Laugh Your Head Off Read online

  LAUGH

  YOUR HEAD

  OFF

  LAUGH

  YOUR HEAD

  OFF

  illustrations

  by

  Andrea

  Innocent

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About Laugh Your Head Off

  ‘I am a Ro-bot’ by Andy Griffiths

  ‘The Very Good Get’ by Andrew Daddo

  ‘Amelia Bucket and the Rockin’ Rock’ by Frances Watts

  ‘Rodent Pie and Toenail Tea’ by Sam Bowring

  ‘Unstick Your Face’ by Randa Abdel-Fattah

  ‘The Perfect Revenge’ by James O’Loghlin

  ‘Fairy Story’ by Judith Rossell

  ‘NitPlan’ by Tristan Bancks

  ‘G-Force George’ by Lollie Barr

  About the authors

  About the illustrator

  Copyright page

  About Laugh Your Head Off

  9 authors

  9 stories

  to make you laugh your head off.

  A choco-pops robot + a practical joke that goes wrong + a talking rock +organic rodent pies + a face that’s stuck + a plan for revenge + an out-of-control imaginary fairy + a nit epidemic + five kids and one chimp in space = one hilarious book.

  I AM A

  Ro-Bot

  by

  Andy

  Griffiths

  I’m sitting in the lounge room.

  I’m so bored that I’m tearing up the newspaper just for something to do.

  I take a page and tear it into strips. Then I take those strips and tear them into smaller strips. Then I tear those smaller strips into even smaller strips. Then I tear those even smaller strips into even smaller and smaller strips until they’re so small that I can’t tear them any more.

  I hate school holidays.

  Jen is slumped in an armchair reading a book called I, Robot. It has a picture of a robot on the cover.

  Hang on, that gives me an idea. Maybe there IS something I can do!

  I go to the kitchen, get a box of Choco-pops and pour them all out into a plastic bowl. Then I cut two eye holes in the box and pull it down over my head. I go back into the lounge room, walking stiffly with my legs really straight, my elbows by my sides and my hands out in front of me. Now I am a robot!

  I walk robotically across the room towards Jen.

  ‘I am a ro-bot,’ I say. ‘I am a ro-bot. I am a ro-bot.’

  Jen doesn’t even look up.

  I walk in circles around her chair. ‘I am a ro-bot,’ I say again. ‘I am a ro-bot. I am a ro-bot.’

  ‘Would you please be quiet, Andy?’ says Jen.

  ‘I can-not al-ter my vol-ume,’ I say. ‘It was pre-set at this lev-el at the ro-bot fac-tor-y.’

  ‘Well, could you leave the room, then?’ says Jen. ‘I’m trying to read a book.’

  ‘What is “read a book”?’ I say. ‘It does not com-pute.’

  ‘Reading books makes you smart,’ says Jen. ‘You should try it some time!’

  ‘I am al-read-y as smart as it is poss-i-ble to be,’ I say. ‘I am an An-dy-2000. The smart-est ro-bot ev-er made.’

  ‘Well, how come you’re walking around with a cereal box on your head, then?’ says Jen.

  ‘It is not a box,’ I say. ‘It is my head. I am a ro-bot.’

  Jen ignores me and goes back to reading her book.

  I bump into her chair.

  I do it again.

  And again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Finally, she looks up from her book. ‘QUIT IT!’ she shouts.

  ‘What is “quit it”?’ I say. ‘It does not com-pute. I am a ro-bot.’

  ‘I hate you, Andy,’ says Jen. ‘I really HATE you. I REALLY, REALLY HATE YOU!’

  ‘Jen!’ says Mum, coming into the room with a cup of tea in one hand and a crossword puzzle book in the other. ‘What an awful thing to say to your brother! Apologise to him this instant!’

  ‘But, Mum . . .’ says Jen.

  ‘No buts,’ says Mum. ‘There’s no excuse for speaking like that. Apologise right now!’

  Jen turns to me and smiles very sweetly. ‘I’m sorry, Andy,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry that I REALLY, REALLY HATE YOU SO MUCH!’

  ‘Jen,’ says Mum. ‘I don’t think that’s a very nice way of saying sorry.’

  ‘It does not mat-ter,’ I say. ‘I am a ro-bot.’

  ‘You mean ID-i-ot,’ says Jen.

  ‘Your child-ish in-sults do not hurt me,’ I say. ‘Ro-bots do not have feel-ings.’

  ‘That’s great!’ says Jen. ‘Have I told you lately how much you stink?’

  ‘Jen!’ says Mum.

  ‘It does not mat-ter what she says,’ I say. ‘Her words do not com-pute. I just feel sor-ry for her. My sen-sors in-di-cate that she is a ve-ry un-in-tell-i-gent life form.’

  ‘Ha!’ says Jen. ‘You said that you didn’t HAVE feelings, and then you said you FELT sorry for me! I got you!’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say. ‘I am an An-dy-2000: the most ad-vanced ro-bot in the world. I am pro-grammed to sim-u-late feel-ings to make it eas-i-er for hu-mans to int-er-act with me.’

  Jen should know better than to argue with a robot. Especially one with a brain processor as super-advanced as mine.

  ‘You think you are SO smart!’ she says. ‘But you’re not. You’re just annoying. Mum, can you tell Andy to stop annoying me?’

  ‘Robot,’ says Mum, ‘can you please stop annoying Jen?’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say. ‘I am pro-grammed to an-noy my sis-ter; it is one of my pri-ma-ry func-tions.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ says Jen.

  ‘I am pro-grammed to an-noy my sis-ter; it is one of my pri-ma-ry func-tions,’ I say again.

  Jen puts her fingers in her ears.

  ‘Robot,’ says Mum, sitting down at the table. ‘If you’ve got nothing better to do than annoy your sister, could you use your advanced robot brain to help me with this crossword? I need a five-letter word starting with “R” that means “human-like machine”.’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say. ‘It does not com-pute. I am not a cross-word puz-zle sol-ving ro-bot. I am not pro-grammed for that.’

  ‘What a pity,’ says Mum, chewing the end of her pencil. ‘Well, then, how about vacuuming the floor? There are little bits of paper everywhere.’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say. ‘I am not a floor-vac-uum-ing ro-bot. I am not pro-grammed for that.’

  Dad comes into the room with the laundry basket.

  ‘Why have you got a cereal box on your head, Andy?’ he says.

  ‘It is not a box,’ I say. ‘It is my head. I am a ro-bot.’

  ‘Great!’ says Dad. ‘I’ve always wanted my own robot. Could you make me a cup of coffee please, Robot?’

  ‘Neg-a-tive!’ I say. ‘I am not a cof-fee-mak-ing ro-bot.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ says Dad. ‘Beyond your capabilities, is it?’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say. ‘It is not be-yond my cap-a-bilit-ies. I am just not pro-grammed for it.’

  ‘Well, how about helping me sort out this washing, then?’ says Dad. ‘It’s the perfect job for a robot. Nice and repetitive. See? This sock goes with this sock. This sock goes with that sock.’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say. ‘I am not a wash-ing sort-erout-er ro-bot. I am not pro-grammed for that.’

  ‘What’s the use of a robot that can’t do anything I ask it to do?’ says Dad. ‘Robots were invented to help people.’

  ‘A-ffirm-a-tive,’ I say, ‘but ro-bots are not slaves. We have rights too. And be-sides, how can I make a cup of cof-fee if I am not pro-grammed to make a cup of cof-fee? It does not com-pute.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ says Dad, frowni
ng.

  ‘How about putting your head in the toilet and flushing it?’ says Jen.

  ‘Neg-a-tive. I am not pro-grammed for that,’ I say. ‘But I AM pro-grammed to put YOUR head in the toi-let and flush it.’

  ‘And is that it?’ says Mum. ‘Is flushing your sister’s head in the toilet the only thing that the most advanced robot ever developed is programmed to do?’

  ‘Neg-a-tive,’ I say, thinking quickly. ‘I am also programmed to watch tel-e-vis-ion. I am a tel-e-vis-ionwatch-ing ro-bot.’

  I walk over to the couch, sit down and point the remote at the TV.

  ‘Are you just going to let him get away with that?’ says Jen. ‘It’s not fair! He gets out of having to do ANYTHING just by saying he’s not programmed to do it.’

  ‘What else can we do?’ says Mum. ‘You heard him. He’s a “tel-e-vis-ion-watch-ing ro-bot”. That’s all he’s programmed to do.’

  ‘A-part from an-noy-ing Jen and flush-ing her head in the toi-let,’ I remind Mum helpfully.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ says Jen, shaking her head. ‘It’s just not fair. It’s just not fair.’ She’s beginning to sound a little like a robot herself.

  ‘Look on the positive side, Jen,’ says Dad. ‘Now that we know that Andy is really a robot, we’ll be able to turn his bedroom into a spare room. You and your friends will be able to use it as the hangout space you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ says Jen. ‘That’s a great idea!’

  ‘But that does not com-pute!’ I say. ‘That is MY room. Where would I sleep?’

  ‘Robots don’t need to sleep!’ says Dad.

  ‘I do,’ I say. ‘I have been pro-grammed to sleep.’ Ha! Got him there! If Dad thinks that by promising my room to Jen that I am going to stop being a robot and start helping around the house, he’s sadly mistaken. I am an Andy-2000, the smartest robot ever made, and Dad? Well, he’s just my dumb dad. Pretty much the dumbest dad in the history of dumb dads.

  ‘I understand you are programmed to sleep,’ says Dad. ‘But there’s no problem. You can sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, with the vacuum cleaner.’

  ‘But I am pro-grammed to sleep in a bed!’ I say.

  ‘That may be true,’ says Dad, ‘but we need the space, and it shouldn’t matter much to you whether you are lying down or standing up. You’re just a machine, after all.’

  ‘But it is dir-ty!’ I say. ‘And dark. And there are cob-webs.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think that would matter very much to you,’ says Dad. ‘You ARE a robot . . . aren’t you?’

  ‘A-ffirm-a-tive,’ I say. ‘But . . . but I am a scaredof-spi-ders ro-bot! I re-fuse to sleep in a cup-board! And you can-not make me!’

  ‘Actually, we can,’ says Dad. ‘You are a robot. You HAVE to obey us.’

  ‘Dad’s right,’ says Jen, holding up her robot book. ‘It says here that the second law of robotics is that a robot MUST obey orders given to it by human beings. Ah-ha! Got you again!’

  ‘How would you like it if I made you sleep in a cup-board?’ I say.

  ‘Not much,’ says Jen, ‘but them I’M not a robot.’

  ‘Well, I AM a ro-bot,’ I say, ‘and I do not want to.’

  Jen laughs. ‘Bad luck, Box-head.’

  ‘Shut up, hu-man,’ I say, ‘or I will be forced to e-lim-in-ate you.’

  ‘You can’t e-lim-in-ate me,’ says Jen. ‘If you knew anything, you’d know that the first law of robotics is that a robot may not injure a human being.’

  I hate those stupid laws. It’s obvious they were made up by a human being, and not a robot.

  ‘Jen’s right,’ says Dad. ‘You CAN’T harm us, and you MUST obey us.’

  ‘I will not!’ I say defiantly.

  ‘Then you leave us no option but to switch you off!’ says Dad.

  ‘You can-not switch me off,’ I say ‘I do not have an off switch.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ says Dad. ‘But we CAN put you in the cupboard.’

  ‘But you will not,’ I say. ‘You love me too much.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ says Dad, getting up and coming towards me.

  I run.

  Straight into a wall.

  It’s hard to see where you’re going with a Chocopops box on your head.

  Dad grabs me by the waist, picks me up and carries me into the hallway.

  But I’m not worried. I know he’s bluffing. There’s no way he’ll actually put me in the cupboard, not with all those cobwebs. Not MY dad.

  Dad opens the cupboard door and puts me inside.

  Hey! I can’t believe it! He put me in the cupboard! My own dad!

  Well, one thing’s for sure. I’m not STAYING in the cupboard!

  ‘Okay,’ I say, stepping out of the cupboard. ‘You win. I am not a robot. Okay? I am NOT a robot. I am definitely, positively, absolutely not a robot.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Dad. ‘Our Andy-2000 appears to be malfunctioning.’

  ‘Sounds like its “I am not a robot” button is stuck,’ says Jen.

  ‘Perhaps it needs a rest,’ says Mum.

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I need,’ I say. ‘I’ll just go and watch TV for a while.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ says Dad. ‘You are a televisionwatching robot and that is just more work for you. Your sensors are obviously overloaded. You need a proper rest.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ I say, ‘because I AM NOT A ROBOT!’

  ‘Box-head’s button is still stuck,’ says Jen. ‘I think he needs to stay in the cupboard for at least twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Very funny, Jen,’ I say.

  ‘What a good idea,’ says Mum.

  Dad picks me up again. He puts me back in the cupboard and shuts the door.

  I can’t believe it! I’m in a cupboard full of spiders and Dad just shut the door!

  Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just wait for them to go and then I’ll open it. It’s not like they would lock it or anything.

  I hear the lock turn.

  I don’t believe it.

  They locked it!

  I’m standing in a locked cupboard with a broom, a mop, a vacuum cleaner and cobwebs!

  ‘I’M NOT A ROBOT!’ I yell.

  ‘Have a nice rest,’ whispers Jen from the other side of the door. ‘We’ll check on you tomorrow.’

  I hear them walking away.

  Great.

  Now I’m stuck in a dark cupboard.

  Full of dust.

  And dirt.

  And cobwebs.

  Stay calm, Andy. Stay calm.

  Okay. I’ve stayed calm for long enough. Now . . . PANIC!

  I start pounding on the door. ‘LET ME OUT!’ I yell. ‘LET ME OUT!’

  ‘It’s no use,’ says a voice beside me.

  I freeze. ‘Who said that?’ I say.

  ‘Me,’ says the voice.

  ‘Who’s me?’ I say, barely able to speak.

  ‘I’m right next to you,’ it says.

  ‘The vacuum cleaner?’ I say.

  ‘Well, who else would it be?’ it says. ‘Mops can’t talk.’

  ‘But neither can vacuum cleaners,’ I say.

  ‘It’s exactly that sort of attitude that makes being a household appliance so unrewarding,’ it says. ‘And you’re a robot—you should know better.’

  ‘I’m not a robot,’ I say. ‘I was just pretending.’

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ says the vacuum cleaner. ‘But take my advice: the sooner you accept the truth about yourself the better it will be for you.’

  ‘But I’m not a robot!’ I say. ‘I’m a human being!’

  ‘Yeah,’ says the vacuum cleaner. ‘I used to think that too. But a few months of sucking up dust makes you see things differently. It’ll happen to you too, kid. Just give it time.’

  I nod.

  Maybe the vacuum cleaner is right.

  Even though I was just pretending to be a robot, maybe the truth is that I really am a robot. A robot who thought he was a hu
man who was pretending to be a robot.

  It’s possible, I guess.

  There’s only one problem.

  I’M TALKING TO A VACUUM CLEANER!

  They say talking to vacuum cleaners is the first sign of madness.

  Oh no . . . I’ve got cupboard fever!

  How long have I been in here?

  It feels like hours!

  Maybe days!

  Maybe even years!

  I become aware that I’m pounding on the door again. ‘HELP! HELP!’ I yell. ‘LET ME OUT! PLEASE!’

  ‘I told you, kid, it’s no use,’ says the vacuum cleaner. ‘There’s nobody coming to save you. Just accept it!’

  ‘Shut up!’ I say. ‘You’re just a vacuum cleaner!’

  ‘You don’t have to rub it in,’ it says sadly.

  ‘MUM! DAD!’ I yell. ‘JEN! Let me out! Please! I’m not a robot!’

  I hear giggling.

  Scraping.

  Suddenly the cupboard door opens.

  Light streams in.

  It hurts my eyes. I’ve been in the dark too long.

  ‘Come on out, Andy-2000,’ says Dad.

  ‘Mum?’ I say, blinking. ‘Dad? You’re still alive?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ says Mum. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘it’s just that I’ve been in there so long, I thought that maybe you’d all died.’

  ‘Andy,’ says Dad, ‘you’ve only been in there a few minutes.’

  ‘A few minutes?’ I say. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry,’ says Dad. ‘We were going to give you more of a rest but we need some work done.’

  ‘Are you going to be a good robot and do what we ask?’ says Mum. ‘Or do you need more cupboard time?’

  ‘No!’ I say, taking the Choco-pops box off my head. ‘I am NOT going to be a good robot. And I am NOT going to do what you ask. Because I am NOT a robot!’

  My family stares at me.

  ‘What do you mean you are NOT a robot?’ says Dad.

  ‘Of course you are a robot!’ says Mum.

  ‘I AM a hu-man!’ I say.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ says Jen. ‘Listen to the way you just said “hu-man”. You said it like a robot!’

  ‘That’s because I was speaking like a robot before,’ I say. ‘It was an acc-i-dent!’