“Quick!” I said to Hot Dog. “Fly up and do your stuff!”
“Hang on, kiddos!” Hot Dog called. “Help is on the way!”
Hot Dog put his arms up, Superman style. Only he wasn’t going anywhere. Neither of us was! Our feet were permanently stuck to the ground!
“Well, whaddya know about that?!” said Hot Dog. “I sure as onions didn’t see that one comin’! By golly! That Mr. G. sure is one sneaky old gator!”
“We have to do something!” I screamed. “We have to stop him! We have to save Clementine!”
Chapter 7
Oops!
“They don’t call me a superhero for nothin’!” Hot Dog said, pushing one of his secret bun buttons. “Say good-bye, Mr. G., “ ‘cause you, my friend, are goin’ down!”
The good thing was that Hot Dog’s bun button worked, and gallons of yellow mustard squirted out. The bad thing was that he totally missed his target! The mustard flew right by Mr. G. and smothered one of his floating eggs instead. The egg (and the person inside it) came crashing down to the ground.
“Oops!” said Hot Dog.
“Oops is right!” I said. “Hot Dog, you have to unstick our feet so we can help whoever’s in that smashed-up egg!”
“This should do the trick!” said Hot Dog.
He pushed another bun button, and sauerkraut shot out all over our feet!
“Yuck! That stuff stinks!” I said. “Couldn’t you have picked some less disgusting topping?”
“Nope,” Hot Dog said, lifting up a foot. “Sauerkraut’s the ticket, partner. You see, on Dogzalot we make this stuff with special vinegar that’s so strong the acid in it will dissolve darn near anything ya got!”
The chemistry lesson was interesting, but I had other things on my mind. I pulled my feet out of the goo and ran over to the broken egg.
“Hey, loser!” said the person in the egg. “Hurry up and get me outta here!”
“Oh, no!” I whined to Hot Dog. “Of all the kids in my whole class, you had to pick this one to shoot down?”
I know it sounds like a jerky thing to say, but the guy on the ground, the guy who called me a loser—that guy was Barfalot, the dirty, rotten bully who totally has it out for me!
“Bob, I can’t move!” Barfalot moaned. “Please, I beg of you! Help me out here! Give me a hand!”
But when I reached out to help him, he just splashed mustard in my face and laughed like a maniac.
“Ha, ha! What a sucker!” he snorted. “That was great! Man, you’re such an idiot!”
“You wanna know what I think, pal?” said Hot Dog. “I think somebody oughta teach you some manners! That’s what I think!”
“Oh, yeah?” said Barfalot. “I’d like to see ya try!”
“Oh, yeah?” said Hot Dog.
“Yeah!” said Barfalot.
With all of the action down on the ground, we’d forgotten all about the action up in the air.
“Um, I could be wrong,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure manners are the last thing we need to worry about right now.”
Mr. G. and his floating eggs had almost reached the giant hole in the ceiling. If they made it through the opening and out into space, we’d never see them again!
Chapter 8
Best Friends
“I’ll deal with you later,” Hot Dog told Barfalot. “Right now I’ve got bigger fish to fry!”
Barfalot didn’t say a thing. He usually had Pigburt and Slugburt (his brainless bodyguard brothers) to back him up. But seeing as they were stuck in eggs, they couldn’t really help him out too much. Besides, I could tell by the look on Barfalot’s face that he was pretty busy just trying to figure out what Hot Dog would want with fried fish anyway.
Hot Dog flew all over the place, and so did his hands. Watching him push all his bun buttons was like watching a master musician play the piano. Ketchup, onions, pickle relish and sesame seeds squirted out as he flew. I don’t know why the goopy mixture stuck together to form a temporary ceiling. But I do know that the huge opening was filled just in time!
Mr. G. and his egg prisoners floated up to Hot Dog’s homemade ceiling and stuck there just like flies on flypaper.
Hot Dog dusted off his tiny hands, smoothed out his cape and said, “Well, Mr. G., I guess playtime’s over!”
I’ve had a lot of surprises lately but nothing like the one that came next.
Barfalot grabbed a rope from a pile of junk in the corner and shouted, “Hey, Mr. G., catch this, and I’ll yank ya down!”
All those times we thought Barfalot was ditching class he must have been training for the rodeo, ‘cause he threw that rope exactly like a champion cowboy throws his lasso. Mr. G. caught it on the first try and was down in a flash.
“Hi, I’m Barfalot, and you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met!” Barfalot said, shaking Mr. G.’s hand. “Can I be your friend and play fun games with you forever and ever and ever?”
Mr. G. was so happy he looked like he was going to cry. He put his big, scaly arm around Barfalot and said,
“You are my main man, Mr. B.!
The new best friend of Mr. G.!
At last—someone who likes to play!
The rest of you can go away!”
He snapped his fingers, and all the other eggs came crashing down.
“Ouch! That smarts!” said Felicia.
“Whoa!” said Marco. “That was a totally radical wipeout!”
“Where am I?” asked Danny and a bunch of other kids.
Everybody was moaning and groaning from the fall, but they all seemed amazingly okay. They were sore and confused—but alive. I was glad my classmates were all right—even Pigburt and Slugburt, who just kept saying, “Cool ride! Can we do it again?”
“Hey, buddy!” Hot Dog called from across the room, “I think you’d better come over here.”
He didn’t have to say another word. I knew something had happened to Clementine, and I knew it wasn’t good.
Chapter 9
So Long, Clementine
“NOOOO!!!” I wailed when I saw Clementine. She wasn’t moving at all. She was just lying there. She wasn’t even breathing.
“She can’t be … !” I said.
Hot Dog put his hand gently on top of mine and looked right into my eyes.
“Sometimes these things happen, partner,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people.”
“Come on, Clementine. You’re too young to die!” I cried. “Please, Clem! Quit kidding around and wake up! Wait, I know! I’ll make you a deal. You be okay, and I’ll eat ten of those disgusting sandwiches that you’re always begging me to try at lunch! Here, I’ll even write it down so you know I mean it!”
I dumped out my pockets and found an old candy wrapper and a chewed-up pencil. Here’s what I wrote:
I, Bob, hereby promise to eat ten entire disgusting sandwiches made by Clementine, if she promises not to die.
Looking back on it now, I’m sure I could have come up with a better deal than that. Looking back on it now, I really wish I had. But for some reason Clementine’s creative lunchtime concoctions were the only things I could think of. I folded my promise, stuck it in her pocket and prayed.
Chapter 9½
Donkey Dandruff
“Forget it, kid,” said Hot Dog. “Bargaining ain’t gonna bring her back—I am!”
“What?” I asked, hopeful and doubtful at the same time. “Did you just say what I think you just said?”
Hot Dog pushed a tiny shiny white bun button that I’d never seen him use before.
“It’s time,” he announced, “for the flakes of life!”
It was amazing! The most magical sparkling white crystals fell from his bun like snowflakes from the sky.
“Wow!” I said. “It’s so beautiful!”
“I know,” Hot Dog agreed. “It’s sparkly donkey dandruff.”
“Wait a minute!” I said. “My best friend in the entire world is totally dead, and you’re covering
her with donkey dandruff?”
But that was the last complaint Hot Dog heard out of my mouth. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but the flakes of life actually worked! Clementine wiggled her nose, opened her eyes, stood up and sneezed all over me!
“Clementine!” I said, throwing my arms around her, “you’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive,” she said, dusting off the donkey dandruff. “What in the world is this stuff all over me?”
“No time for small talk, little lady,” Hot Dog said, pointing across the room. “We got a little business to take care of first!”
Chapter 10
See Ya Later, Alligator
We knew Mr. G. was smart. We just didn’t know how smart. In the time it took Hot Dog to bring Clementine back to life, Mr. G. had built a rocket ship. It was big, it was bad, and it was pointing right at the patched-up ceiling!
Mr. G. was sitting in the pilot’s seat, and guess who was sitting in the chair next to him? Mr. G. rolled down the cockpit window and said,
“Well, when I came down here to have some fun,
I was more alone than most anyone!
Nobody liked me, but I didn’t care,
‘Cause when you’re all alone, you don’t have to share!
But then a miracle happened to me.
I got a best friend called Mr. B.!
Good riddance, Earthlings! You can all chill!
‘Cause we’re goin’ back home to Gator-Ville!”
Then he revved up his engines and waved good-bye to us.
“Hmm, no more Barfalot?” said Clementine. “I don’t think I have a problem with that. How about you, Bob?”
“Hmm, let’s see,” I said. “We get rid of the rhyming reptile and the bully at the same time? That works for me!”
“Not so fast!” said Hot Dog. “The Big Bun sent me on this mission to rescue and protect all human beings, including the dirty, rotten meanies! I’m sorry to say this, Mr. G., but your new best friend’s stayin’ here with me!”
“Yeah! That’s right!” Pigburt chimed in. “Nobody steals Barfalot!”
“Yeah! That’s right!” Slugburt repeated. “Nobody steals Barfalot!”
I have to admit I was impressed. Barfalot’s brainless brothers scrambled up the side of the rocket ship, squeezed through the open window and—well, to be honest, that was pretty much the end of the impressive part. Once they made it into the cockpit, Mr. G. just rolled up his window, and instead of one new friend, now he had three.
Chapter 11
Singin’ in the Rain
Hot Dog put his hands up to his mouth, megaphone style, and yelled, “Release the humans! I repeat, release the humans!”
“Oh, come on, Hot Dog,” Clementine begged. “Can’t we please just let him keep them? I mean, just think how much better off this world would be without those terrible troublemaking triplets!”
“Now I know you don’t really mean that, Miss Clementine,” said Hot Dog. “I know that you know that there’s a little bit o’ good in each and every one of us!”
“I do?” Clementine asked.
“Sure you do!” said Hot Dog. “Why else do you think the Big Bun chose you to be my Earth partner’s partner?”
“She chose me?” asked Clementine. “You mean it’s not just some terrible coincidence that I keep getting mixed up in all of this freaky alien stuff?”
“Trust me, darlin’!” said Hot Dog. “When it comes to the Big Bun, there are no coincidences! Now come on, you two! Let’s make this wrong a right!”
Clementine and I still weren’t a hundred percent convinced. But we couldn’t let Hot Dog down.
“Okay, I guess I’m in,” sighed Clementine.
“Me, too,” I said. “But you’d better hurry up and tell us the plan before they get away!”
“Tell you the plant?” Hot Dog asked. “Well, I never had much of a green thumb myself, but I like lookin’ at a nice plant as much as the next guy—leafy plants, flowery plants, poky plants. And, hey—speakin’ of plants, you think you got some good-lookin’ plants here on this planet? You should see some of the plants we got growin’ up there on Dogzalot!”
“What in the world is he talking about?” asked Clementine. “Am I missing something here?”
“Not plant!” I yelled at Hot Dog. “Plan! They’re getting away! We need to stop them! You have to tell us the plan!”
“Oh! The plan!” Hot Dog exclaimed. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“Oh, thank goodness!” sighed Clementine. “You had me pretty worried for a minute there, Hot Dog!”
“Yes siree, Bobby Boy,” Hot Dog rambled on. “We need a plan! That’s for sure! Be prepared, I always say! Why do you think I always carry my umbrella around? Because I’m prepared— that’s why!”
Then he pulled an umbrella out of his bun and started singing and dancing like he was the star of his very own Broadway musical:
“Oh, I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain.
What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again!”
Up until then Hot Dog had been acting fairly normal (for a hot dog, that is). And with everything else that was going on, I’d forgotten all about his memory problem. The first time I met Hot Dog, he told me how it happened. He’d bumped his head on Rocky Rock Monster’s fists of granite. That was supposedly why the Big Bun beamed Hot Dog into my lunch box in the first place. Since I had a pretty good memory and all, I was chosen to be Hot Dog’s partner here on Earth—just until his memory got better. Which, judging from the umbrella act, was not happening anytime soon.
So there we were, trapped underground with our dancing hot dog, our dazed and confused classmates and a rocket ship that had to be stopped.
“Well,” I said to Clementine, “I guess it’s up to you and me.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Clementine yelled at me.
“Probably,” I answered. “Come on, let’s go!”
Chapter 12
Crazy Brave Bob
If I’d stopped to think about it, I never would have done it. It was like regular boring Bob went on a vacation and crazy brave Bob just kind of took over!
I grabbed an old bike frame and an inner tube from the big junk pile in the corner and made a heavy-duty slingshot.
“It’s a long shot,” I said, “but maybe if we jam up the jet-propulsion unit, they won’t be able to take off!”
“It’s worth a try,” said Clementine. “And we can use these things for ammunition!”
The things she was talking about were the heavy broken pieces of thick shell from Mr. G.’s shattered egg prisons. They were perfect for the job. We shot them one after the other right into the rocket ship’s jet-propulsion unit. And believe it or not, the engines shut down!
“We did it!” I cheered.
“Sorry, Mr. G.!” Clementine shouted. “You are officially grounded!”
But Mr. G. didn’t look too upset. He just revved up his engines all over again. And this time he was really taking off!
Chapter 12½
Singin’ in More Rain
The rockets blasted flames right at us. The heat from their fire was unbearable. And here’s the weird thing. With everything that was going on, Hot Dog didn’t seem worried at all! He just went on with his song-and-dance number like nothing was wrong:
“Let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place,
Come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face!”
Our poor classmates were too shocked to do anything but stare in horror. And Clementine and I were all out of great ideas.
I haven’t known Hot Dog for very long. But I do know one thing for sure. He may be a little strange, but he always comes through in the end.
He held his umbrella in the air and zoomed up over the rocket ship. Then he pushed one of his amazing bun buttons and rained! Well, Hot Dog didn’t exactly rain. But his bun sure did.
And not just a spring-shower rain, either. We’re talking major dow
npour here!
First Mr. G.’s blazing flames fizzled out. Then his whole rocket ship disintegrated!
Chapter 13
Let’s Make a Deal
Hot Dog used his umbrella like a parachute to float back down, Mary Poppins style.
“Like I was sayin’!” he said. “That’s some mighty powerful vinegar, all right!”
“Whatever it was, it sure worked!” I said. And I guess Mr. G. agreed.
“Wow! That was outta this world!” he said to Hot Dog. “You gotta hook me up with some of that magic rain! If I had a trick like that, I’d be the most popular guy in Gator-Ville—no doubt!”
“How come he’s not rapping anymore?” whispered Clementine.
“Maybe it was the vinegar,” I whispered back. “He’s acting different all the way around!”
“I’ll make you a deal,” said Hot Dog. “If you return to Gator-Ville, leave the Terrible Triplets behind, remove the beam barrier so these kids can get back to school and promise never to hurt anyone, I’ll give you a lifetime supply of that magic rain.”
Mr. G. didn’t even stop to think about it. He shook Hot Dog’s little hand so hard I thought it was going to fall off!
“Little weenie!” he said, “you’ve got yourself a deal!”
Hot Dog and Bob: Adventure 4 Page 2
