Funny Boy Meets the Airsick Alien from Andromeda

by Dan Gutman

  It was a football field. In the distance, near the 40-yard line, I could see a spaceship. It was the shape of a salami, but enormous. The whole thing reached from one sideline to the other.

  And next to the spaceship ... there it was.

  The alien I had seen on TV.

  We walked down the row of box seats and hopped the fence to get on the field. As we got closer to the alien, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a creature about the size of the Statue of Liberty. It was purple. One hideous-looking furry eyeball was in the middle of its head, which looked like a giant misshapen meatball. Goopy fluid was dripping out of the eyeball like runny Jell-O. Its mouth and teeth were enormous.

  The alien had six limbs. It was hard to tell which were legs and which were arms. The thing looked like a cross between an insect and a dinosaur.

  “D-d-don’t worry,” Punch stammered. “It’s fictional. It can’t hurt us.”

  “I’m scared,” Bob said. “Let’s just get out of here. How are you gonna make that thing laugh?”

  “Relax, Dad,” I told him. “Even aliens have a sense of humor. Laughter is the universal language.”

  “Stop calling me Dad.”

  As we reached the 10-yard line, I had to cover my nose. The creature was giving off a smell that reminded me of a pair of sweat socks somebody with really stinky feet wore for about a year and then stuffed with rotten eggs, horse manure, and bad cheese.

  Not that I ever knew anyone who dressed that way, mind you.

  I was trembling with fear. Being funny would take all my power. I stepped forward to the 20-yard line and tried not to show how terrified I was.

  “Hey big guy,” I shouted, smiling a big smile. “Don’t tell me, you’re an alien, right? What a coincidence! Me, too! It’s so nice to meet a fellow visitor from outer—”

  The alien let out a roar that rocked me backward. The blast of hot air knocked me off my feet. It swept up my cape and made it wrap around my head so I couldn’t see. The stench was unbearable.

  “Whoa!” I said. “You could use a Tic-Tac, big guy!”

  “WHAT ARE YOU,” the alien bellowed, “SOME KIND OF CLOWN?”

  Punch says:

  Isn’t it weird how aliens always come to Earth and instantly know how to speak English?

  “Howdy!” I said cheerily. “I am Funny Boy, defender of Earth, the solar system, the Milky Way galaxy, and ZIP codes so far away even Federal Express doesn’t deliver there. What is your name?”

  “YOU MAY CALL ME MASTER, RULER OF EARTH,” the alien bellowed.

  “I already have a ruler,” I quipped. “I keep it in my desk drawer and use it to measure stuff.”

  “ARE YOU BEING FACETIOUS?” the alien bellowed.

  “Hey watch your language,” I warned. “This is a family-oriented planet. What do they call you on Andromeda?”

  “MY NAME IS ...the alien paused for a moment—“BETTY!”

  “Betty?” I asked, puzzled. Behind me, I heard Punch giggling.

  “BETTY!” bellowed the monster.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I said. “Usually aliens have names like Blorg or Gigantor or the Slime Thing or something terrifying like that. I never heard of an alien named ... Betty.”

  Bob and Punch inched forward. Punch was having a hard time controlling her amusement over the alien’s name.

  “TELL TOTO TO TONE IT DOWN,” Betty thundered, “OR I WILL CRUSH HER LIKE A GRAPE BENEATH MY FEET!”*

  “What am I going to do, Dad?” I whispered to Bob. “Back on Crouton, my father told me never to fight with girls.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they might beat me up.”

  “I think your father would give you the go-ahead in this case.”

  I stepped forward to confront Betty. “Why have you come to Earth?” I asked.

  “I HAVE COME TO DESTROY YOUR PLANET!”

  “What is it with you evil aliens?” I yelled. “You’re always in a bad mood when you show up. Right away you want to destroy the planet. Earth is actually a very nice place once you get to know it. Why don’t you relax, look around, and see the sights we have to offer on Earth? You’ll feel a lot better once you get over your jet lag. Then, if you still have time before you need to go home, then you can destroy the planet.”

  “I WILL DESTROY THIS PLANET WHEN I CHOOSE TO ... ON THURSDAY!”

  “And how do you plan to do that, Betty?”

  “I AM GOING TO EAT IT.”

  “Eat it?” That was a new one on me. “How are you going to eat Earth?”

  “I WILL START WITH NORTH AMERICA AS AN APPETIZER. SOUTH AMERICA WILL BE THE FIRST COURSE. THEN I WILL DEVOUR EUROPE. THEN I WILL NIBBLE ON AFRICA. AS A BEVERAGE, I WILL WASH IT ALL DOWN WITH YOUR OCEANS. AND FINALLY, FOR DESSERT I WILL EAT ASIA. THEN I WILL LET OUT A SATISFYING BURP THAT WILL ECHO ACROSS THE UNIVERSE.”

  “You forgot Antarctica,” Bob pointed out.

  “I WILL USE IT TO MAKE ICE CUBES!”

  “You should really watch your diet, Betty,” I said. “Doctors say it’s healthier to eat several small cities over the course of a day rather than to devour an entire continent at once. You don’t want to get sick, do you?”

  “SILENCE!”

  “Believe me, Betty,” I said. “Earth tastes awful. I fell down once and got some dirt in my mouth. Yuck! Why don’t you eat Venus instead?”

  “I ALREADY ATE VENUS!” Betty roared. “IT WAS DELICIOUS.”

  “Oh.”

  _______________

  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!

  _______________

  She ate Venus? Venus is a vast wasteland covered by dense clouds of sulfuric acid. The surface temperature is about 750 degrees Fahrenheit. Compared to Venus, Earth would taste like cotton candy. I had to think of something, and quickly.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m a reasonable man. I’ll make a deal with you. Earthlings are a peace-loving people. Leave now, and they will not attack you with their F-22 fighter jets, hydrogen bombs, and heat-seeking thermonuclear missiles.”

  “I THOUGHT YOU SAID EARTHLINGS WERE PEACE-LOVING.”

  “They are,” I replied. “Those weapons are only for self-defense.”

  “EARTH IS 4.5 BILLION YEARS OLD. HAS IT EVER BEEN INVADED?”

  “No,” I said. “I guess aliens are frightened of all those cool weapons.”

  “YOU THINK YOU’RE PRETTY FUNNY, DON’T YOU?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “YOUR WIMPY ATOMIC WEAPONS ARE USELESS AGAINST ME,” Betty thundered. “I HAVE BUILT A NUCLEAR SHIELD TO PROTECT MYSELF FROM ATTACK.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I mused. “We oughta try that.”

  “TOO LATE. YOU WILL BE CONQUERED. ANDROMEDA WILL RULE THE UNIVERSE!”

  “Why did you throw up on the Lincoln Memorial?” I asked. “Was that your way of showing your blatant disregard for our national heroes?”

  “NO,” Betty explained. “I WAS AIRSICK. I HIT SOME TURBULENCE AS I ENTERED EARTH’S ATMOSPHERE.”

  “Okay, Betty,” I said, walking toward her. “I’m going to ask you nicely one more time. Get back into your spaceship now and take off.”

  “WHY SHOULD I?”

  “Because this is a no-parking zone. If you don’t move, the Washington police will tow away your ship and make you pay to get it back.”

  “PREPOSTEROUS! I REFUSE TO PAY!”

  “What’s the matter?” Punch asked. “Did you leave your purse at home?”

  Betty swiveled her head around, flinging a gooey glop of something that hit Punch right in the face. Punch whimpered and scurried away.

  “That’s it!” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “It’s one thing to destroy Earth. But nobody messes with my dog. This is war!”

  “WHAT WEAPONS DO YOU HAVE TO FIGHT ME?”

  “My weapon is the power of humor,” I said. “Jokes
. Puns. Quips. Snappy one-liners. I will now demonstrate my superpower of humor. It will cause you to laugh so hard that you will be unable to perform your evil deeds. Helpless with laughter, you will retreat to your spaceship and leave the good people of Earth alone.”

  “HA! HA! HA!” Betty roared. “DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH!”

  “Well, I’m going to try. I will now tell a joke that is so funny, you will probably die laughing. Ready? Here it is: I went to the doctor and told him I didn’t feel well. He told me to drink apple juice after a hot bath. An hour later he called me and asked, ‘Did you drink the apple juice?’ I said, ‘Not yet, I’m still drinking the hot bath!’”

  Betty stared at me silently.

  “So ... you don’t go for doctor jokes much, eh?” I asked.

  Betty continued to stare at me. “I know you’re out there,” I said. “I can hear your eyeballs dripping.”

  “WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO TELL THE JOKE?” Betty boomed.

  I realized I was in trouble. Big trouble. If Betty had any sense of humor, it was almost undetectable. I felt sweat gathering on my forehead.

  “Okay, how about this one,” I said, scrambling to come up with another joke. “A guy walks into a clothing store. ‘I’d like to try on those pants in the window,’ he tells the salesclerk. The clerk replies, ‘Sir, we would prefer you use the dressing room.’”

  Betty stared at me without cracking a smile. My jokes were bombing.

  “YOU SHOULD CALL YOURSELF UNFUNNY BOY.”

  I turned around to see if Bob or Punch could help. Bob stepped forward and faced Betty.

  “Why did you come here?” he asked. “Earthlings have never bothered you.”

  “I SAW ALL THOSE SATELLITE DISHES ON YOUR ROOFS.”

  “So?”

  “I WANTED TO SEE WHAT WAS ON.”

  “You traveled all those light-years just to watch TV?” Bob asked.

  “I LOVE TV,” Betty replied. “AND THERE WAS NOTHING ON BUT BAD SITCOMS AND STUPID COMMERCIALS. THAT IS WHY I DECIDED TO DESTROY YOUR PLANET.”

  “Couldn’t you just rent a video instead?”

  “SHUT UP, EARTH MAN! I WILL TAKE YOUR PATHETIC PLANET, CHOP IT INTO MILLIONS OF PIECES, AND SPRINKLE IT ON MY SALAD!”

  The thought of a planet being sprinkled onto a salad reminded me of Crouton. I thought back to my childhood there. My old school. The old field where I used to play ball. The old lake where I used to swim.

  Man, I hated Crouton! Just thinking about it made tears well up in my eyes.

  “Look, now you made him cry,” Bob said to Betty. “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”

  “THERE IS NOBODY MY SIZE!”

  “There would be if you didn’t eat so much,” Bob retorted.

  “If you’re so hungry, why don’t you eat the moon?” Punch suggested. “They say it’s made of cheese.”

  “ENOUGH BAD JOKES! I MUST LEAVE NOW.”

  “Aha!” I said, drying my eyes. “The power of our barbs and quips has caused you to retreat to Andromeda! I knew I would defeat you.”

  “NO,” Betty said. “MY FAVORITE TV SHOW BACK HOME IS ON—ANDROMEDA’S FUNNIEST HOME VIDEOS. I WILL BE BACK NEXT THURSDAY. MEET ME AT THE WHITE HOUSE, WHERE I WILL BEGIN THE DESTRUCTION OF YOUR PLANET.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said defiantly.

  “WITH FUNNIER JOKES, I HOPE.”

  “So funny you’ll forget to laugh.”

  “YOU REMIND ME OF A CALENDAR, FUNNY BOY.”

  “Why is that?”

  “YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED.”

  *The author defies anyone to find the consecutive letters TOTOTOTO in any other work of literature.

  CHAPTER 10

  PUTTING ON PAJAMAS RIGHT AFTER YOU TAKE THEM OUT OF THE DRYER (AND OTHER JOYS OF LIVING ON EARTH)

  After my confrontation with Betty, I tried to contact the President. Unfortunately, he was in hiding. It would be up to Bob, Punch, and me to save Earth.

  As I thought about the end of the world, I remembered all the good things I had experienced on your planet since I arrived here.

  _______________

  SUGGESTION TO READER: As you read the following, have a friend hum America the Beautiful in the background.

  _______________

  Microwave popcorn, for example. And Play-Doh. Putting on a pair of pajamas right after you take them out of the dryer. It’s the best feeling in the world.

  Electronic mail. Gravity. Where would we be without gravity? Floating all over the place. Chocolate. Velcro. Wiffle balls. Free samples. Nintendo.

  Lemonade on a hot day. Hot chocolate on a cold one. Hey, how come when you’re drinking hot chocolate the marshmallows float away from your mouth, but when you’re drinking lemonade the ice cubes float into your mouth? That’s what I want to know.

  Those boxes of tissues where the next tissue pops up automatically when you pull out the tissue above it.

  Self-flushing toilets. How do they know when you’re done?

  And thermos bottles. How do they know to keep cold things cold and hot things hot?

  Remote controls. Isn’t it hard to believe there was a time when people actually had to get up and change the channel on the set? How did they survive?

  Strip malls! The Home Shopping Network! Frisbees!

  Punch says:

  Don’t forget fire hydrants!

  Was I going to let some intergalactic jerk take all those things away from us? No way! If I let some alien creep have her way, she would blow us off the face of the planet. And there would be other alien creeps threatening other planets. They would turn every inhabitable planet into a barren, empty nothingness covered by trees and grass and water—pretty much what Earth was like before humans showed up and put a McDonald’s on every other block. I couldn’t let that happen. But what was I going to do about it?

  I had to come up with some killer jokes by Thursday, or Earth was doomed.

  _______________

  So, how are you enjoying the story so far? Do you think Earth is doomed, or will Funny Boy come up with some better jokes and save the planet? Will he ever realize he’s a fictional character? More importantly, will he ever realize how bad his jokes are? Will Bob be able to convince the National Inspirer that he found a real alien so he can collect the million-dollar reward? Will Betty go on Weight Watchers? And will Punch ever be potty-trained? Keep reading and find out!

  _______________

  CHAPTER 11

  BEING A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IS REALLY THE PITS

  Bob, Punch, and I rushed to the Library of Congress on Independence Avenue, where they have a copy of every book ever printed. We borrowed the jokebooks, all 5,324 of them. The three of us went through them one by one. We must have read a trillion jokes. Carefully, we weeded out all the unfunny ones.

  I was extremely nervous about meeting up with Betty again. I tried to hide it, but I guess it showed.

  “Will you calm down?” Punch asked me. “Don’t you realize you’re fictional? There’s going to be a happy ending. I promise you.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not fictional! I’m real.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You think I’m fictional, eh?” I asked. “Well, can a fictional character do this?”

  I crossed my eyes, stuck out my tongue and touched my nose, patted my head, and rubbed my belly in circles.

  “Only fictional characters can do that,” Punch insisted. “Besides, you didn’t actually do it. It was just words on a page. You only did it in the reader’s imagination. It didn’t really happen.”

  I began to feel extremely depressed. What if Punch was right? What if I really was only a fictional character? What would be the point of doing anything? What was the point in saving Earth from evildoers? I might as well just sit around and do nothing.

  So that’s what I did. I sat there and did nothing. I just sat. Let somebody else save the world, I decided. It’s not my responsibility. I started tapping my fingers on the desk and humming t
o myself.

  Man, it was boring! It felt bad enough that I might be fictional. But being bored and fictional was really the pits.

  Fictional or not, I had to act, and act now. If I didn’t save the world, some other fictional superhero might come along and get all the credit. I couldn’t have that.

  There was an Internet workstation in the library, so we logged on and checked out every Web site that had jokes on it. We selected the funniest ones and I memorized them. By Thursday, we were armed with enough jokes to crack up the most humorless of all villains. We rushed back to the White House for one final confrontation with Betty.

  Punch says:

  Isn’t this exciting?

  CHAPTER 12

  YOU HAVE FAILED TO MAKE ME LAUGH. NOW YOU MUST DIE.

  “Make way!” I said, pushing past the crowds gathered at the East Gate of the White House. “It is I, Funny Boy. I am here to save your world.”

  When we reached the front, a security guard stuck his arm up in front of me.

  “Sorry, buddy,” he said. “This area is sealed off today.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “There’s a movie crew here. They’re shooting the sequel to E.T.”

  Bob shoved the guard aside. “When are you people going to get it?” he shouted. “This is no movie! Earth is being invaded by a real alien! And we’re the only ones who can stop her!”

  “Real alien?” chuckled the guard. “Man, you are a nutcase. Everybody knows aliens don’t exist.”

  Looking over the guard’s shoulder, I could see Betty on the White House lawn. And she clearly wasn’t there for the annual Easter egg roll. She was drooling and snorting and looking very menacing.

  “IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU WIMPS SHOWED UP!” she said when she saw us. We rushed past the guard. “TODAY IS THE GLORIOUS DAY EARTH WILL BE DESTROYED! AND I’M FEELING HUNGRY!”

  “No, today is the day you will be destroyed, Betty!” I insisted. “Destroyed by the power of wit and humor.”