My Life as a Supersized Superhero with Slobber by Bill Myers

Author:Bill Myers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson

Chapter 7

Late-BreakingNews

We borrowed a topcoat from Junior’s dad’s closet and threw it on me. It was better than just underwear, but the headless look was a little tacky (and a lot freaky), so we grabbed a ski mask and pulled it down over my face. I knew it made me look like a bad guy, but I figured it was better to look like a bad guy than a no guy.

Meanwhile, Wall Street called a taxi.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we climbed in.

“WACK-O TV,” Wall Street explained.

“Why?”

“In order to warn people about world hunger, we have to tell them about world hunger.”

“So, we’re going to tell one of their reporters?” I asked.

“Actually, you’re going to be one of their reporters,” Junior said.

“I’ll WHAT?!”

“Relax,” Wall Street said. “You’ll just sneak into the studio, climb into the news anchor’s chair, and give the report.”

“I’ll WHAT?!”

Junior explained. “I attempted to reason with them. I even asked them to do a special report about the hungry.”

“And?”

“And they said people were more interested in watching reality shows.”

“What could be more real than people starving?” I asked.

“He means real reality,” Wall Street said. “Like silly people being dared to do silly things, or date silly people, or make and wear silly clothes.”

I frowned. “But that’s so . . . so . . .”

“Silly?” Wall Street offered.

I nodded.

“Which is why you’ll be going on TV to tell them what’s really real.”

“I’ll WHAT?!” (Hey, when you find a good phrase, it doesn’t hurt to wear it out.)

We arrived at the station, climbed out of the taxi, and slipped into the lobby. All the time I kept trying to reason with the two of them. “I can’t go on TV, I get tongue-tied just giving book reports in front of our class.”

“This will be an entirely different experience,” Junior assured me as we dropped to our knees and snuck past the receptionist’s desk toward the studio doors.

“Yeah,” Wall Street whispered. “You won’t be seen by a bunch of dopey kids.”

“That’s a relief,” I sighed.

“You’ll be seen by millions of them . . . and their parents, too.”

“I’ll mwat?!” (That was supposed to be another “I’ll WHAT?!” but they managed to cover my mouth before I finished.) When they were sure I was under control, they removed their hands, and we continued toward the studio doors. Once we arrived, we pushed them open and entered.

The place was darker than a piece of licorice stuck to a black cat during an eclipse in the middle of the night.

TRANSLATION: It was dark.

Except for the empty newsdesk. It was lit up brighter than a vanilla shake dumped on a white cat during a snowstorm in the middle of— well, you get the picture.

Once inside, we stood up and looked around.

The good news was, nobody was there. The bad news was, we were.

“I r-r-really don’t think I can d-d-do this,” I stuttered.

“Wally, you must relax.”

“B-b-but—”

“Actually, Wall Street was quite incorrect when she said you’d be seen by millions,” Junior said.

“Sh-sh-she was?”

“Yes. In reality, you won’t be seen by anyone.

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