Funny Boy Meets the Airsick Alien from Andromeda

by Dan Gutman

  “That’s why he’s a lunatic!” the woman shouted.

  I rushed into the library, pushing my way through the crowd to get to the checkout desk.

  The lunatic robber was pointing a water gun at the librarian.

  “Give me all the overdue book money or I start squirting,” the robber said.

  The librarian quickly emptied her drawer, nervously putting three nickels, a dime, and some pennies on the counter. The robber scooped up the money and was about to make his getaway when I leaped into his path.

  “Halt, evildoer!” I hollered. “It is I, Funny Boy! Give back the overdue book money or I will be forced to tell jokes until you see the folly of your ways!”

  “You gotta be kidding.” He giggled.

  “I am kidding,” I replied. “Tell me, what did the hat say to the hat rack?”

  “I give up, what did the hat say to the hat rack?”

  “You stay here, I’ll go on ahead.”

  “That’s so stupid it’s almost funny,” the robber said with a sneer. Already, he seemed like less of a threat to society.

  “Did you hear about the carpenter who left work early?” I asked him.

  “What about him?” the robber replied.

  “He made a bolt for the door.”

  “That’s dumb,” he said. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a moron?”

  “Plenty of times,” I replied. “But it will never stop me from fulfilling my goal of ridding the world of evildoers.”

  “You need help, pal.”

  “Never mind that,” I continued. “What’s green and has four wheels?”

  I give up.

  “Grass!” I proclaimed.

  “Grass doesn’t have four wheels,” protested the robber.

  “I know,” I said. “I added that part to make it harder.”

  “Man, I don’t have time for this,” the robber said, tossing the coins back on the librarian’s desk and leaving. “I’ve got a life.”

  “Admit it, evildoer!” I shouted after him. “You are defenseless against my superior sense of humor!”

  “You’re pathetic!” he shouted as he ran away.

  A siren wailed outside and some doctors wearing white lab coats rushed into the library. Quickly, they surrounded me.

  “Come with us, clown man,” they told me, “and nobody will get hurt.”

  “I am not clown man,” I explained. “I am Funny Boy! I have just prevented this evildoer from robbing the library.”

  It took a while, but finally I was able to convince the police that I wasn’t crazy.

  “Thank you, Funny Boy,” said a little boy outside the library. “You’re my hero!”

  At least some people appreciated my talents.

  A few days later, I apprehended another evildoer. I was taking a relaxing stroll through the park when I saw a teenage girl bend down and pick up an empty soda can off the grass.

  “Halt!” I shouted at her. “Drop that can or I’ll start shooting one-liners. You’re under arrest!”

  “For what?” she asked, acting all innocent.

  “Stealing,” I announced. “I saw you steal that can. This park is government property, so that can belongs to the government.”

  “I’m not stealing it, you jerk!” she whined. “I’m picking up litter that someone thoughtlessly threw on the grass.”

  “Nice alibi,” I snorted. “Tell it to the judge.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “You’d better put that can back on the grass,” I commanded.

  “What if I don’t?” she challenged me.

  “I will tell a joke so funny you will lose control of your bladder. And don’t think for a minute I’m bluffing, sister.”

  She just looked at me, grinning and taunting.

  “Okay, you asked for it,” I said. “What did Paul Revere say at the end of his famous ride?”

  “He said, ‘Whoa!’” replied the girl.

  “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “It’s the oldest joke in the book,” she said. “Here, take the stupid can. Maybe you can cash it in and get some brains.”

  She walked away, laughing her head off.

  Once again, I had used my superior sense of humor to stop a dangerous criminal from breaking the law. It energized me. It made me feel like a real citizen of Earth. At last, I was making a contribution to society.

  I was ready to tackle bigger crimes, bigger criminals. But in my wildest dreams, I never imagined that I was about to save the planet from destruction.

  CHAPTER 7

  HOW TO HANDLE JERKS WHO CALL YOU UP ON THE PHONE AND CLAIM TO BE THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES

  I know what you’re thinking. You’ve never seen Funny Boy in the newspaper or on TV. There are no Funny Boy action figures or lunch boxes. My dog Punch insists that I’m not real. I’m just a fictional character in a book you’re reading. So I must be making all this up, right?

  Wrong. There is a simple reason why the people of Earth don’t know about me—there has been a massive cover-up. That’s the truth. The governments of Earth don’t want to frighten you citizens. If you knew how close your planet has come to being destroyed, you would panic. Nobody would ever believe that the only thing preventing a total takeover of Earth is a kid wearing a yellow tablecloth and a fake nose and glasses.

  I suspected the big cover-up when I was watching TV one night with Bob and Punch. The news was on and the anchorman was saying:

  “Well, if you loved the movie E.T., we have good news. Hollywood director Steven Spielberg is in Washington, D.C., shooting the sequel, E T. Returns with His Big Brother. Check out this action ...

  They cut away to show the Washington Monument. Suddenly, an enormous, hideous-looking monster lumbered over to it. The monster wrapped its arms around the Washington Monument and lifted it right out of the ground. People were running away and screaming. Planes were shooting missiles at the monster. It didn’t seem to mind. The monster swung the Washington Monument around like a baseball bat. Then it started picking its teeth with it.

  “Wow,” gushed the anchorman. “We can look forward to E.T. Returns sometime this summer.”

  “Man, I gotta see that!” said Punch.

  “Awesome special effects,” Bob said.

  They were awesome special effects, but something about the clip looked fishy to me. It looked too real. I wasn’t about to say there actually was a monster destroying the Washington Monument, but it sure didn’t look like any movie.

  Five minutes later the phone rang. Bob picked it up and handed it to me, his face suddenly very serious.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “He says he’s the President of the United States.”

  “Very funny.”

  I picked up the phone and a man asked, “Is this Silly Boy?”

  “Funny Boy,” I corrected him. “Who wants to know?”

  “It’s me,” the voice said with some urgency. “The President.”

  Some people might have been impressed hearing that. But not me. Anybody could call me up and claim to be the President of the United States.

  It could have been a phony phone call. I glanced at the clock. It was dinnertime. I felt sure this guy was trying to sell me something.

  “Why don’t you telemarketers leave us alone?” I shouted, slamming down the phone.

  Two seconds later, the phone rang again.

  “What do you want now?” I barked into the receiver.

  “It’s really me,” the guy said. “The President.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said, unimpressed. “Prove it.”

  “This is important!” the voice shouted. “The fate of the world is at stake!”

  “If you’re really the President,” I said calmly, “you should be able to answer a few simple questions.”

  “Go ahead,” the guy said. “Quickly!”

  “What color is the White House?”

  “White!”

  “Are you in the Oval Office right now?” I
asked.

  “Yes.”

  Now I had him. If he was really in the Oval Office—the President’s office—there was a simple way to prove it.

  “What shape is the room you’re in?” I asked.

  “Oval!” the guy exclaimed, exasperated.

  Punch says:

  I bet he knows who’s buried in Grant’s Tomb, too.

  Gosh, I suddenly realized. It really was the President! The most powerful man in the world was calling me, Funny Boy, on the telephone. I could hardly believe it. This was the most important, most exciting moment of my life.

  It was the moment I had been waiting for ever since I came to Earth. Something pretty important must be going on, or the President wouldn’t be calling me. It wasn’t some lunatic robbing the library this time. It was something big.

  “Mr. President, I am at your service,” I said seriously. “Whatever you wish, I will do. My mission is but to serve you and my adopted country. Just say the word.”

  “I need you to come to Washington right away,” the President said.

  “I’m kinda busy today,” I explained. “I’m doing the laundry and I still have to rake the yard. How about next week?”

  “Earth will be destroyed next week!” he yelled.

  “Oh.”

  My mind was racing. If Earth was going to be destroyed the next week, I would miss my dentist appointment on Friday. Great, I hate going to the dentist! Also, there was no point in raking the yard. If Earth was going to be destroyed next week, the yard wouldn’t be there anymore.

  This is terrific, I thought. I didn’t have to do Bob’s laundry after all, because if Earth was going to be destroyed, he wouldn’t need his clothes. And I wouldn’t have to go grocery shopping because we wouldn’t be around next week to eat the food because Earth would be destroyed and we’d be dead and—

  “I’ll be there right away,” I told the President.

  CHAPTER 8

  HOW TO MAKE THE BEST USE OF YOUR TIME WHEN YOU KNOW THE WORLD WILL BE DESTROYED NEXT THURSDAY

  As the taxi pulled up to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C., Bob, Punch, and I were awed by the experience. Here we were, a simple alien from Crouton, his talking dog, and an American factory worker, visiting the White House to meet with the President. Only in America.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” asked Punch. “I gotta go.”

  “Fictional characters don’t have to use the bathroom,” I reminded her.

  “Not funny, Funny Boy.”

  “Just use a tree,” Bob suggested.

  “I don’t use trees,” Punch said. Ever since she arrived on Earth and discovered she could talk, Punch decided she was too good to do things that ordinary dogs do.

  The three of us walked up to the East Gate, where a uniformed guard was standing at attention.

  “What are you, a clown?” he said before I had the chance to introduce myself. “The circus isn’t due in town for months.”

  “Hey who ya callin’ a clown?” Punch snapped at the guard. “I’ll bite your ear off!”

  The guard shrank back in fear.

  “I am not a clown. It is I, Funny Boy,” I announced. “Earth will be destroyed next week. We have been summoned to save humanity. Didn’t you hear about this national emergency?”

  “He’s really an alien,” Bob whispered to the guard. “So’s the dog. Their rocket crash-landed into my underwear factory. You’ve got to believe us.”

  “I think the three of you are wackos,” the guard grumbled.

  Wow! It must be a real top secret emergency! Even the security forces guarding the White House weren’t informed of it.

  After a lot of explaining, we finally convinced the guard that we were for real. He ushered us into the White House, where another guard led us down a long corridor.

  Suddenly, a lady officer came running over to us. I thought she was going to arrest me or something.

  “Hey! Your dog just pooped on Millard Fillmore’s rug!” she said.

  “Tell Millard I’ll pay for it,” Punch barked—I mean said.

  “Millard Fillmore was the thirteenth President,” the guard said. “He’s been dead for over one hundred years.”

  “Then why would he care about his rug?” Punch asked.

  We were led into a room with some really fancy chairs and furniture in it. In a few minutes, the President entered.

  The President! I’m going to describe him as precisely as I can. He was a tall man, and also rather short. He appeared to be heavier than he looks on television, and thin at the same time. His hair was dark, and also light. His ears were large, on the small side, while his nose was small on the large side.

  He was one of those rare men who was tall, short, heavy, thin, with dark and light hair and big and small facial features. There was something familiar about him. Like I met him before. It must be nervousness, I figured. It was awesome to be in the presence of the most powerful man in the world.

  “Thank you for coming, Sunny Boy,” the President said as we shook hands.

  “That’s Funny Boy, Mr. President. This is my dog, Punchline, and my foster father, Bob Foster.”

  “We’re fictional,” Punch announced. I whispered to her to shut up.

  The President led us to the Rose Garden, where Punch relieved herself on some roses.

  “I understand you use humor to fight evildoers,” the President said.

  “That’s right,” I explained. “Once I get them laughing hard enough, they are incapable of carrying out their evil deeds.”

  “It sounds crazy, but I’m desperate,” he sighed, shaking his head sadly. “I’ve got a global emergency on my hands and the Army can’t help. The Navy can’t help.”

  “Why not?” Bob asked.

  “They’re all getting ready for the big Army-Navy football game this weekend.”

  “What about the Marines?” Punch asked.

  “They’re visiting Sea World.”

  “So you have called on me.”

  My chest swelled with pride. Only I could save Earth from a threat that was so destructive that the most powerful armed forces in the world were useless.

  “I accept the awesome responsibility you have placed before me, Sir. What is my mission?”

  “Did you ever hear of Andromeda?”

  “Andromeda,” I repeated, thinking it over. “Isn’t that a medicine people take for constipation?”

  _______________

  WARNING TO READER: If you read the following paragraph, you may actually learn something. If you are reading this book purely for laughs, please—we beg you—please do not read the next paragraph!

  ______________

  The President shook his head again sadly. “No. The Great Andromeda Nebula is the nearest galaxy to our own. It is a spiral shape like our own Milky Way, and two million light-years from Earth.”

  “Ah, yes, now I remember,” I said. “And on Crouton, Andromeda is also the name of a popular medicine for constipation.”

  “An alien creature from Andromeda has invaded our airspace,” the President whispered. “It came directly to Washington and immediately vomited on the Lincoln Memorial. Then it ate the National Air and Space Museum. After it was finished, it used the Washington Monument for a toothpick. I had no choice but to meet with the alien. It was a hideous creature. It told me to surrender Earth or it will destroy our entire planet next Thursday.”

  “Why next Thursday, Mr. President?”

  “The alien has several other planets it is scheduled to destroy first. So it had to put us on its waiting list.”

  I made a mental note to cancel my dentist appointment for next Friday.

  “What name does the alien go by?” I asked.

  “It didn’t say,” the President said. “It just said it was hungry, and then it left.”

  Hmmm. It didn’t quite make sense. If a huge alien creature had landed a spaceship in the nation’s capital and was causing all this destruction, why wasn’t the public going crazy? I would h
ave thought people would be running through the streets screaming their heads off. It would be all over the news.

  “I didn’t want the public to panic,” the President explained. “We told the press that Steven Spielberg is in Washington shooting the sequel to E.T.—E.T. Returns with His Big Brother.”

  “I knew that news report was a fake!” I exclaimed.

  “Remember Jurassic Park?” the President asked. “Well, that wasn’t fictional. Dinosaurs really did come back and almost take over. We didn’t want anyone to know about it, so we just had Spielberg make a movie about dinosaurs. Luckily, we killed them all before they could take over the planet. The public fell for it. The movie even won some Oscars.”

  “Very clever,” I said. “So whenever there is a national emergency, you just call Hollywood and they make a movie about it so the public doesn’t realize how much danger it’s really in.”

  “Exactly. Remember a few years ago when those movies about asteroids hitting Earth came out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,” continued the President, “asteroids really did hit Earth.”

  “Really?”

  “Have you been to Australia recently?”

  “No, why?”

  “Don’t go. It’s not there anymore.”

  “The asteroid wiped out Australia?” Bob asked, shocked.

  “And the Philippines,” replied the President. “Thanks to Hollywood, we were able to keep it out of the news.”

  The President shook his head sadly. “We need help. We have run out of options. Words cannot express the danger Earth is in. This is our nation’s darkest hour. The fate of Earth is in your hands now. Good luck, Dummy Boy.”

  “That’s Funny Boy.”

  CHAPTER 9

  THE HIDEOUS PURPLE MONSTER WITH ONE FURRY, DRIPPING EYEBALL

  One of the President’s aides directed me to a secret location on the outskirts of Washington. It was here that I would meet with the alien and either surrender Earth to it or attempt to defeat it. It was all up to me. It was an awesome responsibility, and I accepted it.

  The limo let Bob, Punch, and me out at the front of a stadium. Nobody was around. We walked right through the turnstile and up the ramp until we could see the field.