Really Stupid Stories for Really Smart Kids Page 2

  The following day, Rex’s mom got up by herself. She made her bed by herself. She brushed her teeth by herself. She got dressed by herself. She poured a bowl of Munchy Flakes and milk by herself. She ate it with a spoon by herself. She wiped up all of the Munchiness she’d spilled by herself. She put away the box of Munchy Flakes and the carton of milk by herself. She washed her bowl and spoon by herself. And then, proud of her accomplishments, she ran to her son’s room. Today was the big day!

  “Rex, it’s here! It’s here! It’s finally Take Your Child Back to School Day!”

  Rex looked at her and said, “Mom, uh, it’s only two in the morning. I don’t have to leave until eight…”

  THE END

  THIS LAND IS HIS LAND

  “Sorry we missed your school concert, Matt,” his mom said.

  His dad continued, “Yeah, I had a meeting and Mom, well…”

  “I’m afraid I misplaced my calendar and I forgot,” Mom said.

  “Sorry, Sport,” added his dad.

  “That’s okay,” Matt shrugged, even though things clearly weren’t okay. After all, Derek’s mom had postponed surgery and Reed’s dad had canceled a business trip so that they could be there. Everyone’s parents showed up… except Matt’s.

  “I’d have given anything to hear you sing ‘This Land is Your Land’” his dad said.

  Well, now you never will! Matt thought to himself. Too bad!

  “Hey, maybe you could give us a private concert,” Mom said. But Matt pretended not to hear her as he ran up to his room.

  That’s when Matt had the idea. And he instantly knew it wasn’t just a good idea. It was a great idea. The kind of idea that guaranteed, 100%, without a doubt his parents would never miss another performance.

  “Maaaatt… what do you want for dinner?” Dad called from the kitchen.

  Matt came halfway down the stairs and (to the tune of “This Land is Your Land”) sang:

  I’d like a salad

  With fresh tomatoes

  A piece of chicken

  And mashed potatoes

  Some chocolate pudding

  A glass of so-o-da

  That’s what I want for dinner, please!

  Dad smiled and started cooking as Matt went outside to shoot some hoops.

  A little while later, it was dinnertime. Matt ate his food—exactly what he’d musically requested—without a word. And when he was finished, he sang (to the tune of “This Land is Your Land”):

  Thanks for the dinner

  It was delicious

  Now I’ll be happy

  To do the dishes

  Then please excuse me

  I’ll take a bi-i-ke ride

  And promise to be home before dark!

  Later that evening, as Matt lay on his bed reading, his mom and dad showed up at his door. He sang them an update…

  I did my homework

  I studied spelling

  I took a bath so

  Armpits not smelling

  I’m pretty tired

  I’ll go to sle-ee-p soon

  Goodnight, and kisses, Mom and Dad!

  Mom snickered as she blew a kiss. Dad harrumphed a little but had a twinkle in his eye as they said goodnight.

  The next morning, Matt bounded down, ate breakfast without a word, then sang…

  I’ll bring my football

  It’s show-and-tell day

  I wish you both a

  Terrific, swell day

  I packed my lunch and

  I hear the school-oo-l bus.

  Enjoy your meetings, Mom and Dad!

  Matt was quiet the whole ride to school. A few minutes after the bell rang at school, his teacher said, “Matt, please come up and do the first problem on the board.” And Matt sang…

  When doing math just

  See what the sign is

  Plus is addition

  A dash is minus

  You see this plus here?

  That means to a-aa-d it

  As we know, four plus four is eight!

  Later, in gym, Matt sang…

  I feel like doing

  Something gymnastic

  When I do back flips

  I feel fantastic

  Then let’s play dodge ball

  Or run some re-ee-lays

  I love to get some exercise!

  And in art…

  Artistic juices

  Are really flowing

  Sculpting and drawing

  Plus some Van Goghing

  When I am finished

  Call the muse-ee-ee-um

  Art class is where I love to be!

  Matt sang his way through his school day. And his teachers were amused. Mostly. Though they were all pretty glad it was Friday.

  That whole weekend, pretty much the only thing anyone heard from Matt, they heard to the tune of “This Land is Your Land.” Mom couldn’t stand it. Dad had surely had enough. But Matt kept it up, and back at school on Monday, when his teacher said, “Good morning,” Matt responded…

  Good morning, teacher

  It’s good to see you

  We’ll have a good week

  I guarantee you

  There’ll be a class trip

  And we’ll be lear-rn-ing

  Second grade is so interesting!

  Eight or nine such songs followed that day, and by late afternoon, the teachers and principal had met to decide what to do about Matt’s singing. Matt’s parents were hardly surprised when they got a call that evening…

  “Mr. and Mrs. Paris, this is Principal Nelson. It seems, well, it seems that your son Matt is, well, has been singing instead of talking ever since the school concert. He isn’t actually doing anything wrong, but it is, um, irritating the teachers…”

  Matt’s parents, who had been living with Matt day after tune-filled day, suddenly realized why the boy was singing. They told the principal that they had an idea how to get him to stop it.

  That evening at dinner, Matt’s parents knew what they had to do. They looked Matt in the eye and sang…

  Please listen up, Matt

  We’re so regretful

  We got too busy

  Also, forgetful

  We’re very sorry

  Yes, please forg-i-ive us

  We’ll never miss another show.

  Matt thought for a minute, then smiled. And for the first time, he spoke. In words, not lyrics. He said, “Thanks, Mom and Dad. I appreciate that.”

  And Mr. and Mrs. Paris never missed another of Matt’s school performances.

  THE END

  IT MAKES SCENTS

  “Attention, please. I’d like all of the third-grade classes to report to the auditorium at once,” said the voice of the principal on the classroom PA system.

  “Why do we have to go?” Brooke Newsom asked her teacher. It was the 17,203rd question Brooke had asked that day.

  “I believe it’s time for the school Smelling Bee,” Mrs. Gittleman told her. “C’mon everyone, line up right now.”

  “Smelling Bee?” Brooke asked with a laugh. “You must mean Spelling Bee.”

  “No, Smelling,” her teacher told her. “S-M-E-L-L-I-N-G.”

  “I know how to smell spelling,” the girl said. “I mean, spell smelling.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Mrs. Gittleman told her. “Now, let’s go.”

  When the class reached the auditorium, they saw the big banner onstage.

  “It is a Smelling Bee!” Brooke said.

  “Welcome, everyone, welcome!” said Principal Gittleman, who was no relation to Brooke’s teacher. (There were, in fact, seven people with the last name Gittleman working at the school; one principal, four teachers, the janitor, and the lunch lady—whose first name was Gittleman. It was a total coincidence, though, and none of them were related to each other.)

  “Today, we are here to find out which student is the best smeller at Maple Street Elementary School. Smelling is important. After all, it is one of the five senses. Can anyone here
name the other four?”

  Michael Sykes, sitting in the front row, raised his hand. After Principal Gittleman called on him, he said, “The senses already have names.”

  Principal Gittleman smiled. “Yes, they do, Michael. Can you tell me what they are?”

  “Taste, touch, hearing, and sight,” he said. “And sometimes, Y.”

  “The senses are right,” the principal told him. “But Y is a sometimes vowel.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Michael said. “Do I win anyway?”

  Principal Gittleman told him that she was sorry, but there was no prize for naming the senses. Then she told everyone how the competition worked:

  “Two children from each class will be selected—at random—to come up and compete. You will each be blindfolded, and you will have to identify many different scents. Get one right, and you stay in for another round. But if you’re wrong, you’re out. The last contestant left wins the competition.”

  Principal Gittleman then showed off the trophy: a giant nose with the word MAPLE engraved on it.

  Everyone oohed. A few people aahed.

  “Mrs. Gittleman,” Brooke asked her teacher. “Could you please pick me at random?”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Gittleman told her. “If I picked you, it wouldn’t be at random.”

  Principal Gittleman then called up ten students—two from each class—by choosing a name at random from each of the five third-grade classroom lists.

  When Jeffrey Fisher and Grace Williams were called to the stage to represent Brooke’s class, Brooke pouted.

  The ten students in the competition were each blindfolded, and then they took turns identifying various objects based on their smells.

  Teddy Phillips correctly identified the scent of baby powder.

  Amanda Gleason immediately knew the smell of shampoo.

  Then Tiffany Douglas sniffed a sandwich that Mrs. Gittleman (the lunch lady) held up to her nose.

  “Tuna from the cafeteria,” Tiffany guessed. But she was wrong. It was meatloaf.

  “Oh, yeah,” Tiffany said. “It smelled just like tuna, so I should have known it was our school’s meatloaf.”

  Mrs. Gittleman the lunch lady grunted. But Tiffany was out.

  The competition continued until Marcus Jensen was stumped after taking a whiff of garlic (he guessed sweat socks), and Sara Day correctly identified the smell of a ripe banana.

  “You, my dear, are the winner of the Maple Street Elementary School Smelling Bee!” Principal Gittleman told the girl. “You get the giant Maple Nose!”

  Everyone cheered for Sara Day, especially after Principal Gittleman named it Sara Day. Everyone, that is, other than Brooke.

  The other contestants left the stage quietly, except for Billy Rowe, who’d somehow forgotten to take off his blindfold and tumbled down the stairs.

  With that, the assembly was over. The students and teachers all returned to their classrooms, and for the rest of the afternoon, Brooke concentrated on one task. No, not smelling things; she was already good at that.

  Rather, she practiced being selected at random.

  “I’ll get picked for the next Smelling Bee,” she vowed. “Or my name isn’t Brooke Gittleman!”

  THE END

  BOOK IT!

  “We need someone to star in our new picture book,” said Helen, the very important editor at the Smashola Book Company.

  With that in mind, she went on television and appealed to the public. “If you are very interesting, we might want to write a story about you. Come to 1270 Cottontail Street at 3:07 p.m. today.”

  By 2:54, there was a line around the block. It seemed everyone in town wanted to be the star of a story.

  Helen asked the first ten people to come to her office and line up.

  One by one, they showed Helen why they thought they should be in a story.

  Fritz Coyote played the violin with his toes, showing special symphonic skill.

  “That song makes me sad!” Helen said. “Next!”

  Chef Richard Snog juggled five coconut custard pies without spilling a crumb.

  “Coconut gives me a rash!” Helen said. “Next!”

  A sweet little girl dressed from head-to-toe in powder blue…

  “Powder blue? I don’t think so!” Helen said. “Next!”

  Frieda the Magnificent Magician made fourteen doves appear out of her hat.

  “Bird number twelve is a teensy-bit delightful,” Helen said. “But as for the rest of the act… next!”

  Stanley Hyenawitz told a 22-minute joke that Helen didn’t understand at all.

  Helen finally interrupted him and said, “Next!”

  Helen called the next ten into her office.

  “Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next!”

  Then she called the next ten people in line.

  “Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next! Next!”

  And then, just to save time, she went to the window with a megaphone and addressed everyone else who was waiting.

  “NEXT!”

  It seemed as if no one in town was interesting enough to be the subject of a Smashola Book Company story.

  Helen sat alone for hours. And then, in the darkness, there was a tiny, tiny, tiny knock at the door.

  When Helen answered it, a very tall woman with a miniature poodle rushed in. She quickly set up a stage full of mirrors, turned on a music player, and the poodle danced the most beautiful ballet anyone had ever danced.

  Helen stared breathlessly at the stage throughout the performance.

  And when the music finished, she didn’t say, “Next!”

  She didn’t have to. Instead, she stood up and clapped her happiest clap.

  “Hooray! Yippee! I’ve finally spotted a true star!” Helen cheered.

  And indeed she had.

  For while staring at the poodle’s ballet performance in the mirrors, she was able to find a singular sensation—a very, very, very interesting subject for her story.

  Helen clapped some more.

  “I have found a very, very, very interesting subject for my story!” Helen beamed.

  “Miniature poodle and her owner bowed in appreciation.

  “Oh, you misunderstand,” Helen told them. “I mean, that was a delightful dance by Miss Poodle. But she is not the star of my next book.”

  The pup looked at her quizzically. So did the owner. After all, the miniature poodle was the only candidate in the room.

  Unless, that is, you count Helen herself.

  Yes, while looking at the mirrors behind the poodle, Helen decided that the star of her next book would be…

  Helen!

  So self-satisfied, Helen laughed and giggled the rest of the day. She even chuckled herself to sleep, and then got up at 3 a.m. to laugh the jolliest laugh of all.

  But this time she wasn’t laughing with glee about her new book.

  See, she finally understood the punch line of Stanley Hyenawitz’s 22-minute joke.

  It had been a good day (and night) for Helen. A very good day (and night) indeed.

  THE END

  DROP THE WHOLE THING

  Millie’s report for school, “A Day in the Life of My Family,” was finally finished. It was 10:30 p.m. the night before it was due, and Millie was very tired as she stuffed the report into her backpack. The kid could hardly stay awake; but the important thing was her report was done.

  Her parents weren’t happy that Millie had stayed up so late on a school night. But they were proud that she had stuck with it, and they enjoyed hearing her read the report aloud.

  The next day, Millie walked to school with her pals Randee and Aaron. It was a windy day. A very windy day. The kind of windy day that takes your hat and sweeps it clear across the courtyard. The kind of windy day that blows all the index cards out of your backpack as you’re busy chasing your hat across the courtyard. And that’s what happened to Millie… and to her report.

  Randee and Aaron and Millie chased an
d grabbed and grabbed and chased and managed to catch every single card. The stack was sloppy, gloppy and way out of order, but at least Millie got to class with the whole report.

  “I’ll put it all back together during recess,” she sighed. “No prob.”

  “Millie, you’re first today,” her teacher boomed. “Come up and read us your report.”

  Big prob.

  “Um…”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Um, no.”

  “You did finish it, didn’t you?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “You do have it with you, don’t you?”

  “Um, yes…”

  “Then please read it to us,” her teacher insisted.

  “Now?”

  “Now!” her teacher bellowed. “I mean, yes, please. Now.”

  Millie got to her feet, slowly walked up to the front of the class. She began to read her report. It was waaaayyyy out of order…

  The End.

  47

  I took a bath. I scrubbed. I rubbed. I used soap. I shampooed. And when I got out of the tub, I dried my body with

  6

  meat loaf, topped with mushroom gravy. Wow, there’s nothing better.

  14

  I grabbed a large serving spoon and plopped a giant portion on my plate. Then I picked up my fork and ate every bite, because I figured that for dessert there’d be

  16

  muddy soccer cleats! Ooey, gooey, crusty dirt flicking and flying around.

  2

  I knew I’d better grab the vacuum and immediately suck up

  3

  Grandma’s set of fake teeth!

  9

  What a big mistake! So of course I dropped it exactly where it belonged, in

  10

  the toilet.

  31

  My brother is two-and-a-half and it’s about time he learned to

  32

  drive the minivan.

  19