When last we left our bug-like little buddy, he was buzzing out of his Gnat Cave in his Gnatmobile to save the world. After all, it is Thursday, and Thursdays are his day for world saving. Monday it’s piano lessons, Tuesday it’s cleaning the cat box, Wednesday it’s helping little old ladies across the street. That, of course, leaves Thursday for saving the world. (He usually saves Friday for his manicure and lunching with the president.)
Anyway, somewhere out there, the not-so-nice Proverb Guy is stealing all of the world’s excuses with his deadly Excuse-a-tron. It is a vile, sinister plot, forcing all of us to do what we say we’ll do, instead of making up excuses why we can’t. (You don’t get much more vile and sinister than that.)
No one’s sure what made Proverb Guy such a fiendish fiend. Some say his mother simply bought him underwear that was too tight. Others say it came from watching too many kung fu movies. Then there’s the ever-popular theory that he kept trying to open just one fortune cookie without it breaking and exploding all over the table. And the more he opened, the more fortunes he read. . .until, after the billionth or so cookie, all he could think of were fortunes and proverbs.
Any way you look at it, the guy is several fries short of a McDonald’s Happy Meal.
Suddenly Gnat Man hears the roar of jet engines. He looks up just in time to see a flyswatter the size of Pittsburgh hovering above him. A voice booms from its loudspeakers.
“Confucius says a man whose cup runneth over should fix his plumbing.”
“Proverb Guy,” our hero shouts, “is that you?”
“A judge who wants order in court should bring a take-out menu.”
Immediately the giant jet-powered flyswatter crashes down on the road. But Gnat Man is too fast. He swerves his Gnatmobile to the left, and the swatter misses him. The flyswatter rises and tries again. Gnat Man darts to the right. Another miss. And then, just when Gnat Man is feeling pretty cool, just when he realizes, since he’s the hero of this story, nothing can ever kill him or mess up his hair, the ol’ swatter strikes again.
KER-SPLAT!
The Gnatmobile becomes instant bug goo.
But fear not, dear reader. For normal superheroes it would be the end, but not for Gnat Man. Besides, with all of the world’s excuses being stolen, he can’t rely on some flimsy excuse, like being dead, to stop him from saving the world. In a flash of intelligence (and awfully good luck), Gnat Man crawls out of his wreck. He squeezes through one of the little holes in the flyswatter and hops on top, just as the swatter rises. He hangs on for dear life. Once the swatter has leveled off, he races toward the handle——since, as we all know, the handles always serve as the cockpits for flying flyswatters.
Gnat Man pulls at the cockpit door, but it’s locked. Fortunately, this is one of those few occasions when having six arms and hands is an advantage. (It gets real expensive when having to buy gloves, and getting the right arm in the right sleeve of a coat can take all day.) But, for once, it’s a plus. Gnat Man is able to use the combined strength of all six arms to yank open the door.
He hops inside and shouts, “Give it up, Proverb Guy!”
Proverb Guy spins around and shouts, “The man who bites electrical wire gets a shocking experience!”
But, just as Gnat Man prepares to leap at him, Proverb Guy reaches for his Excuse-a-tron belt and presses the reverse button. Suddenly our hero is hit with the hundreds of excuses the sinister sicko has already collected.
Gnat Man is overcome. He wants to stop Proverb Guy. He wants to save the world. But he remembers he should have changed his socks; or that he’ll be missing his chiropractor appointment; or since Thursday is a school night, is it really the best day to be saving the world?
All these excuses pour in, overwhelming our little buddy, but there’s nothing he can do.
Proverb Guy lets out a sinister laugh.
“Confucius says a giraffe with a sore throat is worse than a centipede with athlete’s foot.”
“Please,” Gnat Man gasps, “no more, no more.”
Proverb Guy laughs louder and harder. “You’re all mine now, Bug Boy. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“I want to,” our hero shouts, “but I promised Mom I wouldn’t get my new Gnat Cape dirty. No, I mean, I want to, but I forgot to make my bed. No, I mean, I want to, but. . .”
Great Scott! Will our hero ever be able to overcome those feeble excuses? Will he ever be able to beat Proverb Guy? And, most importantly, will he ever be able to stop the grizzly goon from quoting those awful proverbs?
And then, just when you thought you’d find out the answer——
“WALLY, LOOK OUT!”
I glanced up from ol’ Betsy just in time to see the minisub swing directly over my head. It had been resting in its rack at the stern of the boat. But now the crane was hoisting it across the deck and getting ready to drop it into the water. If I didn’t get out of the way, it would be dropping me into the water as well.
I shut down ol’ Betsy and leaped to the side.
As they lowered the minisub into the water for a trial run, I couldn’t help thinking it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. In the front the sub had two portholes—one up in the top part so the operator could see where he was going and the other in the nose for an observer. It could hold about three people, but Eric, the minisub operator, had offered to let all of us kids ride with him.
“Wonderful!” Opera had cried.
“Terrific!” Wall Street had shouted.
“No way,” I had muttered. (With my luck, if I got into the minisub, it would do its best Titanic imitation and immediately sink to the bottom.) It wasn’t that I was chicken; it’s just that I hated to see my friends die at such young ages. “You go ahead,” I had said. “I’ll follow you down in my scuba gear.”
Now, normally, you were supposed to dive in pairs; the “buddy system,” they called it. But since the minisub would be right beside me, and since no one else was available, we figured it would be okay.
So there I was, once again slipping on my scuba tank, mask, and flippers. I heard one of the crew members shout, “Hey, everybody, McDoogle’s going into the water again.” I wondered if maybe I should start charging admission.
Once again, Ker-slap, Ker-slap, Ker-slap, I made my way down the ladder toward the water, and once again Ker-slap, Ker-slap, “WHOA!” KER-SPLASH! I made my usual entrance.
Luckily, nobody saw. Well, nobody except Wall Street, Opera, Eric . . . and everybody else on board The Bullwinkle. Apparently, the crew had all shuffled on deck to see the show. I bobbed back to the surface doing my usual coughing and gagging routine. Of course everybody was clapping, and of course I gave them my world-famous McDoogle-the-goof wave.
I waited as Wall Street and Opera climbed into the minisub and down through the hatch. A moment later Eric closed the cover and started the engine. The minisub gave a high whine as air bubbles surrounded it, and it started to sink. I dove under the water and followed.
It was a completely different world under there. So peaceful, so calm. There were no sounds except for my breathing and the distant whine of the minisub. The water was crystal clear. I could see Opera and Wall Street, more than twenty feet away, waving to me through the minisub’s windows. Yes sir, everything was incredibly beautiful, which made me incredibly sad. Not because it was incredibly beautiful but because I was there, which meant its incredible beauty might soon turn to incredible disaster.
As the minisub continued to sink, I continued to kick and follow her down. Suddenly there was a dark form to my left. Uh-oh, I thought, here it comes—the ever-popular McDoogle Catastrophe.
But it wasn’t a catastrophe at all. It was Momma Dolphin and Babe. I don’t know where they came from, but they appeared and started twirling and circling around me just like they had yesterday. Once again Babe darted in and poked at my flippers. I reached out, and he shot away. A moment later he was back. Again I reached out. And again he took off. But the third time he stayed just long enough to let me actually touch him.
WOW! His skin was all slick and rubbery just like an old inner tube—or my little sister’s scrambled eggs. Take your pick.
He took off but returned again. It was like he was playing a shy game of tag. His fear slowly faded as he stayed beside me longer and longer. Of course, Momma was always nearby, keeping a careful eye on things. I couldn’t blame her. I’m sure my reputation for disaster had also spread throughout the sea world.
Finally, Babe stayed long enough to let me run my hand over his back, all the way to his top fin. When I touched it, he didn’t flinch. It was almost like that’s what he had wanted me to do. Then, ever so carefully, he flipped his tail back and forth. I held the fin tighter. We started to move. It was so cool. He pulled me through the water. I didn’t have to kick or do anything. Just hang on.
We turned and spun as he picked up speed. I don’t know how long we went on like that—maybe five, ten minutes. All I know is, when I looked over my shoulder to make sure Wall Street and Opera were getting good and jealous, I saw that the minisub was gone. Not gone like, it’s-just-out-of-sight gone, but gone like, uh-oh, I’m-down-here-all-alone-in-the-deep-blue-sea gone.
I figured now was as good a time as any to have a panic attack. But, just before I launched into hyperfear, I saw it. A long, dark, shadowy form. It was about thirty feet below me. Half of it rested on an undersea ledge. The other half stuck out over the ledge with nothing below it but water, water, and more water. There was no bottom in sight—just total blackness. I don’t want to say the drop-off went on forever, but if I ever wanted to get to the other side of the world, I knew were to go.
I looked back to the long, dark, shadowy form. But this was no ordinary long, dark, shadowy form. No way. This definitely had the shape of a submarine. A World War II, got-more-gold-than-we-can-spend-hidden-somewhere-inside-it submarine!
I was so excited that I let go of Babe and started swimming straight down toward the wreck. But I didn’t get far. Momma dolphin had other plans. She shot down in front of me and blocked my path. At first I thought she was playing. But each time I tried to get around her, she moved in the way. I turned to the left; she turned to the left. When I turned to the right, she turned to the right. The ol’ gal was purposely stopping me.
Maybe she was warning me about sharks or undersea monsters or pirates or dead thieves or . . .
Actually, that was enough ors. After thinking it through, I realized now was as good a time as any to turn tail and race back to the surface for my life. Not that I was scared or anything like that. But I remembered I hadn’t flossed my teeth that morning . . . or washed out my comb . . . or cleaned my glasses . . . or straightened my shoelaces. . . . (Don’t you just love excuses? They really come in handy if you want to keep living.)
Above me I saw the shadow of the boat, floating in the water. Good, I hadn’t drifted as far away as I thought. But as soon as I surfaced, went through my usual coughing and gagging routine, and finally looked around, I knew my little adventure wasn’t quite over.
The boat beside me was NOT The Bullwinkle. It wasn’t even the pirate’s Sea Witch. No, I couldn’t be that lucky. This boat was much smaller, and by the looks of it, the boat had been anchored here for quite a while.
Oh, and one other thing. It had the name Peacock scrawled on the side—the name of the missing thief’s boat!