by Kirk Scroggs
“How about an Omybunsarsaurus?” said Grampa.
“Something just dawned on me,” I said. “Lupe, Esther and Chavez, and Paco all ate Nature’s Nuggets pet food before they transformed.”
“And I fed Merle Nature’s Nuggets Kitty Pellets with peppercorn sauce and a glass of sparkling apple juice, slightly chilled,” said Gramma.
“If my hunch is correct,” I said, “this food is turning our prized pets into primal predators.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t be eating this doggy biscuit,” said Grampa, munching away.
“No, Grampa!” I screamed. “You don’t know what that could do to you!”
“That’s right!” said Gramma. “The doctor said you shouldn’t be eating any cookies!”
CHAPTER 11
Suddenly, Grampa started to convulse and clutch his belly.
“Egads!” said Grampa. “I haven’t felt this bad since I ate that expired carton of tapioca pudding!”
Then he began to mutate and burst right through his clothes!
“Grampa’s turned into a caveman!” I said. “I shall call him Neandernumbskull.”
“Your feeble attempts at humor are immature,” snarled Grampa.
“Wow! Check out those big words,” said Jubal. “Caveman Grampa is actually smarter than regular Grampa.”
“A most astute observation, young man,” said Grampa. “Bravo!”
“Hey! Take a look at this,” Nate said, pointing at his microscope.
“Gross!” I said. “I see a pulsating clump of mush and hair. This must be the pet food’s secret ingredient!”
“Actually, it’s just a sample of my earwax,” said Nate. “I always wanted to see what it looked like up close.”
“We have to get inside that pet food plant to investigate,” I said. “But how?”
“Elementary, my dear Wiley,” said caveman Grampa. “We shall disguise ourselves, infiltrate their diabolical compound, and incarcerate the villainous vermin at once!”
“I have no idea what any of those words mean, but I love it!” I said. “Nate, if we’re not back in three hours, send for help.”
“Affirmative!” said Nate.
CHAPTER 12
We put together an extremely convincing dinosaur costume and snuck our way up to the Pellet Sisters’ pet-food fortress. A line of creatures was waiting to get in.
Grampa and Merle got in no problem, but the Pellet Sisters stopped me and Jubal and Gramma in our brontosaurus outfit.
“What a pitiful specimen,” said Winona Pellet. “Just look at its scraggly hide, poor posture, and that enormous butt! I shall call you Sadsackasaurus. Get in there and hit the gym.”
I could feel Gramma’s anger meter heating up.
Once inside the compound, we broke off from the main group.
Then Grampa used Merle’s saber teeth to pry open the door to the secret laboratory.
CHAPTER 13
We ditched the costume and explored the spooky lab.
We found hundreds of grotesque specimens and electronic gadgets.
“Look!” I said. “It’s the stolen dino dooky! That must be the secret ingredient in the pet food! The last time we saw that cursed poop, it was in the hands of—”
“You mean Hans!” It was Hans Lotion and his grandson, Jurgen, and they were holding up their Pellet Sisters masks. “Ve’re baaaack! Hold your applause, please. It feels good to get out of zese masks. You have no idea how hard it is to vear vomen’s clothes and pronounce your W’s correctly.”
“Why on earth would you want to put dino poop in the pet food supply?” I asked.
“Not only does ze dooky give ze pet food a nutty, robust flavor,” said Hans, “but it transforms ze creatures zat eat it into zere prehistoric ancestors. Dinosaurs, saber-toothed prairie dogs—you name it! And now I vill show you ze most amazing development in entertainment since ze piñata!”
CHAPTER 14
Hans took us on a scenic boat tour of his evil empire.
“Velcome to my extreme sports facility,” said Hans. “Here ve train ze prehistoric beasts to be ze best of ze best. No vimps allowed!”
“Over zere, ve see some ultimate, no-holds-barred raptor kickboxing.”
“And zere, ve have my beautiful tyrannosaurs training for ze Dino-Bowl.”
“Here, ve see two beasts engaged in a battle of extreme checkers.”
“And here, I have a deadly pile-driving Ankylosaurus.”
“You should put some ice on that,” said Gramma.
CHAPTER 15
“And zis is your last stop,” said Hans, jumping off the boat into a huge coliseum packed with spectators, “Ze Dino Dome! Vhere mere humans are forced to battle carnivorous creatures for my enjoyment. Order it now for only $12.95 on Pay per Viewed.”
“One more zing!” said Hans, arming us with foam rubber weapons. “You are ze first contestants. Prepare for battle and just have fun vith it!”
“This is an outrage!” I said. “Surely the crowd won’t allow us to become a five-course dino dinner.”
But boy was I wrong. The crowd was made up of master criminals . . .
Like Rocco Stenchberger, crime lord over the dangerous world of black-market tube socks.
The Skink family. Known for gambling, talking during movies, and plucking the wings off butterflies.
And Dr. Marcus Vein Brain, one-hundred-year-old inventor of black licorice and creamed spinach.
Grampa, Jubal, and I were thrown into the arena and pitted against our old pal, Lupe the T. rex.
“Don’t vorry, folks!” said Hans. “Ze T. rex has been fitted vith a protective helmet and flame-thrower just to make sure it’s a fair fight.”
“How thoughtful,” said Jubal.
Gramma and Merle were sent to the world’s lousiest swimming pool, where they had to face off against Paco the megalodon.
“Paco!” said Gramma. “Don’t you recognize me? Remember how I used to feed you dried gnats and then we’d go synchronized swimming together?”
Lupe chased us up a massive obstacle course.
“Grampa,” I said, “this might be a good time for you to go caveman crazy and fight back.”
“My dear Wiley,” said Grampa. “Violence is not the answer. I shan’t sink to that lizard’s level.”
“Boy,” said Jubal. “Caveman Grampa is so disappointing.”
“I think I know how to get his goat,” I said. “Hey, Grampa! Did you know that Hans has secret plans to destroy all known stockpiles of Pork Cracklins and outlaw them forever?”
“No Pork Cracklins?!!” bellowed Grampa. “Forever?!! That make Caveman Grampa upset! Caveman Grampa angry!
Caveman Grampa go crazy!!! ”
And go crazy he did. Grampa batted away raptors and pterodactyls like fruit flies.
Then he swung Lupe around by the tail like a sack of dirty laundry.
CHAPTER 16
Suddenly, Gramma’s watch went off again.
“Ooh!” she said. “It’s time for your laxative!”
Gramma reached up and pulled the bottle of Mighty Lax out of her big hair.
Then she tossed it to Grampa, who chugged the milky blue liquid like a refreshing beverage.
Mighty Lax works extremely fast, and Grampa needed a bathroom quick!
“Ladies and gentlemen!” said Hans. “Ve vill now pause for a brief potty break. After Grampa-pa uses ze johnny, ve vill return to ze violent man-eating action already in progress.”
The porta-potty lurched and shook and Grampa let out a long groan and a shriek—all the normal stuff that happens when Grampa uses the bathroom.
But when Grampa came out, he was back to his old self!
“I feel good. I feel fresh,” said Grampa, “but I wouldn’t go in there for at least ten minutes, if you know what I mean.”
CHAPTER 17
“The Mighty Lax must have driven out the effects of the dino dooky!” I said. “Let’s test it on Lupe!”
Just as she attacked, I lovin
gly dripped just one drop on Lupe’s tongue. She started to tremble and looked anxious.
Lupe politely excused herself and went behind a crate to do her business and some light reading.
Within seconds, Lupe was just a little ol’ lizard again.
“It sure is nice not having to worry about her clawing our eyes out anymore,” said Grampa.
Gramma then gave Paco a drop.
Merle slipped some to the pterodactyls.
And he even took a swig for himself.
CHAPTER 18
Pretty soon, the line to the little dinosaurs’ room stretched all the way down the hall, and the dinos were coming out refreshed and back to their normal, non-man-eating selves.
“How do you like that, Hans?” I yelled. “Your plan is poo-poo! No one’s gonna pay $12.95 to see humans battling house cats, chickens, and hamsters.”
“You may be right, Viley!” said Hans. “But I bet zey vould pay big bucks to see a giant robot-turkey squash you like an overripe vatermelon!”
“Could you repeat that last part?” said Grampa.
Hans’ podium rose up out of the stands and transformed into a giant robot-bird loaded with missiles, cannons, and spinning blades.
“I vould like you to meet Robo Turkeysaurus,” said Hans. “Ze latest in lethal, fuel-efficient, metal turkey technology.”
“First, I vill show you my flame-broiling skills,” said Hans as he hosed us down with fire from his built-in flame-thrower.
“Zen, I vill demonstrate my carving technique vith my rotating Dino Saw!”
“And no meal vould be complete vithout some mashed spuds!”
“And some home-style hydrochloric acid gravy!”
“The meal he’s describing just doesn’t sound appetizing,” said Jubal.
All of a sudden we heard a loud roar and a stomp behind us. It was Gramma, except she was green, fifty feet tall, and twenty tons!
“Gramma must have eaten one of those dog biscuits so she could become a dinosaur and take on the Turkeysaurus,” I said.
“Either that or she needs to go on a serious diet!” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 19
In the first round, Gramma knocked the stuffing out of that jive turkey!
Then she practiced a move she learned on WWE — the dreaded Poultry Tenderizer!
Then came a vicious round of Patty-Cake!
“Don’t look, Wiley. This may not be pretty. When Gramma plays Patty-Cake, someone usually loses an arm.”
The Robo Turkeysaurus was in bad shape. He was missing a leg, leaking vital fluids, and his cholesterol levels were way too high.
“You’ve von zis round,” said Hans, “but I have a backup plan. In twenty seconds I launch my Rumproaster Missile. You’ll all be blown into crispy turkey nuggets. Hee! Hee!”
“I hate his backup plans,” said Jubal.
CHAPTER 20
Suddenly, Nate Farkles and the Snot-Nosed Punks burst in through the wall!
“Freeze, master criminals!” said the head punk.
“You guys said to get help if I didn’t hear from you,” said Nate. “So I brought a bunch of four-year-olds. They’re all I could find.”
“Listen up, punks!” I screamed. “We only have twenty seconds until Hans launches a—”
“No! You listen up, old man!” said the head punk. “You get these civilians out of here, contact the authorities, and leave that half-turkey/ half-dishwasher to us! Got it?”
“Uh . . .,” I said. “Okay.”
“Okay what?” demanded the punk.
“Okay . . . sir?” I said.
Man, these punks were bossy.
While we evacuated the building, the punks climbed up the turkey’s leg like a jungle gym.
But it was too late! The Robo Turkeysaurus launched the killer missile and it zoomed out at us. But then something odd happened. The missile was stuck to the turkey with a rubbery substance that looked like green bubble gum. It stretched the green goo to the breaking point, then the missile just stopped in mid-air.
“Go avay, missile!” said Hans nervously. “Fly avay and be free!”
But the missile blew up in the most massive explosion since The Great Microwave Popcorn Disaster of 1984! We ran for our lives in a shower of shrapnel and turkey leftovers.
“Don’t cry for me, Gingham County!” shouted Hans, who had hitched a ride on a pterodactyl chicken. “Ve’ll be back! And next time ve’ll have an army of bigger, better metal turkeys and bring zis town to its knees! Or, maybe ve could just do dinner or play Parcheesi or somezing. Just give me a call.”
Even though Hans and Jurgen had escaped and Gramma was the size of a 747, things seemed back to normal.
“I’m impressed by you punks,” I said. “But where did you get all that green bubble gum to put on that missile?”
“Who said it was bubble gum?” said the head punk, his nose looking surprisingly clean.
So, that’s my story. The police had a heck of a time getting all those master criminals into their squad car.
We used Mighty Lax to make the rest of the dinosaurs regular again, and Gramma and Grampa even starred in one of the company’s commercials.
Nostril Caverns was plugged up, and all the remaining dino dooky and Nature’s Nuggets pet food was destroyed.
Except for two doggy biscuits.
“Jubal, we must destroy these samples,” I said. “Most kids would do anything to be able to turn into a prehistoric monster. But not us. Oh no! There is no way we will eat these doggy biscuits . . .”
Boy, were we gonna be in big trouble.
Gingham County Police have printed up “Wanted” posters for criminal masterminds Hans Lotion and his grandson, Jurgen. Something about that second poster seems a little wacky. Help us find the differences before we send them to America’s Most Haunted.
The answers are on the next page. Anyone caught cheating has to give Hans’ pet velociraptor, Snookybuns, a Swedish back rub.
