Funny Boy Meets the Dumbbell Dentist from Deimos (with Dangerous Dental Decay) (8 page)

“OPEN WIDE,” he commanded.

“No!” she replied.

“HALITOSIS!” Dr. Denny ordered. “KILL FUNNY BOY!”

“KILL!” said Halitosis excitedly.

“Okay, okay!” Tupper yelled. She opened her mouth wide. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh . . .”

Dr. Denny looked inside Tupper’s mouth.

“HMMMMM,” he said. “You have a huge cavity here.”

“I do?” asked Tupper.

“YES,” said Dr. Denny. “YOUR MOUTH IS A HUGE CAVITY. GINGIVITIS! HAND ME THE LONG METAL STICK WITH THE TINY MIRROR AT THE END.”

“No!” Tupper shouted. “Leave me alone!”

“YOU’RE NEXT,” Halitosis whispered in my ear. “THE DOCTOR WILL BE WITH
YOU
SHORTLY.”

Ugh. He had bad breath. I struggled to get free, but it was no use.

“HAND ME THE SHARP POINTY THING!” Dr. Denny commanded.

“Stop!” screamed Tupper.

“HAND ME THE THING THAT BLOWS AIR ON YOUR TEETH!”

“Help!” shrieked Tupper.

“HAND ME THAT SUCKING THING THAT IS SHAPED LIKE A QUESTION MARK!”

“Hey, don’t those instruments have names?” I asked Dr. Denny. “I’ll bet you’re not even a real dentist. What dental school did you go to, anyway?”

“I WENT TO THE PAINE INSTITUTE,” replied Dr. Denny. “THAT IS, PAIN WITH AN E, FOR EXTREME.”

“No! Don’t!” Tupper shouted. “Funny Boy! Can’t you do anything to stop him?”

“Quick, Funny Boy! Tell some of your jokes!” said Bob Foster.

I said the first joke that came to my mind.

“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”

“WHY?” asked Dr. Denny as he worked on Tupper’s teeth.

“They don’t have the guts,” I said.

“THAT IS HORRIBLE,” said Dr. Denny. “SPIT.”

Tupper spit into a little bowl at the side of the armrest. Then she screamed again, when Dr. Denny forced open her mouth.

“Why did the sheep say ‘moo’?” I asked.

“WHY?” asked Dr. Denny.

“It was learning a second language,” I said.

“TOTALLY UNFUNNY,” said Dr. Denny. “HAND ME THE POKEY THING.”

“Your jokes aren’t working!” yelled Bob Foster. “What are we going to do now?”

“Help!” Tupper shouted. “Somebody help me!”

Dr. Denny took all the instruments out of Tupper’s mouth.

“I HAVE GOOD NEWS FOR YOU,” he told her. “YOU NEVER HAVE TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH AGAIN.”

“Really?” Tupper said, cheerfully. “That’s great!”

“YES,” Dr. Denny continued. “THE EARTH WILL BE DESTROYED TONIGHT. SO YOU NEVER HAVE TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH AGAIN.”

“Oh no!” we all said.

“KILL?” asked Halitosis hopefully.

“DIE?” asked Gingivitis.

“NOT YET, BOYS,” said Dr. Denny. “FIRST I MUST WORK ON NOT FUNNY BOY OVER HERE. OPEN WIDE . . .”

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

We’re getting near the end now. Will Funny Boy be able to save the world?

Dr. Denny waddled over to me. He was holding that pointy thing dentists use to scrape stuff off your teeth. I clamped my mouth shut so he couldn’t work on me.

“HOLD HIM DOWN, BOYS!” he said to his hygienic henchmen Halitosis and Gingivitis. “NOW OPEN WIDE, UNFUNNY BOY.”

“No!” I muttered through gritted teeth.

“OKAY BOYS, KILL THE GIRL!” said Dr. Denny.

“No!” screamed Tupper.

“Okay, okay, I’ll open wide!” I yelled. “Leave her alone!”

I opened my mouth. Dr. Denny pointed the light in my eyes and leaned his disgusting, malodorous, dripping face over me.

“HAVE YOU BEEN FLOSSING?” he asked me. “YOU HAVE TERRIBLE HYGIENE.”

“Terrible
what
?” I asked.

“HYGIENE.”

“My name isn’t Gene,” I said. “I already told you, I’m Funny Boy.”

Dr. Denny failed to appreciate the awesomeness of my hilarity. He was poking around inside my mouth with that pokey thing, and I wasn’t liking it at all. I don’t even like going to my
regular
dentist. Imagine what it’s like to have a dentist who is a big, sweaty alien freak who wants to crack open the Earth like a pistachio nut.

“THIS IS GOING TO PINCH A LITTLE,” Dr. Denny said.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Stop!” I begged.

“Leave him alone!” said Bob Foster.

“YOUR WISDOM TEETH ARE DUMB,” Dr. Denny said. “I NEED TO PULL THEM OUT.”

“That won’t make them any smarter!” I shouted.

“KILL?” asked Halitosis hopefully.

“DIE?” asked Gingivitis.

“NOT YET, BOYS,” said Dr. Denny as he picked up a tool that looked like a big pliers.

“No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I shouted. “Leave my wisdom teeth alone!”

“Tell some jokes, you dope!” Tupper yelled at me. “That’s your only weapon.”

Oh yeah! The stress of having my wisdom teeth pulled out by an alien dentist had temporarily made me forget about my superpower of humor.

“Do you want to hear two short jokes and a long joke?” I asked Dr. Denny.

“WHATEVER.”

“Joke. Joke. Jooooooooooookkkkkkkkkkke,” I said.

“PLEASE SHUT UP,” said Dr. Denny. “I MUST REMOVE YOUR WISDOM TEETH NOW.”

“I will
not
shut up!” I insisted. “What did Geronimo say when he jumped out of the airplane?”

“WHAT?”

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

“YOU ARE THE OPPOSITE OF FUNNY,” Dr. Denny said, “AND YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS AT HUMOR ARE STARTING TO GET ON MY NERVES.”

“Where do polar bears go to vote?” I asked.

“WHERE?”

“The North Poll.”

“THAT’S IT!” Dr. Denny said, putting down the pliers. “I WILL PREPARE THE NOVOCAINE! HALITOSIS AND GINGIVITIS, GO WARM UP THE GIANT DRILL! IT IS TIME TO SPLIT THE EARTH IN HALF!”

The three freaky aliens rushed over to the nearby control panel and started fiddling with a bunch of knobs and buttons.

“Funny Boy!” Tupper whispered. “Do something!”

“What do you want
me
to do?” I replied. “I told my best jokes. He didn’t even smile once.”

“Don’t you know any dental jokes?” asked Bob Foster.

Dental jokes! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that earlier? Dr. Denny was a dentist. He would probably find dental jokes to be really funny.

“Yeah,” said Punch, “maybe dental jokes would work.”

“Woodwork?” I asked. “Who said anything about woodwork?”

“Not
woodwork
,” said Punch. “
Would
work. I said dental jokes would work.”

“George Washington had wooden teeth,” I pointed out.

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Bob Foster impatiently.

“Punch said woodwork!” I told him.

“I did not!” said Punch. “I said
would
work.”

I didn’t know what either of them were talking about. Dr. Denny and his malodorous assistants came back from the control panel. Desperately, I searched my memory for jokes about dentists.

“Why did the dentist go to Venice?” I asked. “To see the root canals.”

“HA,” said Dr. Denny.

Well, that was a start, anyway. Maybe not a laugh, but it encouraged me.

“Do you know what the dentist of the year wins?” I asked.

“WHAT?”

“A little plaque.”

“HA HA,” said Dr. Denny.

“I think it’s working!” whispered Bob Foster.

“An old man tells his wife that her teeth remind him of the stars,” I said. “‘Because they twinkle and shine?’ the wife asked. ‘No,’ he said, ‘because they come out at night!’”

“HA HA HA,” said Dr. Denny.

“He’s laughing!” shouted Tupper.

“I AM NOT!” said Dr. Denny.

I didn’t care. I was like butter. Because I was on a roll.

“When do most people go to the dentist?” I asked.

“WHEN?”

“Tooth-hurty.”

“HA HA HA HA,” said Dr. Denny.

“Where does a dentist get gas?” I asked.

“WHERE?”

“At a filling station.”

Halitosis and Gingivitis were giggling now too.

“Did you hear about the dentist who went out with a manicurist?” I asked. “They fought tooth and nail.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Why did the holy man refuse novocaine?” I asked.

“WHY?”

“He wanted to transcend dental medication.”

Dr. Denny and the hygienic henchmen (that would be a good name for a rock band, by the way) were doubled over in laughter now. It would be impossible for them to drill the Earth in half, because as everyone knows, you can’t laugh and commit evil deeds at the same time.

“I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE,” said Dr. Denny. “QUICK! GIVE HIM SOME GAS TO SHUT HIM UP.”

“What kind of gas?” I asked.

“LAUGHING GAS, OF COURSE!”

(BY THE WAY, IF YOU BELIEVE ANY OF THIS, THERE’S A BRIDGE I’D LIKE TO SELL YOU. REALLY, THERE IS. THE BRIDGE IS IN MY GRANDMOTHER’S MOUTH, BUT I’LL SELL IT TO YOU FOR FIVE DOLLARS. SHE WON’T MIND.)