CHAPTER 5
Dear Earthling,
Thank you for your letter and the picture of you on a “roller coaster.” What a strange idea: a vehicle that takes you along a bumpy track and ends up back where you started.
“The changes in gravitational pull exerted upon your molecular structure produce chemicals which mimic euphoria.”
—Dethbert’s dad
I couldn’t really see the point, but when I talked to my dad about it he explained that:
No, I didn’t understand what he was on about either, but then he said: “It feels smooshy,” and I totally get that. In fact I’ve been feeling extra smooshy myself lately because a new girl just moved into my street, and she is awesome times ten to the power of four!
Her name is Killian Brown, and her family recently arrived back here after living on a neighbouring planet called Mukon.
Mukon is way behind Crank on the evolutionary scale (even further behind than Earth), and its local people the Mukonoids are little more than savages.
Apparently Killian’s dad was a missionary trying to convert them to Crankism, but he gave up on that ever happening when he had a dream that he was in a hot tub, then woke up to find he actually was in a hot tub (of soup) and was set to play the starring role in the Mukonoids’ next meal, if you know what I mean.
So, the Mukonoids’ loss is my gain as Killian has got to be the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.
3 Reasons why Killian is amazing:
- She smells of rawberries.
- She has the most bulbous head imaginable.
- She is 1.09 years older than me, yet she actually SPOKE to me.
Andi is here, and he’s just pointed out that what she said to me was:
“Stop following me around, freak.”
I told Andi that it’s extremely rude to read other people’s private letters over their shoulder.
I’m sure he is just feeling left out though, and jealous that Killian and I have formed such a strong bond. He told me yesterday that he’s going out with a fridge-freezer called Candy. I thought he’d made this up, but then he showed me the photo of her he had in his wallet. Sad to say it was obviously cut out from an old catalogue—I could even see part of the order number. When I mentioned this, he said it was her phone number. I didn’t push things, as I quite like the idea of double dating at some point in the future.
In other news, I managed to sell all ninety-six of my puffle-sprout flapjacks. I say sold, but a more accurate description would be “gave away as a free gift.” I’ve been charging kids at our school a dollop each to have a go at Andi’s onboard games console at munch-time, which has been pre-loaded with—you’ve guessed it—Mortal Wombat. It was Andi’s idea really (he does occasionally have fleeting sparks of genius) and we just gave the flapjacks away as freebies to paying customers. We had to use five of them to bribe Mr Selfish, our munch-time snoopervisor, though. Luckily the only thing he likes more than getting kids into trouble is sprouts. That afternoon in assembly no one could hear our headmaster rambling on about school traditions over ninety-plus musical bottom parples. It was highly amusing—but it did whiff a bit!
What makes you laugh on Earth? Tell me in your next letter,
Your friend,
Dethbert Jones.