Just Crazy
Authors: Andy Griffiths
Andy Griffiths discovered a talent for crazy behaviour after accidentally sitting on an ants' nest. Since then he has alarmed the world with even crazier behaviour, including sitting on an ants' nest in the nude, sitting on a nude ants' nest, and letting nude ants sit on him. He has written three other books in the
Just!
seriesâ
Just Tricking!, Just Annoying!
and
Just Stupid!
and has accidentally destroyed the universe and every living creature in it on at least three separate occasions.
Terry Denton is an illustrator He gets to illustrate a lot. He is lucky. Luckier than if he was a builder If he was a builder, he would hardly get to illustrate at all. If he was a dog, same thing . . . not much illustration. He has a friend who makes plastic things that fit on the ends of hoses. He doesn't get to illustrate at all. Not that he minds, because he loves making plastic things that fit on the end of hoses. He'd hate to be an illustrator Terry, however, he'd hate to make plastic things that fit on the end of hoses. That's why he is an illustrator.
Also by Andy Griffiths
and illustrated by Terry Denton
Just Tricking!
Just Annoying!
Just Stupid!
Just Crazy!
Just Disgusting!
The Bad Book
The Cat on the Mat is Flat
Also by Andy Griffiths
The Day My Bum Went Psycho
Zombie Bums from Uranus
Bumageddon: the Final Pongflict
Also by Andy Griffiths
(with Jim Thomson and Sophie Blackmore)
Fast Food and No Play Make
Jack a Fat Boy: Creating a healthier lifestyle
for you and your children
First published 2000 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
These electronic editions published in 2000 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
Text Copyright © Andy Griffiths 2000
Illustrations Copyright © Terry Denton 2000
The moral rights of the creators have been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.
National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:
Griffiths, Andy, 1961-.
Just crazy.
I. Denton, Terry, 1950- . II. Title.
A823.3
Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-008-1
Microsoft Reader format 978-1-74197-209-2
Mobipocket format 978-1-74197-410-2
Online format 978-1-74197-611-3
ePub format 978-1-74262-218-7
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Typeset in 12/16pt New Aster by Post Pre-press Group.
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ave you ever had a Band-Aid on for so long that you can't tell where the Band-Aid ends and your skin begins?
I have.
In fact, I have one right now.
It's been on for the last six months.
I've grown quite attached to it actually, and it's grown quite attached to me.
We've spent a lot of time together.
I did some calculations and I figured that I've had the Band-Aid on for one hundred and eighty-two and a half days, which is four thousand three hundred and eighty hours, or two hundred and sixty-two thousand and eight hundred minutes, or fifteen million seven hundred and sixty-eight thousand seconds or, to be even more precise, well, I can't be any more precise because my calculator conked out when I tried to figure out how many milliseconds. There wasn't enough room on the screen for all the zeroes.
But you don't need to know how many milliseconds it is to know that it's more than enough time for a Band-Aid to get a very serious grip.
It's not my fault I had to leave it on so long.
It's Mum's fault.
If she didn't act like Band-Aids cost about three million dollars each I'd be able to change them more often. She hides them and if I get hurt â no matter how bad â she'll only ever let me have one Band-Aid and that's it.
If I pull it off too soon and ask her for another one she says, âDo you think we're made of Band-Aids? Do you think Band-Aids grow on trees? Do you think Band-Aids are handed out free on street corners?' And it doesn't matter how many times I ask her, she won't give me another one. So I've learned to leave them on. But I think I've left this one on just a little bit too long.
I'm never going to get it off.
But I have to.
Because we've got school photos today.
And it's on my face. Right under my left eye.
I can't have my photo taken with a Band-Aid on my face.
I'll look like an idiot.
I'll look even stupider than the year I blinked.
And even more stupider than the year the bench I was standing on rocked unexpectedly, and I opened my mouth in surprise.
If I have my picture taken with this Band-Aid on, everybody will look at the photograph when they're older and they won't remember me as the brilliant genius I was â they'll just remember me as the idiot with the Band-Aid on his face.
It's not fair.
I always get Band-Aids.
Everybody else has these really cool accidents where they end up with their arms and legs in plaster and they get all the sympathy and attention and everybody wants to sign their casts â it makes me sick. Why can't I get a proper injury like that? It would be so cool to break every bone in my body and have to
go to hospital and just lie around and watch television and eat ice-cream all day long.
But that will never happen to me.
If I broke every bone in my body the doctor would just look at me and say, âHe'll be right. Just put a couple of Band-Aids on him.' And then my mum would look at the doctor with her hands on her hips and say,
âTwo
Band-Aids? Do you think I'm made of Band-Aids? Do you think Band-Aids grow on trees? Do you think Band-Aids are handed out free on street corners?' And the doctor would say, âActually, you're right â one Band-Aid will be adequate.'
Anyway that's pretty much the story of my life when it comes to accidents. Nothing too serious. Not even the latest accident which
should
have been a lot more serious than it actually was.
I found this pair of glasses on the way home from school. Little gold-rimmed spectacles. Just lying in the middle of the footpath.
I would have left them there except I'd read a survey in the paper saying that most people thought people who wore glasses were more intelligent than people who didn't
wear them. So I had this idea that maybe I could make my teachers think that I'm smarter than I really am and they would give me better marks. So I picked up the glasses and put them on, but the lenses made everything sort of wonky and out of focus. The last thing I heard before I fell was âLook out!'
I ended up at the bottom of a roadworkers' trench.
But did I get a broken leg?
No.
A broken arm?
No.
Massive head injuries, complex fractures, amnesia and a nasty bruise?
