Funny Boy Versus the Bubble-Brained Barbers from the Big Bang (2 page)

“I beg your pardon?” I asked when I realized we were still alive. “Did you say something, Punch, or am I crazy?”

“Both,” Punch replied. “I said something
and
you’re crazy.”

Punch had somehow developed the ability to speak. In English, no less! Amazing.

The first human to get to our rocket was an African American man named Bob Foster, who worked in the factory as an underwear inspector. (He inspected
new
underwear, not the underwear that people were wearing.)

I knew right away that Bob Foster had to be my foster father, because there was a little patch on his shirt that said “Foster.”

Well, that’s basically how Punch and I came to live on Earth. There’s a lot more to the story than that, but I can’t go into it right now. If you want all the details, you can read the first book in this series,
Funny Boy Meets the Airsick Alien from Andromeda.

Go ahead, get the book. I’ll wait here.

Did you get the book?

Are you reading it?

What’s taking you so long?

Hurry up, will ya? I don’t have all day.

Okay, are you done reading the book? Good. Before I move on to our next adventure, let me just ask Punch if she has anything to add.

Punch says:

I’d just like to say that no matter what happens in this story, everything is going to work out in the end. Don’t worry about it. These fictional stories for kids always have a happy ending.

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention. Punch insists on believing that this book is fiction. She thinks that she, I, and all the other characters were just invented by some author. Where she got that crazy idea is a mystery to me.

This isn’t fiction, Punch! I’m telling my life story! It’s real!

Punch says:

Sure, and pigs can fly. If you’re real, how come nobody ever heard of you, huh? How come you haven’t been written up in the newspapers?

Punch brings up a good point. If I saved your planet from destruction, how come you don’t know about me? Why haven’t you read about me, seen me on TV, or heard about me on the radio?

I’ll tell you why. The American government is afraid that if the public knew that real aliens were attacking Earth on almost a monthly basis, people would panic. People would go crazy. So whenever there’s an alien attack, the government creates a bogus cover story to calm things down. Trust me, this is true.

Let me give you an example. Do you remember the Backstreet Boys? You may have thought they were five big doofuses who sang dippy songs. Well, the truth is that they were actually evil aliens from Rosette Nebula, a star deep in the Monoceros constellation. They were
disguised
as five big doofuses who sang dippy songs. They were sent here to turn Earth into a burning pile of rubble.

Fortunately I was able to stop them. Soon after, this so-called “singing group” broke up and was never heard from again. Of course! After I defeated them, they went back to Rosette Nebula.

The media kept it quiet. People would have freaked out if they had known the truth behind the boy band. Being an alien myself I knew the truth. Now, so do you.

Each time one of these alien weirdos showed up, I prevented them from taking over the planet by using my superior sense of humor. That’s why you don’t hear much about the Backstreet Boys anymore.

Don’t thank me. I was just doing my job.

Why do I do it? Why devote myself to defending Earth when I wasn’t even born here? You see, in the short time I have been on your planet, I developed a deep fondness for it.

I love Earth, and everything about it. I wanted to make the world safe. Safe for SpaghettiOs and the Home Shopping Network. Safe for psychic hot lines and hats with little umbrellas on top of them. Safe for Weedwackers and miniature golf. Safe for fortune cookies and Reddi-Wip.

All of these wonderful things would be gone if I let alien nitwits like the Backstreet Boys destroy our way of life. That’s why I do it.

Shortly after the Backstreet Boys broke up, I had another, never-before-revealed encounter with an alien force that was even more evil and more sinister than the airsick alien from Andromeda.

Wanna hear about it? Read on, if you dare.

THE NIGHT EARTH WAS ATTACKED BY A GIANT PIECE OF FRUIT, OR SO I THOUGHT

It was a steaming hot Monday at the end of August. My week began like any other. I was patrolling the streets of San Antonio searching for evildoers so I could rid the world of them. Suddenly, I spotted a large yellow truck driving slowly down the street.

There was a driver behind the wheel of the truck, and two other grubby-looking guys hanging off the back. I snuck behind a bush and watched them. I was fascinated.

The truck stopped in front of a house and the two grubby-looking guys jumped off the back. They grabbed these big cans in front of the house and threw the contents of the cans into a large opening in the back of the truck.

I mean, they just
took
the stuff without even asking anyone if they could! After they finished taking all the stuff from that house, the truck rolled forward, and they took all the stuff in front of the next house.

I was outraged! These guys were just stealing people’s personal property, in broad daylight! They didn’t seem to care if they would be caught or anything.

I wasn’t about to stand for that. This was a job for Funny Boy.

“Halt, evildoers!” I shouted, leaping from my hiding place and placing my fist on the hood of the truck.

“What’s the problem, sonny boy?” the driver asked.

“Not sonny boy,” I replied. “The name is Funny Boy, defender of all that is good and opponent of evil and badness.”

“Whatever,” the driver mumbled. “Can you get out of the way? We’ve got work to do.”

“So do I,” I announced. “You’re all under arrest.”

“Oh yeah?” the driver asked. “On what charge?”

“Robbery,” I replied. “You can’t just drive down the street and take a person’s personal property without asking their permission. That’s against the law.”

“Kid, it’s just garbage!”

“That’s
your
opinion,” I shot back.

“You don’t understand. We’re the garbagemen.”

“Look, I’ll give you creeps two choices,” I said. “You can either go to jail on your own, or I will tell you jokes until you cease your illegal activity.”

“Tell us a joke, kid,” one of the grubby guys said, coming around to the front of the truck.

“Okay. Why shouldn’t you play cards in the jungle?”

“Why?”

“Because there are too many cheetahs.”

The three men looked at each other. Then they looked at me.

“So you want more, eh?” I said. “Now I will tell you a joke so funny that you will wet your pants. Ready? What did the digital watch say to its mother?”

“What?”

“Look, Ma. No hands!”

The three men looked at each other. Then they looked at me.

“We’d rather go to jail than listen to any more jokes,” the driver said.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” I said, satisfied. “Go quietly and you won’t be punished so severely for your crimes.”

Because they had agreed to turn themselves in, I allowed them to drive to jail on their own. But before they left, I gave them a stern warning.

“If I ever catch you criminals driving around taking people’s things again, you’re going to be in big trouble,” I said, pointing my finger at them. “Next time, no more Mr. Nice Guy.”

“We’ll be good,” they said as they drove away. I heard their laughter echoing down the street, so I knew the power of my jokes had defeated them.

I was feeling pretty good after that incident with three criminals in the yellow truck. I had done a good thing. I was making a contribution to society. But I wanted more. I wanted to stop bigger crimes, bigger criminals.

And I got them. Oh boy, did I get them.

Sunday night, almost a week later. The sky was particularly clear on this night, the stars particularly brilliant. I went out in the backyard of my foster father, Bob Foster. I had Bob Foster’s telescope and pointed it at the night sky.

My home planet, Crouton, was so far away, just a tiny dot. When I moved the telescope across the heavens to look for Crouton, I spotted a fuzzy object. An immense fuzzy object seemed to be heading in the direction of Earth.

“It’s an enormous peach!” I screamed. “A giant piece of fruit is going to attack!”

Bob Foster and Punch came running out of the house.

“Shhhhh!” Bob Foster said. “Mrs. Miller next door will think you’re crazy!”

“It’s a flying peach,” I whispered. “See for yourself.”

Bob Foster looked into the telescope.

“That’s no peach,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Bob Foster replied. “It’s too fuzzy.”

“Peaches are fuzzy,” I pointed out.

“Peaches aren’t the only things that are fuzzy, lamebrain,” snorted Punch.

“You’re right!” I shouted. “Tennis balls are fuzzy, too! It’s a gigantic tennis ball! And it’s heading this way! Quick, we’ve got to construct a giant racquet to bat it away before Earth is destroyed!”