What do you want?” Opera shouted.

  “I’ve come. . . .” For a moment it sounded like he couldn’t quite squeeze out the words. He tried again. “I’ve come to . . . help you . . . pack.”

  Opera threw me a look. “It’s a trap!” he whispered. “Don’t fall for it.”

  The next voice belonged to Jimmy Jack. It was as smooth and slippery as ever. “Come on, Wally, he’s telling the truth.”

  I hesitated a moment.

  “Don’t do it man, it’s a trap!” Opera repeated.

  He yanked what was left of his Walkman off his head and stuffed it out of sight. I reached for the door, took a deep breath and opened it . . . I barely got it cracked before Gary yanked it out of my hands and threw it open. “Here,” he growled, “allow me.”

  “All right!” Jimmy Jack cried. He put a mark in the notebook he was carrying. “That’s one good-deed point for Gary.”

  I stood stunned. It was amazing how quickly Jimmy Jack had changed sides. But, hey, we are talking about Jimmy Jack Hucksterly, here.

  “You packed yet?” the Gorilla demanded as he shoved his way past me.

  “Well, yeah, almost.”

  He began rifling through my backpack. “What about socks? I don’t see no socks.”

  “I was just about—”

  “Here. . . .” He spotted my open drawer full of socks. In one quick move he yanked it out and dumped the entire contents into my backpack. “Have some socks,” he said with a laugh.
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br />   “Gary scores again!” Jimmy Jack shouted. “That’s two points for Gary, zero points for—”

  “Not so fast.” We looked back toward the door and saw Wall Street. She stood there holding her own notebook and a calculator. “The idea is to serve in kindness and love,” she continued. “And since Gary’s present attitude is more harmful than helpful, I’m deducting 3/8 of a point from his score.” She began working her calculator. “Let’s see, 3/8 of a point from a previous score of 1 brings your current score to a total of 5/8 of a point.”

  We just stood and stared. No doubt about it, Wall Street was definitely going to be a stockbroker. Then, without a word, Gary reached for my socks and started putting some back in the drawer. Neatly . . . very, very neatly.

  By the time we got to the dock with our canoe, Gary’s stock, . . . er, score was up to 25 and 7/8. Mine was a mere 23 and 3/8. He’d gotten the jump on me with the packing and stuff, but I was hot on his trail. Already I’d:

  —cleaned out the tread of his hightops,

  —put toothpaste on his toothbrush,

  —and cleaned the whiskers out of his sink.

  (Imagine a sixth grader with whiskers. I guess that’s why they call him the Gorilla.)

  Now we were at the dock with the rest of the camp trying to put our canoe in the water. I held one end, Gary held the other. I guess Dale figured by putting us together we might become friends.

  Guess again. For starters we couldn’t even agree which side of the dock to put the canoe in.

  “This side,” Gary barked, “put it over here.”

  “But Gary,” I complained, hanging on to my end.

  “There’s more room on this side.”

  “But Gary, it’s easier if we—”

  “Let go!”

  “Ga—”

  “LET ME HAVE IT!” He lifted the entire canoe and spun my end out over the water. It was an impressive move. The only problem was I was still hanging on!

  “Gary!” I shouted as I hung out over the water clinging to the canoe for my life. “Gary, put me back!”

  The first thing I saw in his face was surprise. Then anger. And finally . . . revenge. And why not? After all, here was his chance. A chance to get even, and make a fool out of me, all at the same time. It was the perfect opportunity.

  But the thought only lasted a second. Because in that second he spotted Wall Street out of the corner of his eye. Calculator in hand, she stood anxiously waiting to make another deduction on his score.

  Immediately, he changed his mind. Just as quickly as he had spun me out, Gary struggled to bring me in. But this time things didn’t go quite so smoothly.

  “Gary!” I shouted as he started to stagger under the weight. “Gary!”

  Kids ducked out of the way. Some dropped their canoes, others ran for their lives as Gary lumbered this way, then that.

  “Gary, don’t drop me!”

  At last he spun me over to the dock so I could let loose. But when I let go, the sudden weight loss threw him off balance. He stumbled to the left two steps and then to the right four. Unfortunately, he only had room for three. The fourth step sent him crashing into the water.

  He came to the surface sputtering and coughing. Of course, he was totally soaked and totally steamed. And, of course, everyone was laughing their heads off.

  Everyone but me. I can’t explain it exactly, but I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost. I mean, here he was trying to help me, to do me a favor, and look what happened.

  I dropped to my knees and offered him my hand. “Here,” I said.

  He looked at me with suspicion before finally reaching out. Unfortunately, Wall Street was right beside me writing in her notebook. “Good work, Wally. You get 1 and 1/2 points for helping.”

  Without a word Gary let go of my hand. Of course, he went splashing back into the water and, of course, there was more laughter.

  So much for making friends.

  Two hours later, Gary and I had paddled about two feet. Everyone else had followed Dale down to the end of the lake where the river started. Everyone else was sitting along the shore resting and eating lunch. Everyone but us.

  We were too busy going in tight little circles, around and around to the right. And then when we got tired of that, we started going around and around to the left. I was in the front. Gary was in the back.

  “Will you stop paddling so hard?” I complained.

  “Paddle harder,” he ordered.

  “Paddle to the left.”

  “The right.”

  “Will you please stop paddling?”

  “Can’t you keep up?”

  “You’re steering us sideways!”

  “Can’t you do anything?”

  “Shut up!”

  “You shut up!”

  And so it went. We worked harder and did more paddling than the whole camp combined. But you wouldn’t know it. And minute by minute, hour by hour, the phrase “getting nowhere fast” took on a whole new meaning.

  Bushed and beat (not to mention starved), we finally caught up with the others and started toward shore. But the others were already pushing off.

  “Where you guys going?” Dale asked as he pulled his canoe beside ours.

  “What’s it look like?” Gary growled. “To the shore.”

  “I don’t think so. Lunch break’s over.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “You’ve already put us an hour behind. Let’s get going.”

  “We got to eat something, man. We got to catch our breath.”

  “Sorry guys, what you’ve got to do is push out.”

  “Dale . . .”

  “Maybe if you worked together, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen. Anyway, it’s time to go.” Without another word he gave the nose of our canoe a push. Before we knew it, we were headed back out into the water.

  I was mad. Not only at Gary, but also at Dale. It wasn’t my fault I had such a loser for a partner. Of course, if you asked Gary, he was probably thinking the same thing about me. I guess, in a sense, we were both right. Little did we know we’d both have to change our thinking. Soon. Very, very soon.

  Chapter 8

  Revelations

  Once we started going downriver it was a little easier to stay with the group (even though we zig-zagged all over the place).

  As the hours dragged, Gary and I grew hungrier and hungrier. But even that didn’t stop us from trying to rack up points on each other.

  “Hey, Jimmy Jack!” Gary called to the canoe up ahead. “How many points I get for giving the Weasel here my granola bar?”

  “Under the circumstances . . . ten points!” Jimmy Jack shouted.

  “No way!” Wall Street called from two canoes over. “Two and 3/8 max.”

  “Eight and 5/8,” Jimmy Jack argued.

  “Five and 1/4 and we got a deal.”

  “Sold!” Jimmy Jack shouted as they both went for their notebooks and jotted down the number.

  Gary handed the bar up to me, and I took a bite. It was perfect. Just what I needed. But I was no fool. “Wall Street,” I called. “How many points I get if I give half of it back to him?”

  “Seven even,” she offered.

  “Two and 1/2,” Jimmy Jack countered.

  “Five and it’s a deal.”

  Again they went for their notebooks.

  I turned back to Gary and started to hand him the granola bar. And then it happened. . . .

  THUD!

  We hit a huge boulder sticking out of the river. Before I could push away with my paddle the current caught the back of the canoe and started turning us around.

  “To the left!” I yelled. “Paddle to the left!”

  But it did no good. Before we knew it we were going down the river sideways.

  “To the left,” I kept shouting. “To the left!” But whatever Gary was doing, he wasn’t paddling us to the left. He was paddling us straight toward another boulder.

  “WATCH IT!” I screamed.

 
SCRAPE-SCREECH . . .

  The canoe came to a stop on a large flat rock. We were grounded. But for only a second. The current pushed and tugged until the whole canoe started to tip.

  “HANG ON!”

  “TO THE LEFT! PUSH TO THE LEFT!”

  “YOU’RE ROCKING US. . . . STOP ROCKING THE—”

  “GARY, PUSH TO THE—”

  “LOOK OUT!”

  And just like that, we were in the water . . . the freezing water. But it wasn’t the cold that we were worried about.

  “Grab the paddles!” I shouted. “Don’t let the paddles get away!”

  We dove after them.

  “My sleeping bag,” Gary shouted. “Get my sleeping bag!”

  I made a lunge for it but missed. The current had already picked it up and swept it into the main channel of the river. We watched helplessly as it disappeared out of sight.

  “Oh man,” Gary groaned. “My brother’s going to kill me.” (Of course, he had a few other choice words to say, but since I’m supposed to be a Christian and stuff I don’t think I can write them.)

  Ten minutes later we were back in our canoe shivering up a storm. I talked Gary into letting me sit in the back so I could steer. It cost 3 and 7/8 points, but it was a small price to pay to keep us going in the right direction. I knew there was something weird about the way Gary steered and paddled. I didn’t know how weird until he sat in front of me.

  “Gary, don’t you know how to paddle?”

  “Of course I do, what do you take me for?” He grabbed his paddle tighter and shoved it back into the water all crooked and cockeyed like.

  Suddenly, all our zigzagging made sense. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no canoe expert, but Gary didn’t know beans about paddling. I can’t explain it, but he held it in his hands all backward and twisted.

  “A baseball bat,” I said, “you hold it like a baseball bat.”

  “Oh, right, a baseball bat, sure.” He fumbled with the paddle a little but wound up holding it even worse than before.

  “Gary . . .”

  “What now?”

  “A baseball bat,” I repeated. “You’ve held a baseball bat before.”