A TV no no
Boy's Best Friend
Television can have a really bad influence on you sometimes. That's what I discovered last Tuesday, which turned out to be the 13th anniversary of my brother's favourite show, and the day the principal visited every class at school! Also, it was the most embarassing day of my life, involving bum-faced robots and shorts, big laughs and terrible school reports.
"But Mum! I can't go to the dentist right now! The 'Poopbusters' is on!" Shouts Orville down the flight of stairs, near the open door of our second-storey bedroom.
I hear our poor mother muttering something about making a huge mistake of installing a television set in our room.
"*Sigh* If you don't come down now, my boy, then your teeth are going to be coated in decay that is far more disgusting than Captain Toilet Bowl's underwear!" She replies impatiently.
"That does it" My irritaing older brother freezes on the spot, takes his eyes off the Slimey Science magazine in his hands and rushes out the door. The thumps of his feet against the carpeted steps seem to linger in the air long after his Nike sneakers leave their extent.
"I don't want my breath to be as bad as Jake's." The big brat tells Mum as they walk out the door.
Secretly, I scowl at that rude comment.
"Is it gonna hurt? Is the orthodonkist going to ask me weird questions about my extaction?" Babbles Orville like a toddler.
"I assure you, Orville," answers Mum in a huffy tone, "that nothing will go wrong. And it's 'orthodontist', and 'extraction'." The pair of them are already halfway across the garden path.
I watch from the side window until they both rev off in Dad's Commodore. Luckily, he isn't here to make them take the bus, which is more like being confined to a smelly old shoebox for at least two hours. Although Orville enjoys watching gross TV shows, he is quite strict about his own hygiene issues.
When I turn around, I am suddenly confronted by noise and flashes erupting from the dreaded movie box like deathly lava from a volcano. The tiny cartoon figures within the demonic screen jeer at me as they perform grotesque movements with their backsides.
Huh. No wonder I never thought this measely programme deserved a name as pleasant as 'Poopbusters'; The Bionic Boo Bums would have been better. But wait a minute. Who had turned the television on?
Just then, the blaring device automatically switches off. A suspenseful silence follows. The side window shuts with a thud behind me. I jump. A shadow slinks in the corner of my eye. A shadow in the shape of a bum.
Drops of sweat trickle down my neck as I feel cold, claw-like limbs close around the tips of my shoulders. I shift my head a fraction to gaze at the creature behind me.
Judgeing by the mega-big head, very much resembling a bum, the loo paper logo on his plated armour and his metallic hands and feet, which looked like they had been carved out of material made to construct sinks, there is no mistaking that this is the notorious minion of Captain Toilet Bowl, Dr.Allegro Urinestein, from Orville's favourite TV show.
Am I hallucinating or what?! Animations can't come to life!
Or can they?
Especially in the home of a fifteen year old, who happens to be my brother, who has an obsession for a paticular cartoon!
I start to shake uncontrollably. In fact, my back shudders so much that the monster clutching at my body removes his grasp, allowing me to escape to the opposite room... Mum and Dad's lair.
This is the last place I would go if I have time to think about my deadly situation! Being an eight-year-old kid who's smarter than his elder sibling, this is a really dumb thing to do.
But, no time for feeling sorry for myself, Urinestein has already cornered me beside my parents' bed, and, even worse, his army of gas-gun soldiers are marching up behind him!
Immediately, I duck, cowering at the bottom of the bedside table, just missing a sizzling bomb fired towards my face.
Pew, did it stink! I cover my nose with the collar of my T-shirt, and, as soon as the reeking mist clears, I realise that I have to stand up for myself against these robotic beasts.
The Bionic Bums' cackles cease when I lift myself up, my expression free of distress. I bust some hip-hop moves on the floor in front of them, tripping their leader with a single knock from my leg.
Next, I do a forward roll, crashing through the small artillery like an invincible bowling ball.
But soon, I come face to face with Captain Toilet Bowl, the Master.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Jake Perd, the nerd," says the villan in a sing-song voice.
That single insult drives my anger, as I leap into the air, performing an aerial kick, my foot landing in Toilet Bowl's chest.
Sparks fly out of his spacesuit, his face contorts into a distorted countenance, and finally, the infamous CTB is dead.
I feel just like Jackie Chan, or whatever his name is, that golden moment. I shut my eyes gently, but my daydreaming is soon over.
"JAKE PERD, SNAP OUT OF IT!" Pierces a furious voice into my eardrum.
My eyelids flick open, to reveal to me a messed-up classroom. There is no Allegro Urinestein, nor gas-gun army, nor even a Captain Toilet Bowl. Just an injured principal, knocked-down tables and chairs, and Orville with a hurt ankle.
As for myself... ARRRRRRG! How did this happen?!
Kids were laughing their heads off at my undressed waist-down body parts. The only thing I'm wearing is a pair of undies and a school shirt.
I'd left my shorts on a nearby desk... the teacher's!, and my shoes and socks... stuck on the whiteboard with superglue?
"Young man, after ten weeks of lunchtime detention, you will be expelled. Got that? Now put your clothes on, for goodness sake!" Thunders Mrs. Hulk, our classroom executive.
This has to be a nightmare. Orville is snickering at me. Students are calling me names. One is even holding up an edition of Andy Griffith's Bumagadon, The Last Pongflict' in my face, calling me a zombie bottom from Uranus.
This was not the respect that I deserved!
I must have watched too much 'Poopbusters' last night.