Read My Life as a Computer Cockroach Online

Authors: Bill Myers

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My Life as a Computer Cockroach

as a

Tommy Nelson
Books by Bill Myers

The Incredible Worlds of Wally McDoogle

My Life As a Smashed Burrito with Extra Hot Sauce

My Life As Alien Monster Bait

My Life As a Broken Bungee Cord

My Life As Crocodile Junk Food

My Life As Dinosaur Dental Floss

My Life As a Torpedo Test Target

My Life As a Human Hockey Puck

—My Life As an Afterthought Astronaut

—My Life As Reindeer Road Kill

—My Life As a Toasted Time Traveler

—My Life As Polluted Pond Scum

—My Life As a Bigfoot Breath Mint

—My Life As a Blundering Ballerina

—My Life As a Screaming Skydiver

My Life As a Human Hairball

My Life As a Walrus Whoopee Cushion

My Life As a Computer Cockroach (Mixed-Up Millennium Bug)

My Life As a Beat-Up Basketball Backboard

My Life As a Cowboy Cowpie

My Life As Invisible Intestines with Intense Indigestion

My Life As a Skysurfing Skateboarder

My Life As a Tarantula Toe Tickler

Baseball for Breakfast (
picture book)

. . . and his trusty dog, SPLAT

The Case of the Giggling Geeks

The Case of the Chewable Worms

The Case of the Flying Toenails

The Case of the Drooling Dinosaurs

The Case of the Hiccupping Ears

Other Books by Bill Myers

McGee and Me! (series)

Bloodhound, Inc. (series)

Forbidden Doors (series)

The Bloodstone Chronicles

the incredible worlds of Wally McDoogle

as a

(Formerly titled
My Life As a Mixed-Up Millennium Bug


(formerly published under the title
My Life As a Mixed-Up Millennium Bug

© 1999 by Bill Myers

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, except for brief excerpts in reviews.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Tommy Nelson
. Tommy Nelson is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the
International Children's Bible
New Century Version
, © 1983, 1986, 1988.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are from the
Holy Bible, New International Version
. © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Myers, Bill, 1953–
   My life as a computer cockroach (formerly My life as a mixed-up millennium bug) / Bill Myers.
   p. cm. — (The incredible worlds of Wally McDoogle ; #17)
   Summary: When inept Wally McDoogle discovers that whatever he types on his computer turns into reality, what starts as just a little cheating soon escalates into a war.
   ISBN 978-0-8499-4026-2
[1. Computers Fiction. 2. Cheating Fiction. 3. Humorous stories.] I. Title. II. Series: Myers, Bill, 1953– . Incredible worlds of Wally McDoogle ; #17.

PZ7.M98234Mm 1999


Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 12 13 EPAC 17 16 15 14 13

To Nancy Rue—
Another friend committed to reaching youth

“The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in men who are truthful.”

—Proverbs 12:22 (NIV)


1. Just for Starters . . .

2. The Cheating Begins

3. Bye-Bye, Kilroy

4. Uh-Oh

5. Uh-Oh x 2

6. Faking It

7. 11:59 and Counting . . .

8. The United States of Wally

9. This Means War!

10. Wrapping Up

Chapter 1
Just for Starters . . .

So what's so wrong with a little cheating? You know, scribbling an answer or two on your wrist before the test, or embroidering them on the back of the shirt of the person sitting in front of you. Then, of course, there's the ol' standby of hiring a sky writer to scrawl the answers up there in the sky so as you gaze out the window you just happen to come up with all the right answers.

So what's the matter with that?

Unfortunately, I found out the answer the hard way:

Oh, sorry, didn't mean to shout. I guess I just don't want you to have to go through what I did. Not that you could; after all, there's only one Wally The-Walking-Disaster McDoogle. But still . . .

It all started with P.E., which, as everyone knows, stands for
mbarrassment. Once again Coach Kilroy (whose name could just as easily be Coach Kill-Wally) was on my case. All year he'd been threatening to flunk me. That's why Mom and Dad suggested I take the special course he was offering over the winter break for extra credit. It sounded great, except for the part where I actually had to go to class.

“Come on, McDoogle! Stop being a wimp and climb that rope! You're holding up the line! Climb the rope!”

It was all part of an elaborate obstacle course Coach had set up outside on the soccer field. “To get you ready for the big computer crash,” he shouted. “When that Y2K bug hits and there's rioting in the streets, you'll thank your lucky stars that I made you tough enough to survive!”

That was Coach's new mission in life . . . to help us survive some sort of big, worldwide computer crash. I appreciated the thought, but right now I just wanted to survive the last eighteen minutes of class.

I'd been hanging on to that rope, trying to climb it, for just a little past forever. But with no success. (Unless you call my arms stretching a good foot and a half longer than they're supposed to “success.”) It's not that I'm a wimp—shoot, sometimes I work out for hours on end . . . if you call pushing all those buttons on the TV remote “working out”!

“Forget it, McDoogle!” Coach finally shouted. “Move on to the next station! Move it! Move it! Move it!”

Gratefully, I “moved it” and ran to the next station in the obstacle course . . . dragging my newly stretched arms on the ground behind me.

Unfortunately, this station was no better. We were to run through eight tires and up to a giant wall with a fishing net and then climb it. Well, everyone else was running through the eight tires up to the giant wall with the fishing net and climbing it. I, on the other hand, was stepping into one tire and



falling on my face. Then stepping into the next one and falling on my face.



Of course, Coach was shouting his usual encouragement, “McDoogle, you moron!” but I wasn't worried. I knew I'd make it to the wall before nightfall.





I just wasn't sure which night.

Anyway, after running through the eight tires with my mandatory eight falls, I finally made it to the wall. It was kind of weak and wobbly, since Coach had just built it the day before, but that wasn't my concern. All I had to do was put my foot in the netting and pull myself up. There, that wasn't so hard. Just put my other foot in the netting and . . . uh-oh. I don't know how I did it, but in 1.3 seconds I managed to get myself slightly stuck. In another 2.6 seconds I got myself majorly stuck.

“McDoogle!” Coach was definitely not happy.

I tried harder, squirming and wiggling, but the more I wiggled the more tangled I got. Finally, I'd turned the nice fish netting into some sort of knotted up crochet.


Fortunately, Wall Street, my best friend, even if she is a girl, was also taking the course, and she raced to my side to help. Over the years she's had lots of experience in getting me out of problems. “Come on, Wally,” she said. “We don't want Coach to flunk you. Just put your foot there . . . no, there . . . NO, Wally,
. . .”

Unfortunately, her version of
was slightly different from mine . . . which meant we soon turned that nice piece of crochet I had made into an even nicer knitted sweater.


So there I was, dangling upside down from the fishing net doing my best imitation of a human piñata, when my other best friend, Opera, who was also taking the course, came on the scene. Not only does Opera love classical music (which explains the Walkman headphones surgically attached to his ears), but he also loves junk food (which explains why he weighs just slightly less than a Mack truck).

“Here, Wally,” he shouted. “Grab my hands and I'll pull you down.”

It wasn't a bad idea—and thanks to my newly stretched arms I was able to reach down to him. He grabbed my hands and began to pull.

No problem . . . except for Opera's weight . . . and the weak, wobbly wall . . . and all that pulling.

creak . . . groan

“What's that?” I yelled.

“Don't know!” he shouted and pulled harder.

Creak . . . Groan

“Uh, Opera?”

More pulling.


“Oh, Opera?”

Until, finally . . .

CREAK . . .

GROAN . . .

the entire wall started to fall.

“Look out!” Wall Street cried. “It's coming down!”

She was right. The wall and I were falling straight toward the ground. For one terrifying second I was afraid I'd be smashed flatter than a tortilla hit by a semi carrying a load of sumo wrestlers . . . until I saw the tires.

The good news was the wall and I weren't going to hit the ground at all. We were going to land right on the tires . . . right on those nice rubbery, bouncy tires. And I was right, they were nice, rubbery, and bouncy. So bouncy that as soon as I hit them I flew back up and out of the net. Not, of course, without accidentally getting my leg stuck in one of the tires and sort of pulling it up with me. Once again I came back down, this time landing on my own private tire, and once again



I flew back up.

So there I was,

bounce . . . bounce . . . bouncing . . .

across the soccer field like a giant basketball, when I realized two very important facts:

I was about to run out of the nice, soft soccer field, and

My next stop would be the not-so-nice (and definitely not-so-soft) teachers' parking lot.

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