But the animals take no notice of him.
‘I think this is their bed,’ I say. ‘That’s what Jill was telling us earlier, but I couldn’t hear her properly.’
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to sleep in a bed full of animals, but I sure wouldn’t recommend it.
The horses have galloping dreams,
the rabbits play hide-and-seek in the blankets,
the dogs sleep-bark,
and the goldfish play punk rock all night long. (I don’t know how, but their bowl ends up in the bed with us as well.)
Things don’t get any easier in the morning, either.
There’s only one toilet,
one shower,
and one bowl of porridge. (Sure, it’s a big bowl, but it’s animal-flavoured—YUCK!)
‘You know,’ says Terry, ‘I like Jill’s house, but there’s no place quite like home.’
‘You’re right about that,’ I say. ‘I really miss the treehouse.’
‘So do I,’ says Terry. ‘I wish I’d never invented that stupid Once-upon-a-time machine!’
‘Yeah, me too,’ I say. ‘If only you were as good at un-inventing things as you are at inventing them.’
‘Oh, you mean like Professor Stupido?’ says Terry.
‘Who?’ I say.
‘Professor Stupido, the famous un-inventor,’ says Terry.
‘Ha, ha,’ I say. ‘Very funny.’
‘I’m not trying to be funny,’ he says. ‘There really is an un-inventor called Professor Stupido.’
‘But that’s crazy,’ I say. ‘You can’t un-invent things!’
‘Oh yeah?’ says Terry. ‘Well what about frogpotamuses?’
‘Frogpotamuses?’ I say. ‘There’s no such thing.’
‘Not any more there’s not,’ says Terry, ‘thanks to Professor Stupido! He un-invented them all. Every last one!’
He hands me a comic and says, ‘Here. Read this. It will explain everything!’
PROFESSOR STUPIDO, THE WORLD-FAMOUS UN-INVENTOR, FIRST DISCOVERED HIS POWERS OF UN-INVENTION AS A YOUNG BOY WHEN HIS WIND-UP TOY ROBOT REFUSED TO PLAY WITH HIM ONE DAY.
IN A RAGE, HE GRABBED A HAMMER, RAISED IT HIGH ABOVE HIS HEAD AND WITH ONE MIGHTY BLOW UN-INVENTED HIS TOY ROBOT FOREVER!
NOT LONG AFTER UN-INVENTING HIS TOY ROBOT, HE DISCOVERED HE COULD ALSO UN-INVENT BORING BOOKS.
AS PROFESSOR STUPIDO GREW OLDER, HE BECAME CAPABLE OF EVER MORE DAZZLING FEATS OF UN-INVENTION.
ONE DAY, WHILE OUT WALKING IN THE PARK, HE SAW A HOT ICE-CREAM SELLER AND THOUGHT A HOT ICE-CREAM WOULD BE JUST THE THING TO WARM HIM UP.
UNFORTUNATELY, THE HOT ICE-CREAM WAS SO HOT THAT IT BURNED THE PROFESSOR’S TONGUE AND, IN A FIT OF RAGE, HE UN-INVENTED HOT ICE-CREAM ON THE SPOT.
WHILE THE PROFESSOR WAS HAPPY WITH HIS LATEST UN-INVENTION, HOWEVER, MANY HOT ICE-CREAM LOVERS WERE NOT.
NOT LONG AFTER UN-INVENTING HOT ICE-CREAM, PROFESSOR STUPIDO’S INCREASINGLY AMAZING POWERS OF UN-INVENTION WERE PUT TO THE TEST WHEN HE WAS BUZZED BY A GANG OF FLYING-BEETROOT RIDERS.
‘BLAST AND CONFOUND THESE FLYING BEETROOTS,’ SAID PROFESSOR STUPIDO. ‘I’VE A GOOD MIND TO UN-INVENT THEM ONCE AND FOR ALL!’
‘YOU CAN’T UN-INVENT FLYING BEETROOTS, OLD MAN!’ SAID ONE OF THE BEETROOT RIDERS. ‘FLYING BEETROOTS ARE HERE TO STAY!’
‘OH YEAH?’ SAID PROFESSOR STUPIDO. ‘WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!’
SUDDENLY THERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS FLYING BEETROOTS ANY MORE AND THE SURPRISED EX-FLYING-BEETROOT RIDERS FELL FROM THE SKY AND CRASHED TO THE GROUND.
PROFESSOR STUPIDO HAD SUCCESSFULLY UN-INVENTED FLYING BEETROOTS, BUT, UNFORTUNATELY, THE WORLD WAS NOW FULL OF BRUISED AND ANGRY EX-FLYING-BEETROOT RIDERS.
ONE AFTERNOON, PROFESSOR STUPIDO WAS OUT TAKING HIS DAILY STROLL, THINKING OF NEW THINGS TO UN-INVENT …
WHEN A 10-TONNE FROGPOTAMUS JUMPED OUT OF A TREE …
AND ATTACHED ITSELF TO HIS HEAD!
‘BLAST AND CONFOUND THESE STUPID FROGPOTAMUSES ALWAYS JUMPING OUT OF TREES AND ATTACHING THEMSELVES TO MY HEAD!’ YELLED PROFESSOR STUPIDO. ‘I’M GOING TO UN-INVENT THE LOT OF THEM!’
AND SO HE DID.
NOT EVERYBODY, HOWEVER, WAS HAPPY WITH THE PROFESSOR’S LATEST UN-INVENTION … ESPECIALLY NOT THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF FROGPOTAMUS SPOTTERS.
‘OH NO, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?’ YELLED THE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF FROGPOTAMUS SPOTTERS.
‘I’VE UN-INVENTED FROGPOTAMUSES, THAT’S WHAT!’ SAID PROFESSOR STUPIDO. ‘THANKS TO ME, NOBODY WILL HAVE THEIR HEAD SWALLOWED BY A FROGPOTAMUS EVER AGAIN!’
‘BUT YOU’VE MADE THEM EXTINCT!’ SAID THE PRESIDENT. ‘WHAT WILL WE FROGPOTAMUS SPOTTERS SPOT NOW?!’
UNFORTUNATELY FOR PROFESSOR STUPIDO, IT WASN’T ONLY FROGPOTAMUS SPOTTERS, FLYING-BEETROOT RIDERS AND HOT ICE-CREAM FANS WHO FAILED TO APPRECIATE HIS GENIUS. SOON THE WHOLE WORLD WAS UNITED AGAINST HIM AND HIS UN-INVENTIONS.
FINALLY THE PEOPLE OF EARTH HAD A BIG MEETING AND VOTED TO UN-INVENT PROFESSOR STUPIDO.
THEY PICKED HIM UP …
TIED HIM TO A ROCKET …
AND BLASTED HIM TO THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON, WHERE HE WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO ANNOY THEM WITH HIS STUPID UN-INVENTIONS EVER AGAIN.
THE END
‘See?’ says Terry. ‘What did I tell you? There is such a thing as an un-inventor. And Professor Stupido is the best un-inventor in the world.’
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I can see that, but the only problem is he’s not in the world—he’s on the dark side of the moon. How would we even get in touch with him?’
‘Easy!’ says Terry. ‘We get a rocket, fly to the moon, find him and bring him back. What could be easier—or more simple—than that?’
‘Um, well, nothing,’ I say, ‘except for the fact that we don’t have a rocket.’
‘No, not at the moment,’ says Terry, ‘but I could draw one.’
‘How are you going to do that?’ I say. ‘Your drawing hand is all bandaged up, remember?’
‘Oh yeah,’ says Terry. ‘I forgot.’
‘I guess I could try,’ I say.
‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Andy,’ says Terry. ‘You can’t draw, remember?’
‘Not as well as you, no, but I think I could draw a rocket, I mean, how hard could it be to draw a rectangle with a triangle on the top? Watch this!’
I pick up a pen and draw a rocket. But it’s not quite as easy as I thought.
‘No offence, Andy,’ says Terry, ‘but that’s pretty much the worst drawing of a rocket I’ve ever seen.’
‘There’s something wrong with the pen!’ I say.
‘The pen is fine,’ says Terry. ‘I think it’s you that’s the problem. But I’ve got an idea. How about I do a dot-to-dot rocket? Then all you have to do is join the dots.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I’m not very good at dot-to-dot pictures. They’re really hard.’
‘Don’t worry,’ says Terry. ‘I’ll make it really easy for you.’
Terry takes the pen with his good hand and starts dotting the air in front of us.
‘There’s your dots, Andy,’ he says when he’s finished. ‘Now all you have to do is join them up. Good luck!’
He hands me the pen.
I start connecting the dots.
‘It doesn’t look much like a rocket to me,’ I say, as I join the last dot.
‘That’s because you didn’t do it right,’ says Terry. ‘Rub it out and have another go.’
I try again but this time it’s even worse.
‘Quit mucking around, Andy,’ says Terry.
‘I’m not!’ I say, rubbing out the lines. ‘Let me have one more go.’
This time I try curvy lines, but it still doesn’t look much like a rocket.
‘That’s hopeless!’ says Terry. ‘Why don’t you just follow the numbers?’
‘Um …’ I say. ‘You know how I can’t really draw?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I can’t really count, either.’
‘You can’t count
?!’ says Terry.
‘Well, I can a little bit,’ I say, ‘just not in the right order. I had a very bad teacher.’
‘Wow,’ says Terry. ‘I see what you mean. How about I help you count? I’ll say the numbers and all you have to do is draw the lines—straight lines—between the dots.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘That sounds kind of complicated.’
‘You can do it, Andy,’ says Terry. ‘I’ll start you off. One.’
‘One,’ I say, putting the tip of the pencil on the dot next to the number 1.
‘Two,’ says Terry.
‘Two,’ I say, drawing a line from dot number 1 to dot number 2.
‘Three,’ says Terry.
‘Three,’ I say, drawing a line from dot number 2 to dot number 3.
‘That’s it, Andy,’ says Terry. ‘You’re really getting the hang of it. Let’s keep going. Four …’
Forty-seven dots later, we have a surprisingly well-drawn dot-to-dot rocket.
‘Wow! I DID IT!’ I say. ‘I joined the dots! I’m a GENIUS!’
‘I knew you could do it!’ says Terry. ‘Now all we need is some windows and we’re good to go.’
I draw a couple of circles on the rocket. ‘How’s that?’ I say.
‘They’ll do nicely,’ says Terry. ‘Start the countdown, Andy.’
As you may have noticed, our dot-to-dot rocket goes completely out of control and flies all over the universe and then crash-lands on the moon.
‘I wonder which side of the moon we are on?’ says Terry.
‘Well,’ I say, ‘judging by the position of the stars, and the relative lack of light, I’d say we’re on the dark side.’
‘Wow,’ says Terry, ‘you may not be very good at drawing or counting but you sure know your way around the universe, Andy!’
‘Not really,’ I say, ‘but I’m quite good at reading and that sign over there says “THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON”.’
‘Brilliant!’ says Terry. ‘And isn’t that Professor Stupido heading this way?’
‘I think you’re right,’ I say. ‘But he doesn’t look too happy to see us.’
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ yells Professor Stupido. ‘And what are these numbers and dots doing all over my nice clean moon?’
‘Sorry about that,’ I say. ‘I’m Andy and this is my friend Terry and the numbers and dots are the remains of our dot-to-dot rocket. We had a bit of a rough landing. But don’t worry, we’ll clean it all up.’
‘Well, see that you do!’ says Professor Stupido. ‘I don’t like mess—or uninvited visitors. In fact, I’ve got a good mind to un-invent the pair of you!’
‘No, wait,’ says Terry, ‘please don’t!’
‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,’ says Professor Stupido.
‘Because we’re your biggest fans!’ says Terry.
‘You are?’ he says. ‘I thought everybody on Earth hated me.’
‘Not us!’ says Terry. ‘We think you’re the greatest un-inventor who ever lived.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ says Professor Stupido.
‘Yes you are!’ says Terry. ‘You’re a genius!’
‘Well, yes, I suppose you’re right,’ says the professor. ‘I mean any bozo can invent things … but it takes real skill to un-invent them.’
‘Exactly!’ says Terry. ‘And that’s why we’re here. We need to ask you a huge favour.’
‘And what might that be?’ says Professor Stupido.
Terry takes a deep breath. ‘Can you come to our treehouse and un-invent a machine for us?’
‘Not on your life,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘I’m not going back to Earth. Those ignorant fools down there don’t appreciate my genius. They strapped me to a giant firework and sent me on a one-way ride to the dark side of the moon.’
‘Yes, we know,’ says Terry, ‘but this is different because we’re asking you to un-invent something. Please! You’re the only one who can help us.’
‘I don’t know …’ says Professor Stupido.
‘Please?’ I say.
‘Pretty please?’ says Terry.
‘Pretty please with sugar on top?’ I add.
‘Pretty please with sugar and a marshmallow on top?’ says Terry.
‘Hmmm,’ says Professor Stupido, ‘marshmallows you say?’
‘Yes!’ says Terry. ‘We’ve got a machine that follows you around and fires marshmallows into your mouth whenever you’re hungry!’
‘Well, I can see why you would want me to un-invent a machine like that,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘It sounds very annoying.’
‘No, not that machine,’ I say. ‘We like that machine. It’s the Once-upon-a-time machine we want you to un-invent.’
‘A time machine?’ says Professor Stupido. ‘I’ve always wanted one of those.’
‘No,’ says Terry. ‘It’s a Once-upon-a-time machine. I invented it to write and draw books, but it’s taken over and won’t let us back into our treehouse because it thinks it writes better books than we do.’
‘That’s outrageous,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘Machines need to know their place. It would give me great pleasure to un-invent an upstart machine like that.’
‘So you’ll do it?’ says Terry.
‘Yes, I will!’ says Professor Stupido. ‘When can we leave?’
‘Just as soon as we get our rocket back together,’ I say.
Terry and I collect all the numbers and dots and redraw our rocket as fast as we can before Professor Stupido changes his mind.
It’s not long before we have a brand-new rocket ready to take us all back to Earth.
‘Hmmm, dot-to-dot rocket, eh?’ says Professor Stupido, walking all around it. ‘What an ingenious combination of dots, numbers and pen lines. It would be both a great challenge and an honour to un-invent such an imaginative invention!’
‘NO!’ I yell. ‘We need it to get back to Earth!’
‘Relax,’ chuckles Professor Stupido as we all climb into the rocket. ‘I was only joking. I think you’ll find that as well as being the world’s greatest un-inventor, I also have the world’s greatest sense of humour!’
‘Okay, Andy,’ says Terry. ‘Start the countdown!’
I concentrate as hard as I can and begin …
‘Ouch, my aching head!’ says Professor Stupido. ‘Where are we?’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘judging by the grass, the shade and all the trees, I’d say we’re in some sort of forest.’
‘I think you’re right, Andy,’ says Terry, ‘because, look, over there is a sign saying “SOME SORT OF FOREST”.’
‘Actually,’ I say, looking around, ‘that’s one of your signs and this is our forest.’
‘Yes!’ says Terry. ‘And there’s our treehouse!’
‘Uh-oh …’ I say. ‘Watch out! Here come the hands!’
‘What’s happening?’ says Professor Stupido.
‘It’s the machine we were telling you about,’ I say. ‘It slaps us away whenever we get too close to the treehouse.’
‘I’ll soon put a stop to that,’ says Professor Stupido.
‘Yay!’ says Terry. ‘Thanks, Professor! You’re the best!’
‘Don’t mention it,’ says Professor Stupido. ‘Is there anything else you would like un-invented while I’m at it?’
‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ I say quickly, before he can un-invent anything we don’t want un-invented. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting to get back to the dark side of the moon now, so we’ll just draw another rocket and get you on your way.’
‘Hold on,’ says the professor, ‘not so fast. What about those marshmallows I was promised?’
‘Come inside,’ says Terry, ‘and have as many as you like! And we’ve also got a lemonade fountain, a chocolate waterfall and a 78-flavour ice-cream parlour!’
‘It’s not hot ice-cream is it?’ says the professor suspiciously. ‘I hate hot ice-cream!’
‘No, it’s cold ice-cream,’ says Terry. ‘That’s the only sort we h
ave on Earth now. You un-invented hot ice-cream, remember?’
‘Oh, so I did!’ he chuckles. ‘I’ve un-invented so many things it’s hard to keep track of them all!’
We let ourselves into the treehouse and as soon as we’re inside the marshmallow machine senses how hungry we are and starts firing marshmallows at us.
Terry and I open our mouths and start swallowing as fast as we can. But Professor Stupido puts up his hands and yells, ‘Oh no, we’re under attack again!’
‘No, we’re not,’ I try to explain through a mouthful of marshmallows. ‘The marshmallow machine is just doing what it’s supposed to.’
But I don’t think Professor Stupido understands me because he points at the machine and says:
Suddenly, the marshmallow machine is gone.
‘You idiot!’ yells Terry. ‘You un-invented our marshmallow machine! What are we going to eat now?’
The 39-Storey Treehouse Page 3
