Funny Boy Versus the Bubble-Brained Barbers from the Big Bang (6 page)

OKAY, WELL, MAYBE ­PRINCIPAL WERNER IS JUST A LITTLE ODD

When I told Bob Foster he had to come to school with me to talk with Principal Werner, he wasn’t happy. It was hard for Bob Foster to get time off from work at the underwear factory. They would be cutting leg holes all week, he told me, and it was a very delicate procedure. But Bob Foster was my foster father, so he agreed to come.

“Did you misbehave?” he asked as we drove to school.

“No, Dad!” I insisted.

When we got to Principal Werner’s office, he wasn’t there yet. Bob Foster and I looked at the lighthouse pictures, paperweights, and other lighthouse stuff all over the place.

“The principal sure does love lighthouses,” Bob Foster said.

“He was kicked out of the Navy,” I said. “I heard that he tortures kids, kills them, and eats them.”

Bob Foster chuckled. “We used to say that about the principal when I was a boy, too.”

Principal Werner walked in, shook hands with Bob Foster, and told us to sit down.

“Mr. Foster,” Principal Werner said. “Before we begin, I just want you to know that I’m not here to punish Funny Boy. My job is to be the beacon that will guide him past the rocky beaches and windy gusts of life.”

“Kind of like a lighthouse, huh?” Bob Foster commented.

“No!” Principal Werner said, a little louder than was necessary. “Nothing like a lighthouse! Why does everyone always say that?”

Bob Foster and I glanced at each other and shrugged.

“Mr. Foster,” the principal continued. “I asked you to come in here today because Funny Boy doesn’t seem interested in learning. He just wants to crack jokes. His endless supply of wisecracks, riddles, and rude remarks is disrupting his class.”

“We’re working on that,” Bob Foster said.

“Even worse,” the principal went on, “he seems to believe that aliens are attacking and it is his job to save the world. Tell me, is there some problem at home that I should know about?”

“No,” Bob Foster said. “He’s a good boy. He’s just a little ... different.”

“Um-hmm,” Principal Werner replied, writing something on a piece of paper. “I’m going to recommend that Funny Boy be evaluated by our school’s Child Study Team. Maybe they can help him with this problem.”

“I appreciate that,” Bob Foster said politely.

“Well, thank you for coming in,” Principal Werner said. “I’m about to have a bite to eat. Would you like to join me?”

“No!” I said quickly. I pushed Bob Foster out the door and hustled back to my classroom.

THE BO, BARRY, AND BURLY SHOW

That night I was trying to do my homework, but Punch kept pestering me. Ever since she discovered she could speak, she wanted to know everything and was constantly asking strange questions.

“If you don’t milk a cow,” Punch asked, “would it explode in a giant milk bomb?”

“I guess so,” I replied, wishing she would leave me alone.

“But what did cows do before there were people to milk them?” Punch asked.

“Maybe they milked each other.”

“Cows can’t milk other cows,” Punch insisted.

“Maybe horses milked them.”

“How did they get the fat out of nonfat milk?” Punch asked. “How did people wake up before there were alarm clocks? Why do bees buzz and hummingbirds hum? What’s the difference between French bread and Italian bread?”

“Shut up!” I finally said.

“Will you two keep it down!” Bob Foster yelled from the next room. “My favorite show is about to come on!”

I went in to see what he was watching. On the TV there was a bald lady in a bikini saying, “Welcome to
The Bo, Barry, and Burly Show.
Heeeeeeere’s ... Barry!”

There was a studio audience, and they all clapped their hands. The three bald barbers came out, only now they were wearing bad toupees.

“Greetings, brainless Earthlings,” Barry Barber said. Bo and Burly Barber stood on either side of Barry Barber with their muscular arms crossed. “I hope you are enjoying your evening, because it will be one of the last you will have before Earth is destroyed.”

The studio audience thought that was really funny, and they broke out into good-natured laughter. So did Bob Foster.

“Him serious!” Bo Barber grunted.

That only made the studio audience laugh harder.

“Me bust heads, okay, boss?” asked Burly Barber.

“That won’t be necessary,” Barry Barber replied. “Perhaps a little convincing will make these brainless Earthlings see we mean business. This morning we successfully removed the hair of everyone on the island of Taiwan. Let’s go to the videotape....”

A video appeared, showing a bunch of bald people standing in a parking lot.

“That barber pointed his hair gun at me,” a guy moaned, “and the next thing I knew I was bald and
he
was wearing
my
hair. It was horrible!”

The studio audience cracked up. Bob Foster had to hold his sides, he was laughing so hard.

“I used to have long, beautiful hair,” a lady said. “But these barbers took my hair and flushed it down my toilet. Now my whole sewer line is backed up and I haven’t been able to shower.” Bob Foster couldn’t control himself. I thought he was going to have a heart attack.

“We want our hair back!” the people in the background chanted. “We want our hair back!” Bo, Barry, and Burly Barber were on the screen again, with evil smiles on their faces.

“Heed this warning!” Barry Barber said. “We are making our way around the globe, taking your hair as we go. Soon we will get to America. Make it easy on yourselves. Surrender now. Give us your hair, or we will have to take it by force. It won’t be long before the entire Earth is bald, bald, bald! Hahahahaha!”

“Hahahaha!” chortled Bob Foster. “I love this show. Those barbers crack me up.”

“You’ve got to do something!” Punch whispered to me. “This is serious!”

HOW TO DRIVE THE SCHOOL PSYCHOLOGIST INSANE

Mrs. Wonderland was explaining decimals to us the next morning when there was a knock at the classroom door. It was a tall lady, pretty, wearing a sweater. She whispered something to Mrs. Wonderland. Mrs. Wonderland pointed to me and told me to go with the lady.

“My name is Dr. Breznitski,” the lady said in a soft voice as we walked down the hall. “I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

Dr. Breznitski took me to an office that said
CHILD STUDY TEAM
over the door. Wind chimes tinkled as we went inside. The walls were painted in soothing pastel colors. There were stuffed animals all over the room. Obviously, this was where they took kids who might possibly be insane.

Dr. Breznitski’s diploma was on the wall over her desk. It said she graduated from the University of Pennsylvania just two years ago.

“I’m not here to yell at you,” Dr. Breznitski said calmly as she sat down and put on her glasses. “I’m a psychologist. I’m here to run a few tests and to help you. You can confide in me. Is anything troubling you?”

“I have an incurable disease,” I lied.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Dr. Breznitski said sympathetically. “I didn’t see that in your file. No wonder you’ve been acting peculiar.”

“My hamster ran away,” I continued. “Nobody loves me. My family is broke. My house was destroyed in a hurricane. I have a mosquito bite that I can’t reach. I’m sunburned. There’s a hole in my sock. ...”

“Okay, that’s enough,” she said. “You’re just yanking my chain, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“I see. Why do you feel this need to be silly all the time?”

“It’s not a need,” I explained. “Something about

Earth’s atmosphere gave me a superior sense of humor. Even if I try, I can’t stop making jokes.”

“I see. And that yellow cape,” she continued. “Why do you wear it?”

“Because my other yellow cape is in the wash.”

“I see,” Dr. Breznitski said, taking notes. “I’d like you to look at this picture and tell me what you see.”

She handed me a card with a black-and-white drawing on it. I looked at it carefully.

“It’s an Eskimo girl ice fishing outside her igloo,” I reported.

Dr. Breznitski had a puzzled look on her face. She leaned over to check the drawing.

“There’s no Eskimo girl,” she said. “There’s no igloo. It’s a picture of a boy throwing a rock. Why did you say you saw an Eskimo girl ice fishing outside her igloo?”

“The Eskimo girl is
behind
the boy throwing the rock,” I explained.

“How do you know there’s an Eskimo girl behind the boy throwing the rock?”

“I
didn’t
know,” I said. “You just told me.”

“I see,” Dr. Breznitski said, a little flustered. “But let’s focus on the boy throwing the rock. What’s he throwing the rock at? His father, perhaps?”

“No, a polar bear,” I said.

“What polar bear?!” Dr. Breznitski asked, raising her voice a little.

“The polar bear behind the Eskimo girl,” I explained.