Really Stupid Stories for Really Smart Kids Page 5

  “Yippee!” Mickey shouted. “Thank you, news reporter! Thank you, magic coin! Thank you, grandpa!”

  The TV news reporter continued, “Obviously, there won’t be school tomorrow.”

  “I know!” Mickey shouted, doing a handstand on the couch.

  “I know that you know!” the TV news reporter said. “And please don’t do that on the couch!”

  Mickey was too happy to even think about what the news reporter had said. The magic coin had done its magical best, and there’d be no school tomorrow!

  Suddenly, the news reporter was back on.

  “Here is a revision of the revised weather bulletin,” she said. “That sudden storm that we thought would bring us three feet of snow now looks as if it’ll bring us… what? That can’t be!”

  “What?” Mickey asked. “What?”

  “… snowmen! It is going to snow snowmen!” the TV news reporter blurted out.

  “No!” Mickey said.

  “Yes!” the news reporter answered. “Snowwomen too!”

  Mickey knew that that was simply too much for the town to handle. He realized he’d wished too hard for snow. The magic coin had been too magical!

  “I’ve got to undo the wish,” Mickey said.

  He reached for the coin, but unbeknownst to him, it had fallen out of his pocket when he was doing the handstand on the couch.

  Mickey searched high and low for the coin. He covered every square inch of the room—except for between the couch cushions. (If you think about it, that’s probably the first place to look for coins, but somehow, that didn’t occur to Mickey.)

  Mickey then ran to the window, thinking that perhaps he could wish on a star instead of the coin. But there weren’t any stars in the sky. The only thing he saw was snowmen, hundreds of them, falling toward earth.

  “Now I’ve done it!” Mickey exclaimed.

  “Snowmen and snowwomen are falling from the sky!” the TV news reporter said. “This has never happened before, and no one knows what to do!”

  But Mickey did. Being responsible for their arrival, Mickey somehow knew exactly what to do.

  He put on his winter gear, walked outside, and greeted the snow people.

  Suddenly a voice called out…

  “Freeze!” a policeman yelled through a megaphone. “All you snow creatures—freeze!”

  Um, they’re already freezing, Mickey thought to himself. After all, they’re made of snow.

  Just then, more people from town arrived. Members of the rescue squad, firefighters, even the mayor showed up. They were all standing under a bridge, safely away from the snowmen.

  “I think we should plow them!” a man said.

  “Let’s salt and shovel them!” another offered.

  “No, let’s melt them with ultra-heat ray guns!” suggested the mayor.

  “Where do you get those?” someone asked.

  “I don’t know; I saw them in a movie once,” the mayor said.

  “Let’s have a giant snowball fight with the snow people!” suggested the governor. “I haven’t had a good snowball fight in years!”

  “No one knows what to do!” the TV reporter said as she joined the group.

  “I think I do,” Mickey said, stepping out from the crowd.

  “What?” the mayor asked. “Who said that?”

  “I did,” the boy said. “It’s me, Mickey Valdez!”

  “There is a boy among the very dangerous snow creatures,” the news reporter said. “And no one knows what to do.”

  “They’re not dangerous!” Mickey yelled. “And please stop saying no one knows what to do!”

  “Plow them! Shovel them! Melt them!” the crowd started chanting. “Plow them! Shovel them! Melt them…”

  “No! Let’s be kind to them!” Mickey called back.

  “How do we do that?” the governor demanded to know.

  “Well, we could sing them a holiday song,” Mickey said. He began…

  “Deck the halls with boughs of holly…”

  And the crowd chimed in, “Fa la la la la, la la la la!”

  It was perhaps the loudest, most cheerful “Fa la la la la, la la la la!” ever sung.

  And then…

  The snow people started moving. Turning. Dancing.

  So Mickey continued…

  “Tis the season to be jolly…”

  And the townsfolk added, “Fa la la la la, la la la la!”

  And they began dancing too!

  The singing and dancing continued for hours, and when they’d sung every holiday song they knew, everyone stopped, looked around, and saw that the snow people had built a truly spectacular snow village. It was a winter carnival unlike anything anyone had ever seen.

  The joyous celebration continued for weeks. Until one day…

  “This is a weather bulletin,” the news reporter boomed. “It will be extremely warm today, and, I’m afraid our snow village will melt.”

  Everyone knew that it meant it was time to say goodbye to the snow people too.

  “This has never happened before!” a different reporter said. “No one knows what to do!”

  But once again, Mickey knew exactly what to do.

  He went home and learned a lot more holiday songs…

  and called his grandpa to ask for another magic coin, so that he could bring back the happy snow people another time.

  (By the way, Mickey’s school was open every single day that winter. After all, snow people don’t cause traffic delays.)

  THE END

  IT ALL “ADS” UP

  “I’m late for work,” Frankie’s mom moaned at exactly 7:59. “The school bus comes at 8:03, so you’ve got four minutes. Grab your bag, grab your lunch, and grab a seat in the minivan!”

  “It’s not polite to grab,” Frankie’s sister Molly pointed out from her high-chair. “Right, Mom?”

  “Right, dear,” Mom answered, even though she had no time to discuss manners. “Francis, let’s go!”

  Frankie (everyone called him that except his mom) grabbed one last handful of scrambled eggs.

  “Maaaa, Frankie’s eating eggs with his hands again!”

  “Am not!”

  “Oh, then why are your fingers yellow? And why’s your fork so clean? Huh? Huh?”

  “Mom, Dad, how come you let Little Miss Nursery School pick on me?”

  But they didn’t answer. Frankie’s mom just took his hand to lead him to the minivan.

  In a flash, Frankie’s mom was busy zooming down their driveway to have him join the seven other kids who caught the bus on the corner of Fanton Hill and Easton Turnpike.

  “See, we’re early! No one’s even here yet,” Frankie pointed out.

  “No, we’re late! Everyone’s already been picked up,” his mother corrected. “Now I’ll have to drive you to school, which will make me even more late for work!”

  “I can write you a note,” Frankie offered. “Maybe Mrs. Watkins will excuse you this time!”

  Frankie’s mom smiled (a little) as she started the two-mile drive to school, and she said, “Mrs. Watkins won’t mind that I’m late. It’s just that my client is expecting a new advertising slogan at our 2 p.m. meeting today, and I haven’t come up with one yet.”

  “Well then, you shouldn’t have watched TV last night, right, young lady? You know the rule: no TV until all work is done!”

  “Funny, Francis,” his mother interrupted. “But knock it off. Pernock’s Peanut Butter is expecting a brilliant slogan by early this afternoon, and I’ll have to—”

  Now it was Frankie’s turn to interrupt.

  “Pernock’s? I love that stuff! David’s mother buys it! Cameron’s mother buys it! But you never buy it!”

  “I didn’t know you like it.”

  “Like it?” Frankie asked. “Like it? I love it! It’s goopy, it’s gloppy, it’s gooood!”

  Frankie’s mom slammed on the brakes and the car came to a sudden halt.

  “Mom, what are you doing? We’re still two blocks from the school!” Frankie asked.

  Frankie’s mom shouted, “Pernock’s Peanut Butter: It’s goopy, it’s gloppy, it’s gooood!”

  “Yeah, that’s what I just said!”

  “Yes, my boy,” his mom beamed. “And soon, all of America will be saying it! That’s the new slogan!”

  “It’s amazing, just amazing,” said Mrs. Jackie Watkins, president of the Watkins Advertising Agency. “Sales of Pernock’s Peanut Butter have gone through the roof!”

  “Well, it’s better than sticking to the roof. Of your mouth. Get it? Peanut butter? It sticks to the roof of your mou… never mind,” said Ross Julian, the advertising agency’s art director and occasional jokester.

  “And Myra,” continued Mrs. Watkins. “It’s all because of your great slogan. All together now—it’s goopy, it’s gloppy, it’s gooood!”

  Clearly, the slogan had become a cheer throughout the office.

  Mrs. Watkins then told Ross and Myra that because of their success with Pernock’s, other companies were calling the agency to request new slogans and commercials.

  “In fact,” she said. “We have a meeting with Landman’s Dairy at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow to try to help them advertise their butter. Myra, I hope you’ll get plenty of rest so that your thinking cap will fit well in the morning.”

  That didn’t really make total sense to Frankie’s mom, but she knew what her boss meant. So she promised to do her best, told the others goodnight, and went to her car for the trip home.

  “Butter, butter, butter, butter…” Frankie’s mom told herself as she drove. In fact, she was so deep in buttery thought, she drove right past the family’s driveway. Twice.

  As usual, the next morning was full of delays. For what seemed like the 4,532nd time this school year, Frankie and his mom missed the bus.

  “This is a shame, Frankie,” his mother said. “I could have been out of the house hours ago—I’ve been up since four in the morning, thinking about the campaign for Landman’s Dairy.”

  “Landman’s Dairy?”

  Frankie’s mom explained all about the new client she had to meet, and how they were looking for a new slogan for their butter. Right away, Frankie had an idea…

  “How about—Landman’s Butter: it’s goopy, it’s gloppy, it’s gooood!”

  “I don’t think so,” his mom told him. “That slogan was great for Pernock’s. But it’s already selling peanut butter; I can’t use it for another product,” she sighed.

  Frankie shrugged. And he realized that sharing a slogan was probably like copying answers on a test. Not a good thing.

  “Besides,” his mother continued. “I’ve tasted Landman’s butter. It’s goopy. It’s even gloppy. But it’s not good.”

  Frankie couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Well, if it’s not good,” he asked, “isn’t it lying if you tell everyone to buy it?”

  Frankie’s mother explained that commercials try to make every product seem wonderful. “But that’s not being dishonest. Let’s face it,” she added. “I don’t like Landman’s, but other people might.”

  Frankie said he understood. He thought about all the toys that looked amazing in ads, and then were pretty crummy when he got his hands on them.

  Frankie’s mom laughed, and said, “Sometimes you have to say the wrong thing for the right reason. Or maybe it’s the other way around.”

  Now Frankie was confused.

  “It’s like when you got that ugly sweater from Aunt Norma. If you’d said, ‘Ugh, what an ugly sweater,’ it would have hurt her feelings and she might have stopped giving you gifts.

  “Wait,” Frankie said. “By just saying, “thank you, I love it,” I’m advertising for more gifts?

  “In a way, yes,” his mother said.

  “But why am I advertising for more ugly sweaters?” Frankie wanted to know.

  “Perhaps that’s not a good example,” his mom said. “The point is my agency gets paid to help companies sell their products. In this case, we have to do a commercial for butter and make it seem terrific.”

  Frankie got it. “And not just terrific,” he snickered. “Butterrific!”

  Frankie’s mom slammed on the brakes and the car came to a sudden halt!

  “Mom, what are you doing? We’re still two blocks from the school!” Frankie asked.

  Frankie’s mom kissed him on the forehead, as she shouted, “Landman’s… it’s Butterrific!”

  “Yeah, that’s what I just said!”

  “Yes, my boy,” his mom beamed. “And soon, all of America will be saying it! That’s the new slogan!”

  A few weeks later, Mrs. Watkins found out that Frankie came up with the award-winning slogans. She hired him for $5,000,000 a year.

  THE END

  THE CANTDECIDES

  On the north-west-southeast corner of Walk and Don’t Walk is the beautiful red-pink-blue-green-orange-yellow home of the Cantdecide family.

  The house is so many different colors because when they visit a paint store to pick a color, they can’t decide.

  They also can’t decide what kind of furniture or decorations to have inside the house. What kind of pet to adopt. Where to go on vacation.

  And they especially can’t decide what to watch on television. If they invited you over, you’d likely see channels wildly flipping on the TV—though you wouldn’t actually get to view a show. (You’d also see the remote being passed around the room; they can’t even decide who gets to control the television.)

  They are a family of four who simply can’t decide anything. Nothing. Nada.

  “Mom, mommy, ma, mother,” the littlest Cantdecide said to his mother one morning. “Would you make me some breakfast? I mean, dinner. Lunch. Brunch. Snack. Breakfast.”

  “Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes,” his mother told Vincent, whose name was Walter the day before. “What would you like?”

  “Pancakes. Corn flakes. Wait, waffles. Um, eggs.”

  Not waiting for her son to change his mind again, the boy’s mother begin to crack some eggs.

  “Would you like two eggs, dear?” she asked.

  “One. Seven. Three-hundred-and-twelve. Two.”

  She cracked two eggs, and asked the boy how he wanted them cooked.

  “Scrambled. Fried. Baked. Omelet-style. Oh, hard-boiled.”

  “I already cracked them dear, so they can’t be hard-boiled.”

  “What can’t be hard-boiled?” the boy’s sister asked as she bounded halfway down the stairs, then slid down the bannister the rest of the way. (Her name was Albany that morning; she’s picking a different state capital every day. Or every week. Perhaps every month.)

  “Your brother’s eggs,” their mom told her. “And my, don’t you look lovely in that tank top, sweater, poncho, pants, skirt, dress, and overcoat!”

  “Thank you,” the girl squealed. “I put this on because I’m meeting Barbara at the beach. Or I might go horseback riding with Ella at the tennis courts. Perhaps I’ll spend some time fishing with Mike inside the new downtown department store instead.”

  “Sounds terrific,” her mom said. “Also awful, horrible, and wonderful.”

  The morning went on like this. The boy never actually got his two eggs because his mother decided to use them to make muffins, which turned out to be croissants. And the girl ended up going miniature golfing with a baseball bat inside a darkened movie theater (at last count, her score on a par 3 was 712).

  It is time for me to end this story. And I plan to end it happily. Or maybe it’ll be a sad ending. It’s hard to say.

  Why? Because I am the father of the Cantdecide family. And frankly, when it comes to finishing this story, I simply can’t decide.

  I’m very sorry. No, I’m not. Yes, I am. Nope. Yep.

  You’d better turn the page.

  No, don’t.

  Yes, turn the page.

  No, wait.

  It’s up to you.

  Good choice!

  I wish I could be more decisive.

  No, I don’t.

  Yes, I do.

  THE END (OR MAYBE NOT)

  REGGIE CAN’T COME ALONG

  “We’re leaving for vacation in a few minutes,” Dad said early one morning. “And I probably should have told you sooner, but Reggie can’t come along.”

  “What?” the boy wanted to know. “What?!?!?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just not possible.”

  “But…”

  “Listen sport, getting to the airport would be too hard.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “And think about the hotel.”

  “Daaaaaaaad!”

  “There’d be quite a scene when we go to nice restaurants.”

  “Come on! Pleeeeeease!”

  “Then there’s the rental car to consider.”

  “Yeah but, yeah but, yeah but…!”

  “Sorry, it’s just the way it is. And the way it is, is the way it is.”

  “Does mom know about this?”

  “Yes, it was her idea in the first place.”

  “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  “There’s no use crying. The decision has been made and it’s final.”

  “But dad, but dad, but dad, but dad, but dad, but dad…”

  “Relax, it’s just a two-week trip and then you’ll be able to snuggle with your friend all you want.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep the whole two weeks! Not a wink!”

  “Oh, son!”

  “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not, not, not, not fair!”

  “Okay, it’s time to start the trip. Say goodbye to Reggie! See you later, Reggie! So long, Reggie! We’re off!”

  SLAM!

  “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  “This is going to be an absolutely marvelous trip!!”

  “I’m so glad we left Reggie home!”

  “The trip would have been terrible if we’d brought him!”

  THE END

  MR. OG

  The substitute teacher entered the classroom and greeted the class.

  “Hello, everyone, my name is Mr. Ogimunkallowestangickumookillomastongopunawugelleedish.