Funny Boy Versus the Bubble-Brained Barbers from the Big Bang Read Online Free PDF Page B

see,” Dr. Breznitski said, a little flustered. “But let’s focus on the boy throwing the rock. What’s he throwing the rock at? His father, perhaps?”
    “No, a polar bear,” I said.
    “What polar bear?!” Dr. Breznitski asked, raising her voice a little.
    “The polar bear behind the Eskimo girl,” I explained.
    “Forget about the picture,” Dr. Breznitski said, snatching the card away from me and fumbling for something in her desk drawer. “I’d like you to play with these wooden blocks. I’ll watch. Be creative. Just do whatever you want with them.”
    I took one of the wooden blocks, put it in my mouth, and ate it.
    “What are you, crazy?!” Dr. Breznitski screamed. “Why did you do that?”
    “I’m having a snack,” I said, munching the block.
    “Do you have any idea how much those blocks cost?”
    “You told me to do whatever I want with them,” I said.
    “I didn’t think you were going to eat them!”
    “If you didn’t want me to eat them, you shouldn’t have told me to do whatever I wanted with them.”
    Dr. Breznitski pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her forehead with it.
    “I’m sorry,” she told me, getting up and walking to the door. “They never prepared me for a situation like this in graduate school.”
    “No problem,” I said. “Hey, those blocks are good. Can I have another one?”
    She rushed out of the office and came back in, this time with Bob Foster. He said hi and took the seat next to mine.
    “Mr. Foster,” the doctor explained, “I’ve done some tests with Funny Boy and come to the conclusion that he suffers from a very rare psychological disorder.”

    Bob Foster leaned forward in his seat, a concerned look on his face.
    “What is it, doctor?”
    “Funnyitis,” Dr. Breznitski explained. “The complete inability to take anything seriously.”
    “Will you have to amputate my head?” I asked.
    “See what I mean?” Dr. Breznitski said.
    “Is there a cure, doctor?” asked Bob Foster.
    “Sadly, no,” Dr. Breznitski explained. “But we may be able to keep it under control.”
    “How?” Bob Foster asked. “With medication?”
    “No,” Dr. Breznitski explained. “The only effective treatment for funnyitis is bombarding the child with very serious and unexciting stimuli. Doing this, we hope to neutralize the part of his brain that responds to humor.”
    “So what should I do for him, Doctor?”
    “Have him watch golf tournaments on television,” Dr. Breznitski suggested. “Also, try the Food Network. Expose him to foreign films. Newbery Award–winning books. Things like that. Whatever you do, make sure you keep him away from anything that is amusing or entertaining in any way.”
    “What about when he grows up?” Bob Foster asked the doctor. “Will he be able to lead a normal life?”
    “It’s hard to say,” the doctor replied. “Some sufferers of funnyitis become stand-up comics. More likely he will become one of those annoying adults who makes a dumb joke no matter what you say to them. It’s a sad, pathetic life, but at least he isn’t likely to hurt anyone.”
    Dr. Breznitski got up from her chair, which I guess was her signal that we should leave. Bob Foster and I got up, too.
    “Begin treatment tonight,” the doctor suggested. “I want him to watch two hours of the Weather Channel. If he finds anything funny, call 911.”
    I’d had enough. I was sick of people testing me and asking me questions and deciding what was wrong with me.
    “There’s nothing wrong with me!” I shouted. “You’re the crazy ones! I’ve got to save the world!”
    “Save the world?” Dr. Breznitski laughed. “From what?”
    “Those barbers! They’re going to take everybody’s hair and flush it down the drain, cutting off our water supply!”
    “Are you referring to Bo, Barry, and Burly?” Dr. Breznitski said. “That’s my favorite show.”
    “Hey, mine, too!” Bob Foster added.
    “It’s not a show!” I screamed. “It’s for