My Life and Other Stuff That Went Wrong (9 page)

I love funny books, but it's super-hard to find a book that makes you laugh out loud.

Here's my top ten, featuring bums, billionaires and the world's most annoying baby brother.

‘This'll be awesemic,' Jack says.

He is standing on the road outside my house searching for customers. I'm kneeling on the front lawn, writing the words ‘Tom's FunLand' on a big piece of cardboard.

‘
Tom's
FunLand?' Jack spits.

‘I thought of it.'

‘No, you didn't. We both did. It should be Jack and Tom's FunLand.'

‘Jack and Tom's FunLand?' I ask.

‘Yeah.'

‘But that sounds dumb.'

‘Only because it's got the word “Tom” in it.'

I add Jack's stupid name to the sign. It messes up the whole look of it. Now we probably won't get any customers and it will be all his fault.

‘How much should we charge for admission?' I ask.

‘Ten bucks.'

‘Ten bucks?'

‘Do you think that's too cheap?' Jack asks.

I look down the side of my house to the backyard theme park we have built this morning. In among the rides there are broken bikes, a rusty totem tennis pole, a dog-mauled soccer ball and an above-ground swimming pool that has not been used in five years.

‘Fair enough,' I say.

I write ‘$10' on the sign. As I sticky-tape it to a tree I notice Mr Skroop, the world's scariest relief teacher, pruning his hedge next door. Mr Fatterkins, his enormous orange cat, sits on his shoulder. Skroop hasn't been
getting much teaching work at school lately, not since he threw the whiteboard marker at Sam Stubbs and knocked out Sam's left-front tooth. But, then, a month ago, Skroop moved in next door, which proves my theory that I am cursed.

‘Hey, remember when he chopped your football up and posted it into your letterbox?' Jack whispers.

‘Yeah. I remember.'

‘And when he ate my scab.'

‘Yes, Jack. I remember that, too. I watched him do it.'

Mr Skroop catches me staring. ‘What are you up to, Weekly?' he rasps in a voice like twisted metal.

‘Nothing,' I say, blocking his view of the sign.

He slithers towards me, trying to read the sign over my shoulder. He clutches the pruning shears. He has blood from a cut running down the fluorescent-white skin of his arm. Mr Fatterkins licks his ear.

‘FunLand,' he says. ‘Another harebrained scheme with that idiot friend of yours? Well, Mr Fatterkins is about to have his morning nap, and if I hear anything –
anything
– from this “FunLand”, I'll call the cops. And then it won't be so “fun”, will it?'

Skroop's favourite pastime is calling the
cops. Last week he called the cops on the postman for not delivering his mail, but it turned out that no-one had sent him anything. Mr Fatterkins hisses at me and claws at the shredded wool of his master's maroon jumper. Skroop waves a gnarled dinosaur finger. ‘The cops, you hear me?'

‘Yes, Mr Skroop.'

He flashes his brown, gappy teeth and heads off, stopping at his front gate to glare at me. I'm pretty sure I see a forked tongue slip out of his mouth and back in before he slides up his white-painted front path.

‘Nice guy,' Jack says. ‘Wonder if he'd be interested in some work on our Haunted House attraction.'

‘Two hours till Mum gets home. We better get some customers.'

We stand together on the kerb, searching, waiting. It's not long before Nick Crabtree and his little sister, Elsie, come by.

‘You guys want to do something super-fun?' Jack asks.

‘What?' Nick is a tall kid who always seems to have a large Slurpee in his hand.

Jack points to the sign.

Nick reads: ‘Tom and Sack's FunLand.'

‘Not “Sack”. Jack!' Jack says.

I laugh. Jack punches me in the arm and tries to scratch the curvy bit off the top of the J.

‘What's a FunLand?' Nick asks.

‘Like a theme park,' I say. ‘It's in my backyard.'

Nick and Elsie look down the side of the house to the yard. Nick takes a long sip on his Slurpee. Elsie picks her nose and eats it.

‘Come have a look,' Jack says. ‘It's epic.'

Jack takes them up to the side gate to read the list of attractions sticky-taped to the fence.

‘Cool,' Nick says. ‘Where do we start?'

‘You start,' Jack says, ‘by paying your ten bucks.'

‘Ten bucks?' Nick laughs and a small amount of blue Slurpee shoots out of his right nostril.

‘Not per ride,' Jack says. ‘It's an All-Day FunPass.' He smiles, which makes him look like a second-hand car salesman.

‘I'm not paying ten bucks to play on a bunch of broken junk in Tom's backyard.'

‘Okay, five,' Jack says quickly.

‘No way.' Nick grabs Elsie by the shoulder to leave.

‘Okay, two,' Jack begs. ‘Please?'

Nick fishes around in his pocket and
opens his hand. He has a fifty-cent piece with a hunk of green chewing gum stuck to it, coated in sand.

‘You can keep the gum,' he says, taking a long slurp on his drink.

Jack snatches the fifty cents and gnaws the gum off. ‘You operate the rides,' he snaps at me. ‘I'll go and find some proper paying customers.'

I swing open the gate and lead them into the theme park.

‘A world of wonder awaits!' I announce, sounding a bit too much like Jack.

Elsie tries the Clothes Line Carousel first. Nick lifts her up and places her inside the springy seat that I've fashioned out of two of Mum's bras. I spin the rusty clothes line around as fast as I can. She squeals with joy, and I ask her to keep it down so she doesn't wake
Mr Fatterkins. One of the bra straps snaps, but I manage to rig it up again.

Five minutes later, Jack is back with Mac and Lottie Rowland, two kids from down the street. Nick is on the Jelly Slip ‘n' Slide. Elsie and Lottie hit the Trampoline of Death with the massive rip in the centre and a pot plant cactus underneath. Mac has a ride on the dog. They're all starting to have fun, and it's not long before Jack returns with four girls I have never seen before. They try the Mayo Sponge Throw. One pokes her head through the pool fence while the others chuck a mayonnaise-dipped sponge at her face.

‘Is there any food for sale?' one of the girls asks.

‘Um … yes,' I say. I race up the back steps. As I open the door I turn and look out across the yard to see our theme park in full swing. I can't believe that one of our crazy ideas is actually working.

In the fridge I find the meatloaf we're having for dinner tonight, an old onion, some taco sauce, half a brown lettuce and a withered turnip. In the pantry I find a box of cereal and a rusty can of creamed corn. Then … bingo! Half a packet of broken Scotch Finger biscuits and a Ziploc bag with seven lolly snakes from two Halloweens ago.

I fill some plastic cups with orange cordial, put them on a tray and head out onto the veranda.

‘The restaurant is open for business!' I announce and kids flock. Nick Crabtree buys all the drinks. Jack helps himself to the largest
chunk of Scotch Finger biscuit. I whack him and the biscuit falls to the floor, but he eats it anyway. He tells everyone that the biscuits are a dollar each, fifty cents for one finger, twenty-five for a handful of crumbs. We end up getting ten cents a biscuit, which is close enough.

The two-year-old snakes are the bestseller. Twenty cents each. Jack auctions the last snake to the highest bidder and gets a dollar for it, then everyone hits the rides again.

‘Weekly!' says a voice.

The smile fades from my face when I see Skroop and Fatterkins staring over the fence near the Sponge Throw. Skroop must be standing on a ladder. Either that or anger makes him levitate. He has a phone pressed to his ear.

‘You have ruined Mr Fatterkins' nap time,' he shouts. ‘He'll be tired for days. I am currently telephoning the police.'

‘Watch out!' a girl yells, but it's too late. A sponge, thick with mayonnaise, cops Mr Skroop in the side of the face and spatters Fatterkins' fur.

Skroop lets out a strangled roar and wipes madly at his cat, turning the cat's fur into dreadlocks.

‘Sorry!' I call out.

‘Hello,' he barks into the phone. ‘I'd like to report a neighbourhood disturbance. A riot at number forty-two Kingsley Street. I've just been assaulted with a missile … My name is Skroop. Walton Skroop.'

The side gate
screaks
and a gang of nine
or ten kids from the neighbourhood wanders into my yard.

‘Sorry, but we can't take any more customers!' I say.

‘Relax. It'll be fine. I have an idea,' Jack says. He hits the kids for cash.

Suddenly, we have about twenty riders but only seven official rides. Queues start to form and kids complain about the heat. Mum's bra strap breaks again but I can't fix it. The Slip ‘n' Slide gets ripped and we run out of jelly.

‘This theme park sucks,' Mac says. ‘I want my money back.'

‘We'd better pack up,' I tell Jack, who is running around with a lit match, lighting tiki torches underneath the Tree House High Dive. The torches are on bamboo poles taller than me, with thick white wicks poking from their tops. ‘The place is falling apart. Mum's home in twenty-five minutes and Skroop just called the cops!'