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Super Goofballs, Book 3: Super Underwear...and Beyond!
Chapter One
Mighty Terrible Situation
Mighty Tighty Whitey was one freaked-out pair of jockey shorts.
"Don't worry, Mum and Dad!" he shouted in his thick English accent, striking a super-heroic pose. "I'm comin'!"
Mayor What's-His-Name had just phoned to tell us that Lousy Lou the LaundroManiac had clothesnapped Jumpin' Jack Jockstrap and the Battlin' Bra of Birmingham, Mighty's superhero parents.
Mighty was mighty upset. He tensed up and his elastic waist/headband snapped shut. His face got bright red and hot air built up inside. The air had to go somewhere, and it pushed up and out, causing the elastic to vibrate, making a superhigh-pitched farting sound.
Blunder Mutt laughed so hard he fell on his face. He kept laughing as he stood up, dusted himself off, and fell on his face again.
Mighty Tighty Whitey was not amused. "I don't know what you find so bloomin' funny 'bout a supah bra and jockstrap gettin' clothesnapped!"
He whacked a nail into the floor with three superfast hammer whacks. Then he stretched the backside of his waist/headband up over the front side, hooked it on the nail, dug in his heels and leaned back, stretching all the way across the room.
"Jeepers-freepers, I wishes I could be makin' myself longer an' longer all aways crosstah room!" said Blunder Mutt.
"I think our friend Blunder means to say he wishes he were stretchy," I said.
"No," Blunder replied, a little annoyed, "Blunder meanded to say jeepers-freepers, I wishes I could be makin' myself longer an' longer all aways crosstah room!"
"All right, allright . . . stand back!" shouted Mighty Tighty Whitey, straining hard against the super tension of his elastic. "Fantastic! Elastic! Sarcastic!"
But just as Mighty Tighty Whitey was about to let go and fly through the window, the nail ripped a gaping hole through the fabric of his forehead—if a pair of underwear actually has a forehead—and he flew backwards instead, into the kitchen-lair, and landed with a crash into the open dishwasher/3D electron probe analytic refractor. The impact caused the door to slam shut and the machine to turn on. We heard a muffled "Blubba flah-bubbahboobly-floobly!" from inside.
The Goofballs went into superpanic mode. And that's a lot of panicked goofballs: Blunder Mutt (the dumbest, bravest super lunatic ever), Super Vacation Man (vacation-obsessed avenger and Blunder's partner), Scoodlyboot (SVM's childhood dog, recently made young and beautiful again, and for some strange reason deeply in love with Blunder Mutt), Wonder Boulder (624 pounds of gung-ho super granite), Pooky the Paranormal Parakeet (tiny turban-wearing, mind-reading bird), SuperSass CuteGirl (supersassy, supercute, super girlish), the Impossibly Tough Two-Headed Infant (Biff and Smiff, super-musclebound, constantly arguing twins), the Frankenstein Punster (monstrous master of the bad joke), and T-Tex3000 (supersmall space-cowboy-dinosaur-headcase). Plus, the original residents: Granny (the Bodacious Backwards Woman) and me (Amazing Techno Dude). It was getting to be a super-full house.
We struggled to open the door, but Mighty was holding it closed from inside.
"Blubba flah-bubbah-boobly-floobly!" he yelled again.
"What the—Splash! Sploosh! Splutter!—is he trying to say?" said Super Vacation Man.
"Mighty's soaping to say something, but he in bad bubble and all washed up," said the Punster.
"Are you about finished?" I said.
But Blunder Mutt understood Mighty. "Doze underprants speakish my languish!"
Turns out when you speak with a mouthful of soapy water, you're pretty much speaking Blunder Mutt's language.
"He saying dat if he can't even fly out a window—dah easierest ting ever fer underprants—then somebudda else better save his underprants parents, 'cause dis underprants is just not super nuff!"
"Can't do it?" I said. "He's usually such a confident guy. The most confident pair of underpants I've ever met."
I yanked with all my might on the dishwasher/ refractor door and it flew open, letting out a huge cloud of steam. There was Mighty Tighty Whitey standing among the dripping plates, cups, and refracted things. He was soaking wet and all spaced-out from the steamy heat.
His eyes rolled backwards and he stumbled forwards. He fell flat on the floor with a loud, soggy thwack.
Super Goofballs, Book 3: Super Underwear...and Beyond!. Copyright © by Peter Hannan. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
