Just Crazy Read online

  Andy Griffiths discovered a talent for crazy behaviour after accidentally sitting on an ants’ nest. Since then he has alarmed the world with even crazier behaviour, including sitting on an ants’ nest in the nude, sitting on a nude ants’ nest, and letting nude ants sit on him. He has written three other books in the Just! series—Just Tricking!, Just Annoying! and Just Stupid! and has accidentally destroyed the universe and every living creature in it on at least three separate occasions.

  Terry Denton is an illustrator He gets to illustrate a lot. He is lucky. Luckier than if he was a builder If he was a builder, he would hardly get to illustrate at all. If he was a dog, same thing . . . not much illustration. He has a friend who makes plastic things that fit on the ends of hoses. He doesn’t get to illustrate at all. Not that he minds, because he loves making plastic things that fit on the end of hoses. He’d hate to be an illustrator Terry, however, he’d hate to make plastic things that fit on the end of hoses. That’s why he is an illustrator.

  Also by Andy Griffiths

  and illustrated by Terry Denton

  Just Tricking!

  Just Annoying!

  Just Stupid!

  Just Crazy!

  Just Disgusting!

  The Bad Book

  The Cat on the Mat is Flat

  Also by Andy Griffiths

  The Day My Bum Went Psycho

  Zombie Bums from Uranus

  Bumageddon: the Final Pongflict

  Also by Andy Griffiths

  (with Jim Thomson and Sophie Blackmore)

  Fast Food and No Play Make

  Jack a Fat Boy: Creating a healthier lifestyle

  for you and your children

  First published 2000 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  These electronic editions published in 2000 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  Text Copyright © Andy Griffiths 2000

  Illustrations Copyright © Terry Denton 2000

  The moral rights of the creators have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Griffiths, Andy, 1961-.

  Just crazy.

  I. Denton, Terry, 1950- . II. Title.

  A823.3

  Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-008-1

  Microsoft Reader format 978-1-74197-209-2

  Mobipocket format 978-1-74197-410-2

  Online format 978-1-74197-611-3

  ePub format 978-1-74262-218-7

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Typeset in 12/16pt New Aster by Post Pre-press Group.

  Macmillan Digital Australia www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online.

  You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  Band-Aid

  The Dog Ate It

  A Crazy, Bad, Dumb, Bad, Bad, Dumb, Crazy, Bad Idea

  Rubbish

  Um-mah!

  Pinch

  Kittens, Puppies and Ponies

  Learn to Read with Andy

  Mudmen

  ave you ever had a Band-Aid on for so long that you can’t tell where the Band-Aid ends and your skin begins?

  I have.

  In fact, I have one right now.

  It’s been on for the last six months.

  I’ve grown quite attached to it actually, and it’s grown quite attached to me.

  We’ve spent a lot of time together.

  I did some calculations and I figured that I’ve had the Band-Aid on for one hundred and eighty-two and a half days, which is four thousand three hundred and eighty hours, or two hundred and sixty-two thousand and eight hundred minutes, or fifteen million seven hundred and sixty-eight thousand seconds or, to be even more precise, well, I can’t be any more precise because my calculator conked out when I tried to figure out how many milliseconds. There wasn’t enough room on the screen for all the zeroes.

  But you don’t need to know how many milliseconds it is to know that it’s more than enough time for a Band-Aid to get a very serious grip.

  It’s not my fault I had to leave it on so long.

  It’s Mum’s fault.

  If she didn’t act like Band-Aids cost about three million dollars each I’d be able to change them more often. She hides them and if I get hurt — no matter how bad — she’ll only ever let me have one Band-Aid and that’s it.

  If I pull it off too soon and ask her for another one she says, ‘Do you think we’re made of Band-Aids? Do you think Band-Aids grow on trees? Do you think Band-Aids are handed out free on street corners?’ And it doesn’t matter how many times I ask her, she won’t give me another one. So I’ve learned to leave them on. But I think I’ve left this one on just a little bit too long.

  I’m never going to get it off.

  But I have to.

  Because we’ve got school photos today.

  And it’s on my face. Right under my left eye.

  I can’t have my photo taken with a Band-Aid on my face.

  I’ll look like an idiot.

  I’ll look even stupider than the year I blinked.

  And even more stupider than the year the bench I was standing on rocked unexpectedly, and I opened my mouth in surprise.

  If I have my picture taken with this Band-Aid on, everybody will look at the photograph when they’re older and they won’t remember me as the brilliant genius I was — they’ll just remember me as the idiot with the Band-Aid on his face.

  It’s not fair.

  I always get Band-Aids.

  Everybody else has these really cool accidents where they end up with their arms and legs in plaster and they get all the sympathy and attention and everybody wants to sign their casts — it makes me sick. Why can’t I get a proper injury like that? It would be so cool to break every bone in my body and have to go to hospital and just lie around and watch television and eat ice-cream all day long.

  But that will never happen to me.

  If I broke every bone in my body the doctor would just look at me and say, ‘He’ll be right. Just put a couple of Band-Aids on him.’ And then my mum would look at the doctor with her hands on her hips and say, ‘Two Band-Aids? Do you think I’m made of Band-Aids? Do you think Band-Aids grow on trees? Do you think Band-Aids are handed out free on street corners?’ And the doctor would say, ‘Actually, you’re right — one Band-Aid will be adequate.’

  Anyway that’s pretty much the story of my life when it comes to accidents. Nothing too serious. Not even the latest accident which should have been a lot more serious than it actually was.

  I found this pair of glasses on the way home from school. Little gold-rimmed spectacles. Just lying in the middle of the footpath.

  I would have left them there except I’d read a survey in the paper saying that most people thought people who wore glasses were more intelligent than people who didn’t wear them. So I had this idea that maybe I could make my teachers think that I’m smarter than I really am and they would give me better marks. So I picked up the glasses and put them on, but the lenses made everything sort of wonky and out of foc
us. The last thing I heard before I fell was ‘Look out!’

  I ended up at the bottom of a roadworkers’ trench.

  But did I get a broken leg?

  No.

  A broken arm?

  No.

  Massive head injuries, complex fractures, amnesia and a nasty bruise?

  No.

  The only thing that broke were the glasses and the only injury I got was a cut under my left eye.

  So much for glasses making you look more intelligent. I ended up looking stupider than ever.

  But I’ll fix that.

  This Band-Aid has to go.

  And today is the day.

  I can’t put it off any longer.

  I grit my teeth.

  I clench my jaw.

  I take a deep breath.

  This is it.

  Stinging.

  Burning.

  Agony.

  Pure agony.

  More pure agony.

  And I haven’t even started yet.

  Just thinking about it is painful.

  What if my skin comes off with it?

  What if I start to bleed and I can’t stop?

  And what if I just bleed and bleed and bleed, and the whole bathroom fills up with blood?

  And what if I’m just treading blood and then my mum opens the door and all the blood surges out of the room like a tidal wave and picks Mum up as well as me and we go sailing off down the street and Mum screams, ‘What’s happening?’ and I’ll say, ‘I just peeled my Band-Aid off, that’s all’, and she’ll say, ‘What? You peeled your Band-Aid off? Do you think I’m made of Band-Aids? Do you think Band-Aids grow on trees? Do you think Band-Aids are handed out free on street corners?’ And I’ll say, ‘No, but they should be because then I wouldn’t have had to wear the same one for six months and none of this would ever have happened!’

  But you can go crazy thinking about stuff like this.

  Better not to think about it.

  I know what I should do.

  Stop thinking and just do it.

  Fast.

  Get it over and done with.

  A lot of people prolong the agony by thinking about it too much.

  But not me.

  When I say I’m going to do something then I do it. I don’t just go on and on about it. I do it.

  Really

  I really, really do it. Here goes.

  I’m going to do it.

  Right now.

  Starting in a moment.

  A moment from right now.

  I mean right then.

  Because in the time it took me to think this, right now became right then. And in the time it took me to think how right now became right then, right then became even righter then. And I can’t start righter then because that’s already gone so I’m going to start right now instead.

  On the count of three.

  One. Two. Two and a half. Two and three-quarters. Two and four-fifths. Two and five-sixths. Two and sixth-sevenths. Two and seven-eighths . . .

  This is not really working.

  Better not to count.

  Better just to do it.

  Better to stop talking about it and thinking about it and just do it. Do it Really do it.

  Now!

  But first I need a pair of tweezers because the edge of the Band-Aid is so gummed down that there’s nothing for me to grab onto.

  I open the bathroom cabinet and look around inside it for the tweezers. I can’t believe the stuff that’s in here.

  Baby shampoo, apple shampoo, antidandruff shampoo (that’s Dad’s in case you’re wondering), hairclips, razor blades, a tub of anti-wrinkle cream (that’s Mum’s), sunscreen, cotton buds, pimple cream (that’s Jen’s — although if you ask me it’s not working, in fact I reckon it’s having the opposite effect), headache tablets, vitamin C tablets, worming tablets (they’re Sooty’s . . . I think), a little container of weird-smelling ointment that Dad sometimes rubs onto his toes, about ten rolled-up tubes of almost-but-not-quite-finished toothpaste . . . Practically everything in the world except tweezers.

  And if you think I’m stalling for time by listing every single thing that’s in the bathroom cupboard then you’re wrong. I haven’t even mentioned the perfume, the mouthwash — Jen’s of course — the lipbalm, the bottles of nailpolish or the lipsticks. I could have mentioned these things but I didn’t because I’m not trying to waste time . . . I’m just trying to find the tweezers.

  I open the first-aid kit.

  Ah! There they are.

  I take them out.

  Now I can get this Band-Aid off. Once and for all.

  Except that the tweezers are a bit dirty. I should sterilise them under some hot water. You can’t be too careful where germs are concerned.

  I rinse the tweezers under the hot tap.

  I suppose you think I’m stalling again. Well, I’m not.

  I’m not scared of a bit of pain.

  In fact, I like it.

  I thrive on it.

  As far as I’m concerned, the more pain the better!

  Sometimes, when I’m hammering a nail into a piece of wood, I like to hit my thumb on purpose . . . just to feel it throb. When I’m handling paper I always try to get a paper-cut because they really hurt. And I always make sure I lick my knife because tongue-cuts are even more painful than paper-cuts. But if you think that’s bad, that’s nothing. I’ve got a book called The Encyclopedia of Executions and there’s some stuff in there that’s a lot worse than that. Like, for instance, there’s people getting boiled alive, burned at the stake, and stretched out in the desert, covered with honey and eaten by ants . . . but all that is nothing compared to the pain of peeling off a Band-Aid that’s been stuck to your skin for six months.

  But it must be done.

  And it’s going to be done now.

  The tweezers are ready.

  I turn the tap off.

  I brace myself.

  I slide the points of the tweezers under the gummy edge of the Band-Aid. And start pulling . . . AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! @%*!!!!!!!@ @##**@ OUCH!! $!$%# %#$% @@ EEEEEEK!! #!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##**@ # YOW!! %&^%# #@!!!#@# $!$%#%#$%@ @#!!!!*!!!!!!!@ @##**@#!%&^%# #@!!!#@#$!$ %#%#$%@@#!!!! *!!!!!!!@ @##**@# AAAGGGGHHH!!! %&^%##@!!!# @#$!$%#%# $%@ @#!!!!*!!!!! !!@@##**@#!%&^%# #@!!!#@#$!$ %#%#$% GRRRRRR!!! M@@#!!!!*!!! !!!!@@ ##**@#!%&^%# #@!!!#@#$!$ OOOCH! %#% #$%@@ #!!!!*!!!!!! !@@##** @#!%&^%## @!!!# OUOIU!!!! @# $!$%#%#$%@@ #!!!!* !!!!!!!@@##* *@#!%&^%##@!! !#@#$!$%#% UGGGH!!!! #$%@@#!!!!*! !!!!!!@@##** @#!%&^%## @!!!#@#$!$%#%#KHKJHOH!!!! $%@ @#!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##**@#!%&^%# #@!!! #@# $!$%#%#$ %@@#!!!!*!! !!!!!@ @##* OUCH!!! *@#!% &^ %##@!!!#@#$!$%#%#$ %@@#!!!!*!! !!!!!@@##**@ #!%&^ %##@!!! #@# $!$%#%#$ %@@#!!!!*!!! OWWWW!!!! @@##**@#!%&^ %# RESTRSGFS!!!! #@!!!# @#$! $%#%#$%@@#!!!!*!!!! !!!@@##**@# !%&^%##@!!!# @#$!$%#%#$%@ @ #!!!!* !!!!!!!@@##**@#!%& EEEEEK!!! ^%##@!!! #@ #$!$%#%#$YOWWWWW!!! %@@#!!!!*!!!!!!!

  @@ ##**@#!%&^%##@!!!#@ #$!$%#%# $%@@#!!!!* !!!!!!!@@# #**@#!%&^%## GFFG-NEYTHGNS{A!!! @!!!#@#$!$ %#%#$ %@@ #!!!!*!!!!!!!@ @##**@# ZXZCZXZCV!!!! % &^%##@!! @#$!$%#% #$%@@#!!!!* !!!!!!@@ ##** #!%&^%PLKDVVVV!!! ##©!!!# @#$!$%# %#$% @@#!!!!*!!!!! !!@@##**@#!%&^%##@ !!!#@ #$!$%#%#$%@ @#!!!!*!!!!!!! @IAARR? I?I?!!! @##**@#!% &^%##@!!!#@ #$!$%#% #$%@@#!!!! *!!!!!!!@@ OWWWW !!!##**@#! %& ^%##@!! !#@#$!$%#%#$%@@#!!!!*!!!!!!! @@ ##**@#!%&^%##@!!!#@#$! $%#%#$ AAAGHHH %@@#!!!!*!!!! !!!@@## MMMNN-BNBHHVG!!! **@#!%&^% ##@ !!!#©#$!$% #%#$% @@#!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##**@#!%&^QW-SQWQSWS!!!! %## @!!!#@# $!$%#%#$%@@ #!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##**@#!%&^%##@!!!#@#$!$%# %#$%@@#!!!!*!!! !!!@@##* *@#!%&^%##@!!! #@#$!$%#%# AAAGGH $%@@#!!!!*!!!!!! !@@##**@#!%& AAGGHHH!!!! %##@!!!#@ #$!$%# %#$%@@ #!!!!*!!!!!!!@ @##**@#!%&^ %##@!!!#@#$!$%#%#M.ZSBVKHGDC;WKC AJG!!!! $%@@# !!!!*!!!!!!!@@##**@#!%&^%## @!!!#@ #$!$%#%#$%@@#!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##** @#!%&^%##@ YIKES!!! #©#$!$% #%#$%@@ #!!!!*!!!!!!!@@ ##* * SDFACAVCA!!! @#!%&^% ##@ !!!#@# $!$%# %#$%@@#!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##

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@@ #!!!!*!!!!!!!@@##**@#!%&^%##@!!!#@ WOOHHH! #$!$%#%#$% @@#!!!!*!!!!!!!@ KFGSXKCHDGH!!! @ ##**@#!% &^%##@!!! #@# $!$%#%# $%@@ #!!!!*!!!!! !!@@DLKOKI-HJYHU!!! ##**@#!%&^ %##@!!!#@#$!$%# %#$%@ @#!!!!*!!!!!!!@@# #**@#!%&^% XXXXXCVBNM, NVCB!!##@!!!#@#$!$%# %#$%@@#!!!!*!!!!!!! @@## ** PIWEYRG-PQWYHCI!!!!@#!%&^%##@!!!#@#$!$%#%# QEPIOURGHFPOWUYOUFJWPOFYVGO-EUIDQERQWPEI7FTYN’!!!! $%*$^*%$*^$ SD;UB, JXVFXFDJDFSKDSU!!!! IDFLKDCG-DNSDFXCZO!!!! IWRQOAXM, C;VBJHH!!!! *!!!! !! !@@##**@#!% &^%##@!!!#@#$!$%#% #$%@ @#!!!!* !!!!!!!@@ ##**@#!%&^%##@!!! #@#$!$%# %#$%@ @#!!!! AAAGGGHHHH!!!

  I have to stop.

  It’s the worst pain ever.

  It’s the worst pain in the history of worst pains.

  And I’ve only peeled off one and a half millimetres. I’ve still got another sixty-eight and a half millimetres to go.

  Maybe fast is not the answer.

  But neither is slow.

  I can’t leave it on.

  But I can’t peel it off,

  To peel or not to peel?

  That is the question.

  Or is it?

  There must be a better way than peeling.

  Peeling sucks.

  It really sucks.

  Sucks?

  Sucks!

  That’s it!

  Sucking is the answer!

  I can use our new vacuum cleaner to suck this stupid Band-Aid off.

  Our old vacuum cleaner broke recently and Mum and Dad replaced it with a new super-powerful model. It’s so powerful it can practically suck dust off the surface of the moon. Not that I’ve actually tried yet, but I bet it could.

  The Band-Aid won’t stand a chance.

  All I’ll have to do is wave the vacuum cleaner near it and the Band-Aid will be off in a second.

  No peeling.

  No pain.

  No nothing.

  Just one quick suck and it will all be over.

  I go to the hall cupboard and get the vacuum cleaner.

  It’s huge. I drag it into the bathroom and plug it in.

  I take the brush off the end of the nozzle. I don’t want anything getting in the way of its sucking power.