Hot Dog and Bob: Adventure 4 (6 page)

If I’d stopped to think about it, I never would have done it. It was like regular boring Bob went on a vacation and crazy brave Bob just kind of took over!

I grabbed an old bike frame and an inner tube from the big junk pile in the corner and made a heavy-duty slingshot.

“It’s a long shot,” I said, “but maybe if we jam up the jet-propulsion unit, they won’t be able to take off!”

“It’s worth a try,” said Clementine. “And we can use these things for ammunition!”

The
things
she was talking about were the heavy broken pieces of thick shell from Mr. G.’s shattered egg prisons. They were perfect for the job. We shot them one after the other right into the rocket ship’s jet-propulsion unit. And believe it or not, the engines shut down!

“We did it!” I cheered.

“Sorry, Mr. G.!” Clementine shouted. “You are officially grounded!”

But Mr. G. didn’t look too upset. He just revved up his engines all over again. And this time he was really taking off!

The rockets blasted flames right at us. The heat from their fire was unbearable. And here’s the weird thing. With everything that was going on, Hot Dog didn’t seem worried at all! He just went on with his song-and-dance number like nothing was wrong:

Our poor classmates were too shocked to do anything but stare in horror. And Clementine and I were all out of great ideas.

I haven’t known Hot Dog for very long. But I do know one thing for sure. He may be a little strange, but he always comes through in the end.

He held his umbrella in the air and zoomed up over the rocket ship. Then he pushed one of his amazing bun buttons and rained! Well, Hot Dog didn’t exactly rain. But his bun sure did.

And not just a spring-shower rain, either. We’re talking major downpour here!

First Mr. G.’s blazing flames fizzled out. Then his whole rocket ship disintegrated!

Hot Dog used his umbrella like a parachute to float back down, Mary Poppins style.

“Like I was sayin’!” he said. “That’s some mighty powerful vinegar, all right!”

“Whatever it was, it sure worked!” I said. And I guess Mr. G. agreed.

“Wow! That was outta this world!” he said to Hot Dog. “You gotta hook me up with some of that magic rain! If I had a trick like that, I’d be the most popular guy in Gator-Ville—no doubt!”

“How come he’s not rapping anymore?” whispered Clementine.

“Maybe it was the vinegar,” I whispered back. “He’s acting different all the way around!”

“I’ll make you a deal,” said Hot Dog. “If you return to Gator-Ville, leave the Terrible Triplets behind, remove the beam barrier so these kids can get back to school and promise never to hurt anyone, I’ll give you a lifetime supply of that magic rain.”

Mr. G. didn’t even stop to think about it. He shook Hot Dog’s little hand so hard I thought it was going to fall off!

“Little weenie!” he said, “you’ve got yourself a deal!”

While Hot Dog filled a bunch of containers with his special Dogzalot vinegar, Mr. G. put together a whole new rocket ship! Clementine and I helped load the containers into the rocket ship, and so did
most
of our classmates.

Felicia, Danny and Marybell Marshall were still too beat up from their crashing-egg experience to carry heavy stuff. And Barfalot, Pigburt and Slugburt were sitting stubbornly in the corner—you know, going on strike for not getting to go to Gator-Ville and all.

Once everything was loaded up, Mr. G. waved good-bye, blasted right through Hot Dog’s homemade ceiling and headed for the stars.

“He was different,” said Clementine.

“You can say that again!” I agreed.

“No, I mean different from the other aliens we’ve met,” she explained. “The other aliens have all been really—well,
evil
! You know,
take-over-the-world-and-get-rid-of-all-the-people kind of evil. But when you get right down to it, I really don’t think Mr. G. was such a bad guy. When you get right down to it, Mr. G. was nothing more than a lonely, oversized alligator looking for someone to play with. Plus, you have to admit, he was a pretty decent rapper.”

“Wow, Hot Dog was right,” I laughed. “You really can find something good in everybody!”

“Correction,” Clementine said, turning to look at the Terrible Triplets. “I can find something good in
almost
everybody!”

Hot Dog pushed the forgetting button on his bun, and forgetting mist filled the room. If it worked like the other times, no one would remember a thing about the whole eggy freak show—no one but Clementine and me, that is.

“That was
some fun
, huh, kids?” Hot Dog said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Wish I could stay and play, but I’ve got a special
you know who
waitin’ for me back on
you know where!”

“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” asked Clementine.

“I could be wrong,” I answered, “but I think he might have
a date
?”

Hot Dog gave me a wink, high-fived me and disappeared in a sparkling shower of forgetting mist.