by Duncan Ball
For Ethan
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Readers of these stories will know that they are really Selby’s stories and not mine. He rings me up — usually late at night when his owners, the Trifles, are sound asleep — and tells them to me. I write them down as best I can.
Recently I hadn’t heard from him for a while. I thought he’d finally run out of stories. Then one night there he was on the phone again, his voice trembling with excitement.
‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘I just travelled back in time.’ ‘But that’s impossible,’ I said. ‘It’s true! Honest! Scout’s honour!’ he said. ‘Since when were you a scout?’ I asked.
‘Okay, so I was never a scout but I did actually travel back in time to when there were knights and that.’
‘And I suppose there was a damsel in distress too?’
‘What’s that?’
‘A princess locked in a tower.’
‘Yeah, there was one of them and there was a castle and a dragon and all those fairytale things.’
‘Now I really don’t believe you,’ I said.
‘Do me a favour,’ he said, ‘let me tell you the story and then you can make up your mind.’
For the next half hour I felt my scalp tingle and the hairs on my arms begin to stand up as Selby told me the most amazing tale. It’s the last story in this book. Do I believe it’s true? I’d better not say anything because I’d rather have you decide for yourself. But I will say this: it is easily the most fantastic adventure he’s ever told me.
And I thought Selby had run out of stories.
CONTENTS
Cover
AUTHOR’S NOTE
SUITABLE ME
BOGUSVILLE’S BIG BELLY-BUSTER BASH
UNDER BUNDERS
TRICKS AND TREATS
DR TRIFLE’S TRAVELLING TOOT
BOMBS AWAY (AGAIN)!
THE WHOLE TRUTH
MY BRILLIANT THOUGHT
SELBY SOLD
CYCLONE SELBY
JUST FUR ME
SELBY SMITTEN
SELBY SLAMMED
SWORDFIGHTER SELBY
ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO SWIM WHEN EVERY OTHER DOG CAN
SELBY GOD-KING
SELBY (SUDDENLY) SNAPS!
THE NIGHT I DREAMT I WAS A KNIGHT
UNSUITABLE ME
Acknowledgments
About the Author
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Copyright
SUITABLE ME
BOGUSVILLE’S BIG BELLY BUSTER BASH
‘The computer has done it again!’ Selby thought. ‘It just scrambled all my emails! Now they have the wrong addresses on them. How will I answer them? I hate this computer! When are the Trifles going to get a new one?’
Selby was taking a big risk. Mrs Trifle was at home and if she saw him using the computer his secret would be out. But he was very behind in answering his emails to kids.
‘I’ve got to at least make a copy of the ones that aren’t scrambled,’ Selby said, getting a floppy disk out of a drawer and putting it on the desk.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. Selby heard Mrs Trifle’s footsteps coming out of the bedroom and down the hall.
‘Come on Scrambler, die!’ Selby thought. With this Selby snapped the Shut Down button with a toenail. ‘Quick! She’s coming!’
The computer screen faded to a dot just as Mrs Trifle walked by. All she saw was Selby lying innocently on the chair.
‘Gary! How nice to see you!’ she cried as she opened the front door to her old friend the comedian, Gary Gaggs. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘It’s this friend of mine,’ Gary said.
‘Really? What happened to him?’
‘He was dying of thirst in the desert,’ Gary explained. ‘He rang me on his mobile phone.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I sent him a get-well card.’
‘A get-well card? What good is that?’
‘It was perfect: he got a well, had a long drink, and now he’s okay,’ Gary laughed. ‘Get it? Hey, I got you that time! Woo! Woo! Woo!’ he added, strutting around like a chicken.
‘Oh, I love this guy’s jokes!’ Selby thought, trying not to laugh out loud. ‘He’s soooooooo funny!’
‘Oh, Gary,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That joke was terrible!’
‘Seriously,’ Gary said, ‘this morning I found a kangaroo that had fallen into a hole and hurt itself.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I took him to the vet for a hoperation. Get it, a hoperation?’
‘That’s worse than the first joke,’ Mrs Trifle laughed.
‘The vet ended up covered in fleas.’
‘Did he really?’
‘So then he had to start from scratch! Get it?’
‘Oh, no! He had to start from scratch,’ Selby thought as he covered his smile with his paw. ‘That’s great!’
‘Oh, Gary,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Thanks for coming. I really needed cheering up. I’m ready to quit my job.’
‘But why? You’re the best mayor Bogusville has ever had.’
Mrs Trifle heaved a sigh. ‘I can’t deal with all the problems. It’s not just Bogusville’s problems. I’m expecting the mayor of Poshfield at any minute.’
‘Who, Denis Dorset? Dismal Denis? The dullest mayor in the bush?’ Gary said. ‘What does he want?’
‘He wants us to pay to fix the road from here to Poshfield.’
‘Don’t do it,’ Gary said. ‘Poshfield is rich. Let them pay for their own road.’
‘That’s what upsets me,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘The law says that we have to do it because most of the road is in Bogusville. I just don’t know where we’re going to get the money.’
‘Which is exactly why I’m here,’ Gary said, handing Mrs Trifle a floppy disk. ‘This is going to make Bogusville rich.’
Mrs Trifle read the label.
‘Joke Fest?’ she said. ‘What’s this?’
‘Pop it into the computer and have a look,’ Gary said.
Selby watched Mrs Trifle as she turned on the computer and inserted the disk. A page came up on the screen that said:
Bogusville’s Big Belly-Buster Bash
The first ever country joke festival
‘A joke festival?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Is this your idea?’
‘Yes. Some towns have flower festivals, some have arts festivals, and some have music festivals. But how many have joke festivals? Let’s have one in Bogusville. People will come from all over and spend lots of money.’
‘It sounds good,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but we’d need money to start with. We’d have to hire a big tent and chairs and all those festival things. We’ll have to order lots of food and drinks.’
‘Borrow it from the bank. You’ll make it all back. Then Bogusville will be rich! And all the people from Poshfield will wish they lived here.’
‘It’s a good idea, Gary,’ she said, pacing around the room. ‘But how about hiring comedians?’
‘You don’t need comedians,’ Gary said. ‘On this little disk are all my very best jokes. I’ve spent a lifetime collecting them. The people of Bogusville can tell them.’
‘Who, for instance?’
‘Anyone who wants to. You could tell some.’
‘Me? I can’t tell a joke to save my life.’
‘Of course you can. These jokes are so good they practically tell themselves. They’re absolutely people-proof.’
‘But it takes so long to memorise things.’
‘The people who tell you the news on TV don’t memorise it. They read it from a little screen. Have a look.’
Selby watched as Gary Gaggs showed Mrs Trifle the jokes. There were two columns. On the left were the jokes and on the right were all the punchlines.
/> ‘We’ll put the computer where only the person telling the jokes can see it,’ Gary said. ‘Go ahead, give it a go.’
‘Let me see now,’ Mrs Trifle began. ‘I used to work as a vet in an aquarium. One day I wanted to see how much the whale weighed so guess what —?’
‘Now read the bit on the right,’ Gary said. ‘That’s the punchline.’
‘Okay. I took it to a whale weigh station. Oh, I get it, a railway station — a whale weigh station. That’s good, Gary.’
‘Try another one,’ Gary said. ‘This time say it loud and proud.’
‘Sure. After the aquarium I got a job in a zoo. There were a lot of sick birds. They all had to be tweeted.’
‘They had to be tweeted,’ Selby thought. ‘That’s great! Mrs Trifle is almost as funny as Gary!’
‘The other day I went to the dentist,’ Mrs Trifle continued. ‘I said, “Do you take teeth out painlessly?” And she said, “Not really. The other day I was pulling a tooth and I sprained my wrist.”’
‘Oh, I love it!’ Selby thought. ‘I love Gary’s gags!’
‘Then I asked a gardener why he never bothered to water the grass. He said “Don’t worry, it’ll all be wet in dew time.”’
‘You see?’ Gary said. ‘All you need are good jokes and you’re a comedian.’
‘You’ve convinced me. We’ll have the joke festival on Bogusville Day, June 14th,’ Mrs Trifle said writing June 14th on a pad next to the computer. ‘But we have to keep it absolutely secret till we start advertising. I don’t want some other town to steal the idea and get in first.’
‘Right you are,’ Gary said. ‘Keep the disk. It’s just a copy. Hey, there’s old Dismal Denis’ car pulling up right now. I’m out of here.’
Selby watched as the big, black limousine pulled up outside. The driver ran around and opened the car door. Out stepped a grim-looking man in a grey suit. Mrs Trifle met him at the door just as Gary was leaving.
‘I’ve come about the road, Mayor Trifle,’ Mayor Dorset said in a flat voice. ‘I am here to inform you of your obligations under Section Seventeen of the Highways and Byways Act of 1904 and —’
‘We’ll pay to fix the road,’ Mrs Trifle interrupted him.
‘You will?’
‘Yes we will,’ Mrs Trifle said cheerfully. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘That shut him up,’ thought Selby. ‘Now he doesn’t know what to say.’
‘I-I-I-We will have to have that in writing,’ Mayor Dorset said, finally.
‘If you wish,’ replied Mrs Trifle. ‘Just a sec. I left my pen and paper in the other room. I’ll be back in a tick.’ Mrs Trifle left the room.
‘I don’t like the look of this guy,’ Selby thought. ‘He seems shifty.’
The mayor looked all around him and then noticed that the computer was on in the study. He tiptoed in and read what was on the computer screen.
‘Bogusville’s Big Belly-Buster Bash,’ he mumbled. ‘The first ever country joke festival. Oh, I get it,’ he mumbled even louder. ‘They’re going to have a joke festival. What a great idea! Think of the money they’ll make! No wonder Mrs Trifle isn’t worried about fixing the road. And, look! The jokes are all here! And if I’m not wrong,’ he said looking down at the pad, ‘it will be held on June 14th. Only I think they’re in for a big surprise. The joke is going to be on them.’
Mayor Dorset grabbed Selby’s blank disk, made a quick copy of Gary’s jokes and slipped it into his pocket. By the time Mrs Trifle returned, Mayor Dorset was sitting innocently on the lounge.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking the paper. ‘I guess we won’t have to sue you after all.’
‘That dirty guy!’ Selby thought. ‘What an awful thing to do, stealing Gary’s idea — and his jokes! And it’s all my fault for leaving that blank disk there.’
The next two weeks were awful — Selby watched and listened as Mrs Trifle planned the festival while Gary Gaggs rounded up volunteers to tell the jokes.
‘I can’t stand this,’ Selby thought. ‘Mrs Trifle has spent all of Bogusville’s money fixing the road to Poshfield and she’s borrowing more! Meanwhile, Dismal Denis is secretly planning his own festival.’
Sure enough, just one week before Bogusville Day, a very glum Gary Gaggs knocked on the door.
‘This time something really is wrong, isn’t it, Gary?’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Turn on the TV and you’ll see,’ Gary said.
There on TV was the sour face of Denis Dorset announcing the Poshfield Joke Festival.
‘They’re holding it on the same day as ours,’ Gary said. ‘And they started advertising first so we’re dead.’
‘This is awful!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘How could they have found out about our festival?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gary said. ‘Can we cancel the tent?’
‘It’s too late. Tents-For-Rent put it up this morning. The chairs are all set up. The food and drink has all been ordered. We even hired one of those monitors to read the jokes from. Everything’s paid for.’
‘I just hope the jokes at Poshfield aren’t funny,’ Gary said.
‘Funny or not, we’re ruined,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘And I’ll have to quit my job. Before I wanted to quit because of the workload. Now I have to quit because I’ve made such a costly mistake.’
Selby could see tears forming in Mrs Trifle’s eyes when she told Dr Trifle about quitting her job.
‘It was really my fault,’ Selby thought. ‘This is the most horrible day of my life. Oh woe woe woe.’
Finally it was the day of the Poshfield Joke Festival. Gary Gaggs arrived at the Trifles’ house.
‘Come along people, we’re going to Poshfield,’ he said. ‘I’ve got three front row tickets.’
‘But Gary,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘that festival has ruined us. I don’t want anything to do with it.’
‘I know,’ Gary said with a big grin, ‘but it’s going to be a total disaster and we should be there to see it. Guess what? Dull-as-ditchwater Denis is going to tell all the jokes himself!’ Gary giggled. ‘Can you imagine? He’s going to read them off a monitor just the way we were going to. The man’s about as funny as a fish! The jokes would have to be completely people-proof for him to get a laugh. And, let’s face it, they won’t be.’
Gary Gaggs and the Trifles got into the car.
‘I can’t just stay here,’ Selby thought as he hopped in with them. ‘I’ve got to go along. Poor Gary, he’s about to find out that the jokes are his jokes. Everyone’s going to laugh and it’s all going to be a huge success. But maybe I can ruin it somehow.’
The huge Tents-For-Rent tent was filled with people from all around the country and there were TV cameras and TV news reporters everywhere to report the first ever country joke festival.
A hush came over the crowd as Denis Dorset stepped up to the microphone.
‘I’ve got to do something,’ Selby said to himself. ‘But what can I do? I could pull the plug on the monitor,’ he thought, looking down and seeing the wire on the ground in front of him, ‘but then they’ll just plug it in again. Besides, they’ve taped all the connections together.’
‘I used to work as a vet in an aquarium,’ the mayor began.
‘That’s your joke, Gary!’ Mrs Trifle whispered.
‘I know,’ said Gary. ‘Somehow he’s stolen my jokes! This is going to be a disaster — because it’s not going to be a disaster!’
‘One day I wanted to see how much the whale weighed,’ Denis Dorset continued, ‘so guess what?’
‘That does it!’ Selby thought as he grabbed the electrical wire in his mouth. ‘I’m going to chomp on this wire! Okay, so I’ll be electrocuted. (Sniff.) It’ll be the end of me (sniff) but at least it’ll cause a short-circuit and stop the festival for a few minutes. And after they (sniff) carry away my limp and lifeless body maybe people won’t laugh as much when the jokes start again. It’s not fair that people like Dismal Denis can steal jokes and get away with it. Goodbye, oh heartless
world!’
Selby was about to chomp through the wire as the mayor continued telling the joke.
‘I said,’ the mayor went on, ‘I wanted to see how much the whale weighed so guess what?… I had him tweeted.’ Denis Dorset looked at the audience and smiled but there was total silence.
‘The whale was tweeted?’ Selby thought. ‘Did I hear him right?’
‘Here’s another one,’ the mayor of Poshfield went on. ‘The other day I went to the dentist. I said to her, “Do you take teeth out painlessly?” And she said, “I took it to a whale weigh station.”’ Again the mayor smiled and waited and again there was silence.
‘After the aquarium I got a job in a zoo. There were a lot of sick birds. The other day I was pulling a tooth and I sprained my wrist.’
‘He’s got the wrong punchlines!’ Gary whispered to the Trifles.
‘And he’s got no sense of humour so he doesn’t realise it,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I’m beginning to enjoy this.’
‘The Scrambler!’ Selby thought. ‘The old computer strikes again! It mixed up the jokes and punchlines on the disk when dreadful Denis copied it!’
Soon people were hissing and booing.
‘What’s wrong with you people?!’ Denis said. ‘Don’t you like jokes?’
‘You’re the joke!’ someone yelled. ‘We want our money back!’
‘And we want it now!’ someone else yelled.
‘Well you’re not getting it back,’ Denis said. ‘It’s too late. Nya nya.’
Suddenly the air was filled with flying paper cups and paper plates. Denis Dorset ran from the stage screaming, ‘Stop it! Okay you can have your money back! Just go to the box office!’
Mrs Trifle stood up.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Listen here, everyone. Grab those dollars, hop in your cars, and take the beautiful, smooth road to Bogusville. Bogusville’s Big Belly-Buster Bash is about to begin!’
And so it was that the first ever country joke festival was held in Bogusville and everyone laughed till their sides were sore.
‘That Gary Gaggs is a genius!’ Selby thought as he struggled to keep from laughing out loud. ‘And I will never complain about the Scrambler again.’
