The Barftastic Life of Louie Burger

by Jenny Meyerhoff

  Reasons Why Lou Lafferman Is the Greatest Hero in the History of Heroes

  • He can make his face look like it got squashed flat. (Like when a guest says something crazy and Lou smacks himself in the face.)

  • He always wears a tie with one of the fifty states on it because he’s very patriotic.

  • He has four toes on his left foot. He lost one toe in a freak knitting accident.

  • His hobbies are skydiving, bungee jumping, and bagpiping.

  • He has a pet shoe.

  • He can flip his nostrils inside out.

  This hero assignment is the best assignment in the history of assignments. I can’t believe I’m going to write a letter to Lou Lafferman. I can’t believe I haven’t already written one.

  When Lou finds out what a big fan I am, he’ll probably write me back. He might even want to become my friend, or invite me to be on his show, or to guest-host his show, or even to come live with him and be his apprentice and take over Lou Lafferman’s Laff Nite and inherit all his money.

  Okay, okay. It’s possible that I’m getting carried away. I believe the expression that would fit here is: Don’t count your comedians before they hatch.

  When the bell rings for recess, Nick grabs my arm and says, “Today you have to play with Thermos and me.”

  He pushes me out the door and toward the basketball hoops before I can ask him to be partners for the hero project.

  Thermos is already on the far side of the blacktop playing basketball with the boys. Well, she’s trying to play basketball. She runs up and down the court, making some great blocks, but even though she’s shouting, “I’m open! I’m open!” no one ever passes to her or acts like they notice she’s there.

  “Hey, Thermos,” Nick shouts from the next hoop over.

  “Nick!” Ryan calls. “Want to play? We’re short one man!”

  “Nah,” Nick calls back. “I’m busy.”

  Thermos jogs away from the basketball game. No one says goodbye. She picks up a red-and-gray ball from the side of the court and walks over to us.

  “Hi,” she says to Nick, dribbling her ball a couple of times. “What’s up?”

  “Louie and I want to shoot baskets with you.”

  There’s a long, awkward pause. Nick elbows me in the ribs. Ow.

  “Right, Louie?” he says.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “Right.”

  “Sounds fun,” Thermos answers. “But are you sure?” She eyes me uncertainly, obviously not convinced about the three of us playing together.

  And I’m not convinced about playing basketball.

  Blah-sketball.

  I can shoot okay, but when I try to dribble and run with other people jumping in my face, eventually I wind up on my bottom with one leg tucked behind my ear. That’s why Nick and I only play H-O-R-S-E.

  “We’re sure,” says Nick.

  “Great! Let’s play Antidisestablishmentarianism,” Thermos says.

  I raise one eyebrow at her. “Anti-disser-whatsis?”

  She laughs. “It’s like H-O-R-S-E,” she says, “only it lasts a lot longer because there are so many letters. Antidisestablishmentarianism is the longest word in the dictionary.”

  “You love H-O-R-S-E,” Nick says to me.

  Actually, I don’t love H-O-R-S-E. And actually, antidisestablishmentarianism is not the longest word in the dictionary. The longest word is unpronounceable. And the second-longest word, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis, is still longer than Thermos’s word.

  But Antidisestablishmentarianism doesn’t sound that bad. “All right. I’ll play it but I won’t say it.”

  Thermos laughs. I don’t. Maybe Thermos thought of a good game. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to like her. You can’t be too careful with girls. I speak from experience. Sometimes one of them (Ari) will finally be nice and play a game of Monopoly after dinner. The game will get intense, but you’ll be winning since you have Boardwalk and Park Place. Then she will get a text from some barfnoying boy in seventh grade and her thumbs will be busy for hours. When she’s finally finished, you’ll hand her the dice, but she’ll yawn and say she’s going to watch TV because Monopoly is so elementary school. You know she’s only saying that because you were going to win, but it still makes you feel like you forgot the punch line to your best joke.

  “Hey, Louie,” Thermos says after she makes a shot from the three-point line, “who are you going to choose for your hero project?”

  “Lou Lafferman,” I say, as I try to match her shot, but end up short by about a foot. “How about you?”

  “Kenji Okada,” she says. “He’s my favorite baseball player. He plays for the Milwaukee Brewers. That’s where I used to live.”

  “Kenji Okada!” Nick says. “My grandpa loves Kenji. I was thinking of him, too!” Nick looks at me with my jaw hanging down and adds, “Or Lou Lafferman.”

  Nick tries Thermos’s shot and sinks it, and I feel more alone than when I had no friends in my class.

  When the bell rings at the end of recess, Thermos is A-N-T, Nick is A-N-T-I, and I’m A-N-T-I-D-I-S-E-S, so I pretend that I’m a character named Auntie Disses.

  “Okay, kiddies, Auntie Disses says it’s time to get back to work.” I use a creaky old lady voice and hunch my back over like I’m walking with a cane. “No fooling around in class now.”

  “You do a great old-lady voice, Louie,” Thermos says. “You’re way funnier than some other people.” Her eyes dart to the basketball court behind us, where Ryan Rakefield is taking one last free throw.

  “Louie’s got a whole comedy routine,” Nick says. “But it’s not done yet.”

  “Besides, nobody will want to hear it,” I say.

  “I will,” Thermos says.

  “Yeah, but nobody else will.” Especially not Ryan Rakefield.

  “You won’t know unless you try,” Thermos says.

  Too bad, I think, because I don’t want to try unless I know.

  Walking home from school, I’m still thinking of Thermos’s comment, and I realize I also won’t know if Nick wants to be partners for the hero project unless I ask him.

  “Lou Lafferman is the best hero in the world,” I say. “I can’t believe I actually get to do a report on him.”

  Nick shifts his backpack and squints one eye at me. “Yeah,” he says.

  “So, do you want to be partners?”

  “Um. I’m not sure who my hero is yet.”

  After that, I don’t say anything.

  And Nick doesn’t say anything either.

  When I get home my father is in his studio with the door closed. I poke my head in to say hello. He’s reading a book with a picture of tools on the cover, and he asks me if I can make my own snack and a snack for Ruby, too. I say yes since that means I can choose any snack I want. Mom always makes me have fruit.

  After I finish making a plate of pickles for Ruby and a Marshmallow Fluff sundae for me, I head to the computer desk in the family room to start my Lou Lafferman research. Just because Nick hasn’t decided on a hero doesn’t mean I can’t get started.

  Unfortunately, I was the only student who didn’t find a book about his hero at school today. I’ll have to research Lou on the Internet until I can get to the public library. I’ve already read through Lou’s official Web site twenty-two quadrillion times. I could probably write his whole biography from memory, but there might be something out there I haven’t found yet. I stick two pencils up my nose, eraser side, not pointy side, and get to work.

  At first, I’m a little worried that I won’t learn anything new. But then, guess what? I find a Web site I’ve never seen before, and I do learn something new.

  And I quote:

  Lou got his big break after he sent David Letterman a video of his stand-up routine every single day for an entire year.

  My brain starts to sizzle. I might have the best idea in the history of ever. I take the pencils out of my nose and rise from my chair. My knees wobble as I walk out of th
e family room, down the hallway, through my room, into my closet, and look up at my poster of Lou.

  I could video my act and send it to him.

  I look up at Lou and gulp. “Should I do it? What if I bomb?” I ask. “How do you tell your jokes in front of people when you have no idea whether they will laugh or cry or boo and call you a splatburger?”

  The poster doesn’t move, but I hear Lou’s voice in my mind: Bomb so big you take out half the town.

  Okay, then. Big break, here I come.

  The Real Longest Word Ever

  It has 1,913 letters. Anyone who can say it ten times fast wins a free puppy.

  methionylglutaminylarginyltyrosylglutamylserylleucylphenylalanylalanylglutaminylleucyllysylglutamylarginyllysylglutamylglycylalanylphenylalanylvalylprolylphenylalanylvalylthreonylleucylglycylaspartylprolylglycylisoleucylglutamylglutaminylserylleucyllysylisloeucylaspartylthreonylleucylisoleucylglutamylalanylglycylalanylaspartylalanylleucylglutamylleucylglycylisoleucylprolylphenylalanylserylaspartylprolylleucylalanylaspartylglycylprolylthreonylisoleucylglutaminylasparaginylalanylthreonylleucylarginylalanylphenylalanylalanylalanylglycylvalylthreonylprolylalanylglutaminylcysteinylphenylalanylglutamylmethionylleucylalanylleucylisoleucylarginylglutaminyllysylhistidylprolylthreonylisoleucylprolylisoleucylglycylleucylleucylmethionyltyrosylalanylasparaginylleucylvalylphenylalanylasparaginyllysylglycylisoleucylaspartylglutamylphenylalanyltyrosylalanylglutaminylcysteinylglutamyllysylvalylglycylvalylaspartylserylvalylleucylvalylalanylaspartylvalylprolylvalylglutaminylglutamylserylalanylprolylphenylalanylarginylglutaminylalanylalanylleucylarginylhistidylasparaginylvalylalanylprolylisoleucylphenylalanylisoleucylcysteinylprolylprolylaspartylalanylaspartylaspartylaspartylleucylleucylarginylglutaminylisoleucylalanylseryltyrosylglycylarginylglycyltyrosylthreonyltyrosylleucylleucylserylarginylalanylglycylvalylthreonylglycylalanylglutamylasparaginylarginylalanylalanylleucylprolylleucylasparaginylhistidylleucylvalylalanyllysylleucyllysylglutamyltyrosylasparaginylalanylalanylprolylprolylleucylglutaminylglycylphenylalanylglycylisoleucylserylalanylprolylaspartylglutaminylvalyllysylalanylalanylisoleucylaspartylalanylglycylalanylalanylglycylalanylisoleucylserylglycylserylalanylisoleucylvalyllysylisoleucylisoleucylglutamylglutaminylhistidylasparaginylisoleucylglutamylprolylglutamyllysylmethionylleucylalanylalanylleucyllysylvalylphenylalanylvalylglutaminylprolylmethionyllysylalanylalanylthreonylarginylserine

  WHY DADS ARE SOMETIMES WORSE THAN WEDGIES

  Saturday night is male-bonding time. Usually my dad and I will watch a funny movie, a stand-up routine, or an old sitcom. That’s how I learned about my favorite comedians. This week I’m thinking about something different though: my big break. I’ve got a surprise for Dad.

  After dinner, it’s my turn to load the dishwasher. My dad tells me he’ll be waiting for me in his studio. I rinse the plates as fast as I can, put them in the washer, and change into my Lou T-shirt.

  His studio door is closed, so I open it a crack and project my voice into the room. “Gentleman, desk, and sofa, introducing the funniest boy in the Burger family … Louie Burger!”

  I expect applause, or at least a “Woo hoo!” but I hear nothing. I push the door wider. A soda-can picture frame sits, broken in half, in the trash can. My dad lies sprawled on the couch, fast asleep with a book covering his face: Do It Yourself Remodeling.

  I don’t believe it. My closet’s a goner and my dad didn’t even tell me. Forget male-bonding time. I head to my closet and step up on the stage. The imaginary spotlight warms my skin. Rows of imaginary people stare up at me, waiting for me to make them laugh. I grab the mike and start talking.

  “Parents should not be allowed to have more than one kid. It’s completely inconsiderate. How would my parents feel if I brought home an extra father? ‘Don’t worry, Mom and Dad, I’ll still love you, but having another dad around will be fun for all of us. He knows five hundred and thirty-seven different card games, he bought me my own TV, and he has a normal job. I think we should let him have your bedroom so he feels like he’s part of the family. You can sleep on the couch.’”

  The crowd roars and an electric hum fills my body. If a pretend audience can make me feel this good, performing in front of a live audience must feel unbarflievable.

  Later that night, after I’ve tucked myself in, my dad comes into my room and sits on the side of my bed. He hangs his head.

  “Sorry I fell asleep, Louie. Can we do a makeup male-bonding time tomorrow?”

  I turn my head to the wall.

  “I found another old comedian for us to watch, Buster Keaton. I think you’re going to love him.”

  “I didn’t even want to watch a movie,” I say, looking at his reflection in the window. “I was going to do my act for you.”

  My dad rubs his forehead and a guilty look fills his eyes. Good.

  “How about tomorrow? Will you give me another chance?”

  I know I said I didn’t want to do my act for him anymore, but I need the practice. Maybe if I’m good enough, my dad will throw away the remodeling book.

  “High noon,” I say.

  “I’ll be there,” he answers.

  The next morning I’m sitting at the kitchen table trying to swallow Mom’s wheat-germ-blueberry pancakes when the phone rings. Ari and Ruby both race for it, but Ruby is quicker. Her hand is already on the receiver when we hear my dad shouting from the other side of the house.

  “I’ll get it! Don’t pick up! I’m expecting a call.”

  He’s too late.

  “Hello. This is Ruby. Who is your favorite unicorn?”

  My mother grabs the phone away. “I’m sorry. Hello. You’ve reached the Burger residence. May I ask who’s calling?”

  Ruby sits back down in her seat. “You don’t need to ask that. They tell you that anyway.”

  “Oh, hi, honey,” my mom says. She hands me the phone. “It’s Nick. Try not to talk too long, and don’t ignore the call waiting. Another gallery might call this morning.”

  I take the phone and walk into the next room. “What’s up?”

  “Not much,” he says. Then he’s quiet.

  I wonder why he called when he doesn’t have anything to say. Finally he speaks.

  “I like Lou Lafferman, but I talked about it with my dad and I decided that even though he’s my favorite comedian, he’s not my hero.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “I really, really, really like Lou Lafferman,” he adds. “But I want to do Kenji Okada for my hero project.”

  “Oh,” I say again.

  “Okay?” he asks me.

  “Sure,” I say, even though I feel as flat as a wheat-germ-blueberry pancake. “Um, I have to go. My dad’s waiting for a phone call.”

  “All right,” he says. “Come over later if you want to hang out.”

  I would, but I’m not sure who I’d be hanging out with. Nick doesn’t seem the same anymore. I head back to the kitchen.

  The phone rings again. Ruby answers. “Hello. Burger residence. Tell me who you are, please.”

  My mother tries to take the phone, but Ruby turns her body and purses her lips, like she’s listening carefully to the person on the other end of the line. Then she lowers the phone and shouts at the top of her lungs, “Daaadddyy!!! It’s the people who want to buy your art!”

  “Ruby!” My mother grabs the phone, puts her hand over the mouthpiece, and listens. When she hears my dad pick up, she puts the phone back in its charger. “Sweetie, next time go in the other room and tell Daddy he has a phone call. No screaming like a wild animal.”

  “Wild animals can’t even talk, silly.”

  I’m still feeling flat, otherwise I would say, Ari’s a baboon and she can talk. But all I can think about is how Nick chose Thermos to be his partner over me. Thermos.

  Then my dad comes into the room, and he has a huge smile on his face, a real smile, one that shines from his eyes and spreads over his entire body.

  “They want to see my stuff,” he says.

  My mother throws her arms around him and gives
him a big kiss on the cheek. “Honey, that’s wonderful! See? I told you.”

  “No.” Dad shakes his head. “I mean, they want to see my stuff today. Right now. I need to pack everything up and go into the city.”

  “But, Mom,” Ari says, “you were supposed to take me shopping today.” She gives my mom a look, like it’s some top-secret shopping mission. It’s not that secret; they are going to buy Ari a bra.

  “We can do that when your dad gets home,” my mother says. “The mall is open until six. Or maybe the Yamashitas can watch Ruby and Louie while we’re gone.”

  “Thanks,” my dad says, squeezing my mom’s hand and kissing Ari, Ruby, and me on the forehead. “Wish me luck.”

  Only later, when his car is pulling out of the driveway, do I remember: high noon. My act. He forgot about me again.

  THE ROTTEN EGG

  After Dad is gone Ari won’t stop talking about her shopping trip, so Mom calls Mrs. Yamashita and as fast as you can say, “But Nick is turning into a sporty kid with a new best friend,” she’s sending Ruby and me across the street. Henry opens the door and says, “Nick is up in his room. Want to play restaurant?”

  I think that last part is meant for Ruby, so I don’t answer. I head up to Nick’s bedroom instead. When I’m right outside the door I hear laughter, and my stomach clenches.

  I open Nick’s door and there they are, lying on the floor: Nick and Thermos. They are looking at Nick’s Nutso magazine collection and cracking up, the way Nick and I used to do. They barely notice me walk into the room. You can take your pick of expressions for this one: On the outside looking in. Third wheel. Left out in the rain. There’s a theme here. Get it? I’m the rotten egg.

  Finally, Nick looks up and sees me. “Hi, Louie.”

  “Hey, guys,” I say, trying to sound like I expected to see both of them.

  “Louie, check this out,” says Thermos, pointing to the magazine. “It’s ‘Harry Snotter,’ the story of a kid with magical boogers.”