My Life as a Belching Baboon with Bad Breath Read online

  “Oh, sure,” I said, resetting my usual broken bones.

  As I spoke, a red light suddenly came on in the cabin.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The pilot turned it on.”

  “Is it like a fasten seat belt sign?”

  “Uh, not exactly,” he said. “It’s a warning to put on our parachutes.”

  “PUT ON OUR PARACHUTES!”

  “Relax, Wally,” Diggers said, chuckling as he crossed to a closet and opened it up. “It’s standard procedure whenever these old planes hit major air turbulence.”

  He passed out parachutes to the family and helped us strap them on.

  “You’re sure we’ll be okay?” Dad asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  And he might have been right, except for the part that involved me. Actually, it really wasn’t my fault. I mean, how was I to know that just by pulling this one little cord

  K-WHOOOOSH

  “WALLY!”

  my chute would suddenly open up inside the plane.

  Luckily, they had a couple of extra parachutes, which allowed me to put on the second one and

  K-WHOOOOSH

  “WALLY!”

  accidentally open it.

  And a third.

  This time there was no K-WHOOOOSH and no “WALLY!” The reason was simple. My brothers had grabbed my arms, pinned them to my sides, and carried me back to my seat where they buckled me in nice and tight.

  After thanking them for their thoughtfulness and freeing my arms, I reached for Ol’ Betsy. We still had a long way to go. So I started a superhero story, hoping it would keep me out of trouble until we landed. . . .

  It had been another grueling day of work for Rhyming Dude McDoogle. As the world’s worst rhymer, he’d just created a new ad slogan for a cigarette company:

  Put our smoke in your chest,

  So we can bring you closer to death.

  Then there was the help he gave his favorite rapper, Ice Sleaze. They were working on one of those I-loved-you-but-now-I-hope-you-get-run-over-by-a-bus songs:

  Oh, baby, baby,

  You slay me,

  Make me crazy,

  You crush me and mush me,

  Like mashed potatoes and gravy.

  The second verse was even more genius:

  But since you done kicked me out,

  I gots to mention your mouth.

  Though you be the one I choose,

  From your hair down to your shoes,

  Your breath stinks worse than

  gym socks——

  As bad as my kitty-cat’s cat box.

  Yes sir, imagine doing all of that work before lunch. Then there was Rhyming Dude’s afternoon of writing political slogans for that sneaky governor, Robert Peabody:

  If you can trust Robert Peabody...

  you can trust anybody.

  And let’s not forget the reelection campaign button he wrote that read:

  All in all, it had been a great day. Now our hero is ready to relax when suddenly there’s a tremendous RUMBLE-RUMBLE-RUMBLE like a giant earthquake.

  Only there’s no giant earthquake, just a giant earth tilt. That’s right, the entire floor of his house suddenly turns on end, and he slides all the way into the

  K-Thud

  far wall. Actually, it’s not the sliding that’s the problem, it’s the

  K-Boom, K-rash, K-Tinkle

  of everything else in the house landing on top of him that smarts a bit. Everything else, including——

  “AUGHHHH...”

  his giant-screen TV that is coming right at him. And just when it appears he’s going to be a star on that TV screen (or at least a very big SMUDGE), it

  K-Zap

  disappears. That’s right, the entire TV is gone.

  Suddenly, the Rhyme Phone rings,

  Ding-ding-aling

  Ring-a-ring-ding.

  (What did you expect a Rhyme Phone to sound like?)

  Unfortunately, there’s more.

  ding-dong-dang

  ring-rung-rang

  Luckily, before it continues, our hero finally crawls through the junk to answer:

  “Good evening. You got the dimes,

  We’ll sell you the rhymes.”

  “Good evening, Rhyming Dude.”

  The chilling call sends a clammy cold through our ultracool character.

  “Material Man! Is it true?

  The one who is calling,

  Is it you?”

  The baddest of bad boys can only shake his head at the terrible rhymes. “Of course it’s me,” he answers. “Who else would Wally use as a villain if he’s traveling to Africa to feed the poor?”

  “Hey, how’d you know I was going there?” I typed.

  “Because we’re in your imagination.” Material Man sighs. “We know everything you know.”

  I swallowed nervously. “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  I swallowed again. “Even the time I was three and wet my——”

  “Especially that!” he said. “Now, can we get on with the story?”

  “Oh, sorry, sure . . . ,” I typed.

  “Material Man!” our hero shouts:

  “Are you the reason my house has

  been jilted?

  Are you the cause for it now

  being tilted?”

  Material Man nods. “I’m the reason the entire country has tilted.”

  “Oh, no,

  Say it ain’t so!”

  “It’s so, Midget Mind. I’ve just moved to California where I invented my latest weapon of greed. I call it the——

  (May I have some bad-guy music, please?)

  Ta-da-DAAAA...

  “Thank you. I call it my ‘Give-Me-It-All Beam.’”

  “The Give-Me-It-All Beam?

  Please, tell me,

  What does that mean?”

  “It means it tracks down everything I don’t own and beams it to me so I can——”

  “Excuse me?” I typed again.

  “What is it now?” Material Man asks.

  “You even know about the time my pants accidentally fell down during show and tell in kindergarten and—”

  “We know everything. Now, may we continue?”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  I returned to Ol’ Betsy and typed Rhyming Dude’s response:

  “You haven’t answered my question.

  I need a confession.

  Why are things jilting?

  Why are we tilting?”

  “Because...the weight of all the things I’m gathering is sinking the entire West Coast, causing the whole country to tilt. And that means I’ll have to fight a superhero.”

  “You’re calling

  Because you’re falling?”

  “I’m calling because all bad guys in these stories have to fight a superhero. And, anyway, I hate your terrible wannabe Dr. Seuss rhymes.”

  “But Dr. Seuss, he’s my hero.

  Without him, life would be zero!”

  “Whatever.” Material Man sighs. “The point is, if I have to fight a superhero, why not you? That way I’ll not only win, but I can also stop your awful rhymes. Now, meet me in Hollyweird at high noon.”

  “High noon!

  That’s way too soon.

  I live too far away

  To travel there in one——”

  “Here, let me help.” Through the phone our hero suddenly hears:

  BEEP BOP.

  “What are you doing?

  My body, it’s moving!”

  “That’s right!” The bad boy grins. “It seems that with all of my possessions I don’t yet own a superhero who makes awful rhymes.”

  “You mean——”

  “That’s right, I’m zapping you over to join me.”

  “You can’t do that!

  Heroes don’t get zapped!

  Help me, help me, author Wally!

  Make your villain stop this folly!”

  I nodd
ed and reached for the DELETE key. (To tell you the truth, I was getting pretty sick of the rhymes myself.) But suddenly, the plane gave the second-biggest

  K-BOUNCE

  of all time. (The biggest is coming up in just a second.) It was so big that Ol’ Betsy flew off my lap and into the aisle.

  Of course, I had to retrieve her,

  —which meant unfastening my seat belt,

  —which meant getting up,

  —which was fine until we hit the world’s

  biggest

  K-BOUNCE

  ned you it was coming)

  and I went flying toward the back of the plane.

  Unfortunately, this time I missed the boxes and flew past them.

  Unfortunatelier, I hit the emergency door at the back.

  Unfortunateliest, when I got up, I grabbed the handle, accidentally gave it a yank, and even more accidentally found myself, you guessed it:

  “AUGHHHH!”ing

  as I flew out of the back of the plane and into the night.

  Chapter 3

  Going Doooown

  Luckily, all that practice of opening parachutes inside airplanes finally paid off.

  And as soon as I was done screaming my head off and passing out in fear a couple dozen times, I pulled the rip cord.

  I heard the chute rushing out of my bag and a moment later felt it open

  “OAFF!”

  with the world’s second-biggest jerk.

  (The world’s first-biggest jerk was hanging from the parachute still screaming his head off and—I’m not too big to admit it—crying for his mommy.)

  But Mom was nowhere around. Come to think of it, nothing was anywhere around. It was just me, a few bazillion stars, and an orange crescent moon in the night sky. Kinda beautiful and peaceful when you stop to think about it.

  Kind of crazy and terrifying when you’re living it!

  (I’m screaming again, aren’t I? Sorry.)

  I looked down and saw a silver thread of a river reflecting in the moonlight. It twisted and wandered under some majestic treetops.

  They would have been more majestic . . .

  —if I wasn’t falling straight toward them,

  —if they weren’t coming at me so fast,

  —if there was some way I could find the

  brakes and stop myself from:

  K-rash

  “AUGHhhh . . .”

  SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!

  POP! CRACKLE! SNAP!

  Those, of course, are the ever-popular sounds of someone falling through African treetops while breaking off several African tree limbs (and a few American Wally legs) in the process.

  And then, just when I was sure I was going to hit the ground and turn this into the shortest ever My Life As . . . book, my chute got snagged and hung up on a branch, so I

  “OAFF!”ed

  all over again until I

  K-SWUNG . . . K-lunk!ed

  into one particularly hard and unyielding tree trunk, which caused me to, you guessed it, pass out all over again.

  (Some habits can really be hard to break.)

  Still, as we’ve already learned from my previous passing-out routines, good times never last forever.

  Before I knew it, I was conscious again. When I opened my eyes, I was hanging from the tree. My parachute lines were all tangled up, and I gently swung back and forth, about a hundred feet above the ground. Off to my left was a giant cliff with a river at the bottom.

  Everything was still very dark, and I was still very much alone.

  —Well, except for the hundred flies and an assortment of insects buzzing around me.

  —Well, except for the mysterious chirps, squawks, and howls of African nightlife all around me.

  —Well, except for the rustle, rustle, rustle in the treetops all around me.

  The rustle, rustle, rustle in the treetops all—

  No, I will not yell again. There’s been too much screaming in this book already. I will face my fate like a man . . .

  —no matter how loud the rustle.

  —no matter how close the snapping branches.

  —no matter how red and beady the eyes.

  Red and beady eyes!

  (Sorry, I don’t do red and beady eyes very well.)

  I just hung there, staring in stunned silence. Well, the stunned part was right. It’s hard being silent when you’re bawling like a baby and begging God to let you live (or at least to let you go home and put on some clean clothes before meeting Him in heaven).

  But nothing worked. Not even promising to be nice to my little sister for an entire week. (I would have promised more, but lying to God isn’t such a good idea—especially if you’re about to meet Him wearing dirty clothes.)

  Suddenly, the red and beady eyes were no longer around me.

  Now they’d dropped directly in front of me!

  Not only that, but they were upside down and holding a banana.

  Of course, I did what I do best:

  “AUGHhhh!”

  And, of course, the owner of the eyes answered back. But instead of practicing my brand of communication (which involves plenty of fear and the usual cowardliness), Baboon Boy tried a whole other approach. He opened his mouth and let out the world’s biggest

  “BELCHHHHHHHH!”

  Talk about gross, talk about disgusting. It sounded exactly like my brothers when they’re gulping sodas and watching a football game.

  Unfortunately, Monkey Man didn’t smell as good as my brothers. (Hard to imagine, I know.) I don’t want to be rude or say the critter’s breath was bad, but just imagine what it’s like smelling a skunk in your PE locker . . . who’s eaten garlic and onions . . . who’s wearing those smelly gym socks you haven’t seen since Thanksgiving . . . who’s been dead since Halloween . . . and who has on that awful aftershave you gave your dad for his birthday.

  Talk about air pollution! Talk about a toxic waste dump! Talk about panicking and doing everything I could to get away from him!

  First, I kicked and twisted and squirmed. When that didn’t work, I squirmed and twisted and kicked.

  The good news was, I suddenly heard a loud

  K-REEEAKing.

  The bad news was, it belonged to the branch just above my head—the one my parachute was hung up on.

  I looked down at the ground thinking my squirming, twisting, and kicking wasn’t such a hot idea after all. In fact, I instantly became very fond of holding absolutely still.

  Yes sir, that made a lot of sense.

  Unfortunately, my baboon buddy, who was still hanging upside down in front of me, didn’t think so. Instead, he had so much fun terrifying me with his first belch, he tried it

  “BELCHHHHHHHH!”

  again.

  But I was made of stronger stuff than that. I wasn’t about to panic. I wasn’t about to scream. I wasn’t about to—all right, maybe just a little

  “Augh . . .”

  After all, what could a little

  “Augh . . .”

  hurt? Unfortunately, plenty. Because once again I heard that old, familiar

  K-REEEAK . . .

  and looked up just in time to see the branch

  K-SNAP!

  off. This, of course, would explain my sudden falling, my sudden screaming, and the sudden

  K-TH . . .

  (I didn’t get to hear the last UD part. It’s hard hearing all of a K-THUD when you’re lying unconscious on a jungle floor.)

  Chapter 4

  Follow the Bouncing wally

  So there I was, minding my own business in the Land of Unconsciousness, when I suddenly felt a warm breath panting on my face . . . followed by a bunch of whiskers tickling my skin.

  I figured it was Collision, the family cat. She’s always sticking her nose in my face, particularly after I’ve had a fish dinner the night before.

  Of course, I tried pushing her aside, but my ol’ body wasn’t quite awake yet. No problem. I figured after parachuting out of a plane, landing in t
rees, chatting with baboons, and falling to some very hard African ground, my body was entitled to a little extra rest. After all—