My Life as a Computer Cockroach (2 page)
I knew I had to protect myself from all that asphalt and gravel, so I decided to curl up inside my tire and ride it out until we finally stopped bouncing.
The good news was the bouncing eventually stopped. The bad news was we quit bouncing and started to
ROLL . . . ROLL...ROLL...
ROLLROLLROLLROLL . . .
faster and faster and faster some more. Soon, everything was a spinning blurâthe trees, the cars, the school wall.
THE SCHOOL WALL!
Ah, yes, the school
K-RASH!
wall.
Fortunately, that was about all I remembered from Coach's little Y2K training. It's hard to remember anything when you've been totally knocked out. However, before I slipped into unconscious-ville, I did remember thinking something else . . . I remembered thinking I might not exactly be getting an A in P.E.
Unfortunately, I couldn't have been more wrong . . .
Six hours later I lay in bed, milking my injuries for all they were worth. You know the routine . . . “Oh, Mom, could you get this? Oh, Mom, could you get that?” And if she hesitates, just put a bit more whine in your voice and bingo: instant parent slave.
Good ol' Mom . . . works every time.
Unfortunately, it's not quite the same with Dad. It seems every time I complain to him about a broken body part, he jokingly offers to break something else to help take my mind off the pain.
Good ol' Dad.
Anyway, since dinner was about to be served (in bed, of course), I decided to kill a little time by writing one of my superhero stories. Someday I hope to be a writer . . . if I can live through the seventh grade . . . and Coach Kilroy's class.
I got up, strolled over to my desk, fed my fish, checked out my science project of living cockroaches in a terrarium (hey, everybody needs a hobby), and whipped out Ol' Betsy, my laptop computer. Finally, I turned her on and got to work:
It has been another super swell day for the stunningly stupendous and superb superhero...Chocolate Chum. Already he has talked a well-known restaurant chain into replacing all its maple syrup with chocolate syrup (ever try chocolate-covered waffles?...Don't!); convinced a local broccoli farm to start selling chocolate-covered broccoli (Double Don't!); and broken up a half-dozen Chocoholic Anonymous meetings by standing up and shouting, “Hi, my name's Choco Chum, I'm a Chocoholic...AND I'M PROUD OF IT!”
Now, with the satisfaction that he has again made the world a sweeter, sweller, and just a little bit chubbier place to live, our hero pops out his microwave meal of spaghetti and fudge balls (smothered in extra chocolate sauce) and waddles over to turn on the TV.
But instead of his favorite game show, Wheel of Chocolate, there's a bunch of crazed overweight guys yelling and jabbing their fingers at each other. “Oh, brother,” our hero groans, “it's another political debate”...until he realizes these guys aren't politicians, but professional wrestlers.
He switches channels.
But it's the same thing. Instead of Touched by a Chocolate Bar, it's another wrestling match.
He switches again. Now, instead of that famous purple fudgesicle singing, “I love you, you love me,” there's even more wrestling.
What in the world is going on?
Suddenly, our hero's Choco-phone rings. He picks it up and answers, “Hello?” But before there's an answer, he notices the chocolate receiver is melting in his hand. With a mind as bright as a three-legged horny toad (latest research indicates horny toads are not terribly smartââno matter how many legs they have), our hero decides the only solution is to
Gobble, Gobble
Munch, Munch
Burp, Burp
eat the receiver.
But not to worry, dear reader. Thanks to some very clever writing on this author's part, a fax machine just happens to be sitting alongside the Choco-phone. A moment later it rings and a fax starts printing.
Our hero grabs the fax paper, but instead of reading it, he uses it to wipe the Choco-phone chocolate off his hands! (Okay, so maybe he isn't as smart as a three-legged horny toad.) An e-mail message pops up on the computer screen, which also just happens to be sitting beside his fax machine. (Am I good or what?) Our hero turns to the screen and, since computer monitors are a lot harder to eat than telephone receivers, he begins to read:
Greetings, Choco-Chump!
By now you've discovered I'm replacing all of
your favorite television shows with professional
wrestling shows.
Chocolate Chum's mind spins.
Who could pull off such a dastardly deed? Who could possibly want to watch professional wrestling, nonstop, twenty-four hours a day? And if he did, how could he possibly be smart enough to know how to send e-mail?
He continues to read:
But it's not just your favorite shows, it's
everybody's TV shows!
And it's not just TV. My new, handy-dandy
Microwave Manipulator is changing all TV and
radio shows into wrestling matches. Soon that's
all anyone will be able to see or hear.
“Oh no!” our delectable do-gooder cries. “This can't be possible. Tell me it isn't so!”
It is so, Choco-Chubs. Soon the only
entertainment anyone will ever enjoy is
professional wrestling. Unless, of course, you
are foolish enough to try to stop me!
Slugs and kicks,
Outrageous Ray the Wrestler
P.S. Where's that bad-guy music that always
happens when bad guys talk in your stories?
TA-DA-DAAAA . . .
P.P.S. Thanks, that's more like it.