My Life as Invisible Intestines with Intense Indigestion

by Bill Myers

  Science Lady locked the next set of doors. Then she reached out her hand to me, and we started running through the building toward the lab . . . locking each set of doors behind us as we went.

  As we ran, she explained, “I reviewed the history of the OOPS computer program. I know what you did,” she said. “And the only way to reverse the effects is for the beam to strike you again.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” I wheezed as we ran.

  “Except we’ll have to reverse all of the programs to get to yours.”

  “Meaning . . .”

  “Meaning we experimented with several objects before you used it. We’ll have to go through each of those objects first.”

  “Meaning . . .”

  “Meaning, it’s going to take some time.”

  “Why can’t you just cut to my program?”

  “There are no shortcuts. You can’t cheat with the OOPS. If you do, the whole system will malfunction.” There was that word again . . . cheat. It seemed every time I turned around someone was doing it. Unfortunately, that someone was usually me. Well, I’d learned my lesson. This time I’d do it the right way. Whatever it took, whatever she wanted, I’d do it. No cheating, no shortcuts. At least that’s what I told myself as we entered the OOPS room.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for me to change my mind. And unfortunatelier, with that changed mind came some even BIGGER changes. . . .

  Chapter 9

  Pick a Shape, Any Shape

  Moments later, we entered the room, and there was the OOPS sitting just like it had the day my little nightmare began.

  “Now,” Science Lady said, “hop up on that seat over there, and I’ll readjust the beam to strike you.”

  If you’re thinking I was nervous or scared or anything like that, you’re way wrong. I wasn’t nervous or scared or anything like that . . .

  I WAS PETRIFIED.

  “A-a-are you sure th-th-th-is is the only way?” I stuttered.

  “I’m afraid so.” She flipped on the main power supply, and OOPS hummed to life. “I’ll enter the past programs, beginning with our first experiment, and go through the list until we finally reach yours. When that happens, I’ll activate the beam. It’ll hit you for a split second, and the old Wally, the visible one, should return as good as new.”

  “Except for the dog bites, broken bones, and internal injuries,” I said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Never mind, it’s a long story.”

  Although I was still nervous, I climbed up into the OOPS seat. Something about the approaching sounds of yelling, shouting, and breaking doors made me think we should probably hurry.

  Science Lady took a seat beside me. In front of her was the computer keyboard. She cleared her throat. “Now, going through each program is going to take some time, so you’ll have to be patient.”

  The shouting and door breakings grew closer. I glanced nervously at her keyboard. “Why can’t you just hit that SELECT ALL key,” I asked, “so we can get it all done at once?”

  She pushed up her glasses. “As I said before, you can’t cheat with the OOPS. We have to follow the correct procedure.”

  I gave a reluctant nod.

  Outside, the shouting grew even louder. And then, just to liven things up, there were a few

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  gunshots.

  I swallowed nervously.

  So did Science Lady.

  “Stand by,” she said. She flipped a few more switches, and the OOPS hummed even louder. Almost loud enough to drown out the shouting and door poundings. Almost.

  “They’re just about here!” I yelled.

  “Hang on,” she said, doing her best to concentrate as the

  BREAK, BREAK, BREAKing

  of doors increased from outside, and the

  drip, drip, dripping

  of sweat increased from me.

  Suddenly, there was a tremendous

  BOOM!

  that shook the entire room.

  “They’re at the lab door!” I shouted.

  She glanced up. “It’s made of steel. It will take them awhile to break through. But just to be safe . . .” She leaped from her stool and ran over to double-check the locks as the door continued to shake.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  and the crowd continued to yell,

  “THIS IS THE POLICE!”

  “THIS IS THE FBI!”

  “ANYBODY FOR MORE GATORADE?”

  I glanced over to the computer keyboard . . . particularly to the SELECT ALL key as the

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOMings

  continued. The door was starting to cave in. I knew what Science Lady had said about cheating, and that we had to go through each of OOPS’s programs, but I also knew the door wouldn’t hold much longer. So, against my better judgment, I reached for the SELECT ALL key.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  “OPEN UP! OPEN UP!”

  “I’LL HAVE TO CHARGE EVERYONE AN

  EXTRA 75 CENTS FOR ADMISSION!”

  Just then, Science Lady looked back to me. She saw what I was doing. “No, Wally, don’t!”

  I hesitated, my finger hovering over the key as the door continued to shake under the poundings, as the angry mob continued to yell.

  Then, closing my eyes, I lowered my finger and . . .

  “NO, WALLY, DON’T!”

  . . . hit it.

  Of course, there were the usual

  ZAAAP, K-RACKLE,

  and ZIIIPs

  with more than the usual amount of

  FLASHes

  and

  “AUGHHHHHs!”

  as the beam finally struck me. Yes sir, lots and lots of

  “AUGHHHHHs!”

  “WALLY!” Science Lady cried. “WALLY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” And then, suddenly . . .

  It was over.

  Just like that. The beam quit hitting me, and all the special effects stopped doing their special effects things.

  I opened my eyes and looked around. “Well, now, that wasn’t too bad,” I said, calmly glancing over to Science Lady.

  But she was not calmly glancing back at me. Instead, she was staring in wide-eyed horror.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Now it was her turn to stutter. “O-o-orange,” she said, pointing a trembling finger at me.

  “What?”

  “O-o-range.”

  The best I figured, she meant my clothes had somehow turned orange . . . until I looked down at my body . . . at least at what used to be my body. Because instead of turning my clothes orange . . . it had turned me orange. But not the color, the fruit! That’s right, suddenly I had become as round as, well, as an orange. Then, of course, there was the thick, dimply skin, and let’s not forget the ever-popular navel right in my center.

  “AHHH!” I screamed. “What happened!? What happened?”

  “An orange was our very first experiment,” she cried. “I told you not to hit the SELECT ALL key!”

  “Yeah, but—” I stopped, surprised that I was speaking through my navel. (I would have spoken through my mouth, but since oranges don’t have mouths, not to mention arms, legs, or hands, I worked with what I had.)

  “Now your body is going to morph into each of our past experiments until it finally reaches the last one, which will be you.”

  “No way!” I cried.

  “I told you there were no shortcuts!” she shouted. “I told you there’s no cheating with the—”

  But that was as far as she got before the steel door finally exploded open. Yes sir, it was just like old times, with all my pals . . . the FBI, the angry mob, Iggy the Exterminator, the owners of four demolished cars, the police, the 591.2 Minutes TV crew, and, of course, my best buddy “Has-everybody-paid-their-extra-admission-fee?” Wall Street.

  Unsure what to do, I leaped off the seat (actually rolled off since I no longer had leap-ers to leap with) and hit the floor.

  “Wally!” Science Lady cried. But it was no use. I don’t
care how much she begged, I wasn’t in the mood to become fresh-squeezed juice for the group. So I ran (er, make that rolled) toward the nearest door for my getaway.

  “Is that him?” Iggy shouted. “Disguised as an orange?”

  To which Science Lady, being the world’s second-worst liar (check out My Life As Dinosaur Dental Floss for the worst), cried out, “What orange?! I don’t see any orange!”

  The crowd saw through her story, and apparently in need of their daily dose of vitamin C, took off toward me. “AFTER HIM!”

  Needless to say, I continued to

  roll .. . roll . . .roll.

  Well, that’s what I wanted to continue doing. But I felt a surge of energy shoot through my body, and suddenly I could no longer roll. You see, it’s a little hard to roll when you’ve just become a giant, rectangular pink eraser. That’s right. Just as it had taken awhile for my body to turn invisible when it was first hit with the OOPS, it was now taking awhile to go through each of the programs from the machine’s past experiments. And, as best I could tell, experiment number two involved, you guessed it . . . a Pink Pearl eraser!

  Of course, everyone did the usual gasp-and-faint routine . . . especially me. But eventually we all got bored with that, regained consciousness, and continued the chase.

  “After him!” they shouted.

  “ ,” I replied. And for good reason. You ever hear an eraser talk? This time I didn’t even have a navel to use.

  And so the race continued . . . my pursuers shouting and screaming while I tried to run (with little success) then roll (with even less success). I was getting nowhere fast, until I finally realized that even though erasers can’t run, and we really can’t roll, we sure can

  bounce, bounce, bounce.

  (So I quickly bounced toward the next door, fighting the urge to rub out any penciled documents I passed along the way and doing my best not to leave those ugly little eraser filings behind me.) I looked over my shoulder, which was a little tough since I no longer had a shoulder to look over—come to think of it, I no longer had eyes to look with, either, which explains my newly acquired habit of

  K-Bamb—bounce, bounce, bouncing

  K-Slam—bounce, bounce, bouncing

  into every wall and desk in the room.

  The good news was, this only lasted a moment. The bad news was, well, that it only lasted a moment. I didn’t know how many experiments they’d done with OOPS, but it looked like I was about to become number three. Once again I felt a strange electrical sensation rush through my body, and once again I changed.

  This time I had legs and arms and hands and everything.

  “All right!” I shouted (which meant I also had a mouth).

  Things were getting better by the second . . . or so I thought. But the excitement was short-lived. Because I also noticed that I had a long, thick tail, that my arms and hands were purple, and that I had this overwhelming desire to start singing, “I love you, you love me . . .”

  What was going on?!

  It was only then that I caught a reflection of myself in one of the windows. Oh, great! Now I was some kid’s stuffed animal. That’s right, experiment number three involved a giant, purple, singing . . . dinosaur!

  But before I could start dancing, much less give the crowd a lecture on how boys and girls should try to be nicer to each other, I felt that all-too-familiar electrical sensation. (Kinda like when I was stupid enough to stick my tongue on a battery—only instead of my tongue, it’s my entire body, and instead of a battery, it’s the giant electrical transformer at Grand Coulee Dam!) I knew it was time for another change, and I managed to race into the next room (a giant library, with lots of bookcases) before it happened.

  Then, suddenly, my legs were gone, so was my color—along with that snappy little song. I could no longer see. I could no longer move. No rolling, no bouncing, no running. I was completely stationary, which would explain why the entire group of folks

  BAMB . . .BAMB .. . BAMB . ..

  slammed into me. Which almost, but not quite, explained the cracking sensation I felt running up and down my body. It wasn’t until someone shouted, “A glass of water! He’s turned into a glass of water!!” that I finally caught on.

  Then someone else added, “And he’s cracking!”

  Now I understood, completely. I’d become a glass of water. And after all that slamming and bambing I was cracking.

  “Look out!” Iggy screamed. “He’s going to burst!”

  And

  K-WOASHHH

  burst I did . . . all over the floor. I swept toward them like a giant tidal wave.

  “AUGH!” they screamed as some were knocked down. The rest tried to keep their footing on the slippery floor. They tried, but

  slip . . . “WHOA!”—K-rash

  slip . . . “WHOA!”—K-splat

  slip . . . “WHOA!”—K-fall

  they didn’t.

  Yes sir, we were having great fun (and giving the floor a good mopping while we were at it). But all good things must come to an end. Soon, I felt another one of those pesky tingling sensations. Sooner still, my water was sucked up, and I could see again. In fact, I could see perfectly . . . every detail of my pursuers, down to the tiniest hairs on their heads (not to mention in their noses). The reason was simple . . .

  I’d turned into somebody’s eyeglasses!

  “Hang in there, Wally!” Science Lady shouted from the back of the crowd. “Just two more to go! Just two more programs before you become Wally again!”

  Great. I don’t want to complain, but I was starting to get an identity complex. I mean, I didn’t know if I was coming or going (let alone who I was coming and going as).

  Speaking of going, as I glanced around the library, I spotted a door with an EXIT sign over it. If I could somehow get to it, if whatever I was about to become allowed me to move, then I still had a chance of getting away and— There was that electrical sensation again. I waited breathlessly (not that eyeglasses have much breath to wait with) when suddenly I felt very thick and sluggish and . . . gooey. Very, very gooey.

  “He’s turned into a giant chocolate bar!” someone yelled.

  “And he’s melting! Fast!”

  “Look out, he’s oozing this way!”

  And ooze I did. I’d gotten pretty hot and sweaty from all the running. And now the heat was melting me all over the floor. And apparently all over my pursuers.

  “Eewww!” Head FBI Guy cried.

  “Ee’s got me feet!” Iggy screamed.

  “I can barely move in this goop!” a police officer shouted.

  They weren’t the only ones. As best as I could tell, my thick chocolate-ness was clinging to everyone. Talk about being spread too thin. Talk about being in a sticky situation. Talk about—well, that was enough talking. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the final transformation—waiting for me to become Wally McDoogle again (and hoping they wouldn’t get the munchies and start nibbling on me before I did).

  “Please, God,” I prayed, “bring me back to normal. Please get me out of this mess. I’ve learned my lesson. No more shortcuts, no more cheating. Just help me get back to—”

  The tingly sensation began again. But instead of becoming myself, I became a penny (you thought I forgot that one, didn’t you). The good news is, it lasted only for a minute before the transformation began again. Suddenly my vision returned, suddenly I had arms and hands and legs. And the best part was, they were MY arms and hands and legs.

  “All right!” I shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. Well, I tried jumping up and down in excitement. But since coordination isn’t exactly my strength, I sort of stumbled and kinda fell. The good news was, I didn’t hit the floor. Instead, I slammed into one of the nearby bookcases. The bad news was, they don’t make bookcases like they used to.

  Everyone looked up as the bookcase slowly

  CREAKed

  forward, tipping more and more until finally . . .

  “Timber!”


  it . . .

  K-Thud

  toppled into the next bookcase, which tilted forward until it . . .

  K-Thud, K-Thud

  fell into the next bookcase, which . . .

  K-Thud, K-Thud, K-Thud

  fell into the next one, which . . . well, I think you get the picture. Soon every bookcase in the room was falling into its neighbor. The entire library was going down like a giant set of dominoes.

  I looked on, horrified. Horrified but also pleased that everything was returning to normal . . . even my coordination. Yes sir, things were definitely returning to

  K-Thud, K-Thud, K-Thud, K-Thud

  normal.

  Chapter 10

  Wrapping Up

  I was finally back to normal. You could see me, touch me, and do everything to me. Which means you could also put me in the back of the police car and call my parents on their business trip to tell them they had to come home immediately.

  Call me a pessimist, but I figured Mom and Dad would be anything but thrilled over having to come home early. I also figured they’d be anything but thrilled over why they had to come home.

  So, being the type who hates to die before he finishes writing his superhero stories, I called to the officer in the front seat of the squad car and asked, “Excuse me, sir? Could I borrow a pen and some paper?”

  He looked back at me. “Why’s that, kid?” He chuckled. “Planning to make out your last will and testament?”

  (Obviously he knew my parents.)

  “No, sir.” I tried to grin. “I just want to kill some time by doing some writing.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I’ll find something. You’re right. You’re probably going to have a long wait.”

  “One can only hope,” I mumbled, “one can only hope.”

  A minute or two later he produced a tablet and a pen . . . and immediately I went to work:

  When we last left our hero, he was having all of his freckles rearranged by some reject robot from an old sci-fi series. But what of the notorious Neat Freak? Where is he? How can SuperSlob possibly have that final and obligatory (good thing you didn’t put that dictionary away) showdown with so few pages left in this book? And more important—— Suddenly there is a very neat and well-behaved