THE JUNKYARD JOUST
On the outskirts of Pookesville, Si, Meese, and Curly arrived at the junkyard owned by Irvin Dubowski. Mr. Dubowski’s smiling face was plastered on a large billboard over the entrance to the junkyard. In the picture on the billboard the owner was puffing on a large cigar and the caption read, I’VE NEVER MET JUNK I DIDN’T LIKE.
“Sounds like my kind of guy,” said Si happily. He and Meese were dressed in an orange jumpsuit with heavy work boots.
“Wowlookatthisplace,” said Curly, staring at the mountains of junk everywhere. Curly had on his football sweater, sweatpants, and tennis shoes.
They watched as a pudgy man in a shiny suit came out of the stacks of junk and approached them. He held out his hand for Si.
“Irvin Dubowski,” he said, smiling and chomping on a cigar.
“I know that name,” cried out Si.
“It’s the guy on the billboard!” said Meese in exasperation.
Dubowski pointed a finger at Si and smiled. “I can tell you’re gonna be a real tough negotiator, slick. I better watch myself.”
Si puffed out his chest. “Well, I have been around the block a few times. Yessir, it’d be pretty tough to pull anything over on me.”
Dubowski held up his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of trying. Just make me look pretty silly going up against a smart feller like yourself.”
Meese whispered to Si. “Watch out, I think he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security.”
Si laughed. “Lull, stimuli, he’s just very perceptive of my outstanding deal-making abilities.”
Dubowski glanced over at Curly. “You feeling okay, son, you look a little green.”
“I’mfinethankyoubutldon’ttrustyou,” mumbled Curly.
“Uh huh,” said Dubowski, who obviously had no idea what Curly had just said. He looked back at Si. “So what can I do for you?”
Curly handed him the list and Dubowski studied it. “Steering wheel, check. Dashboard, we got that. Suede seats. Got a nice set right off of Elvis’s own Cadillac. That’ll cost you extra.”
“Elvis! Cool,” exclaimed Si.
Dubowski continued with the list. “Muffler, check. AM/FM/CD player, okay. Yep, we got all this stuff.” He whistled at some workers in the yard and barked instructions. In a few minutes all the items had been assembled.
Dubowski took out a calculator and added everything up. “Okay, that’ll be four thousand eight hundred and sixteen dollars.”
“What?!” said Meese. “That can’t be right.”
“Whoops, you know what? I did make a mistake,” said Dubowski. “I forgot to add in the sales tax. It’s actually an even five thousand dollars.”
“Great,” said Si. “What a bargain.”
“Are you crazy?” said Meese. “It’s just a bunch of junk. Why, I bet all that stuffs not worth more than few dollars.”
Dubowski looked very offended. He rubbed his hand along the blue suede car seat. “Why, this is the very seat where the King of Rock and Roll himself, the one and only Elvis Presley, situated his one and only posterior.”
“Yeah, Meese,” said Si. “It’s got the King’s butt marks right on it. That’s probably worth more than five thousand dollars all by itself.”
Dubowski slapped Si on the back. “I knew I liked you, son. You’ve got style.”
Meese said, “If Elvis Presley sat on that, then I’m a monkey’s uncle.”
“Boy,” said Si, “what fun you must have had swinging around those trees and eating all those bananas with your nephew.”
“I give up,” said Meese.
“We’ll take it,” said Si. “Here’s our money.”
Dubowski took the cash, counted it slowly, and then his round face flushed. “We got ourselves a little problem here, fellers. This is only twelve dollars.”
Si slapped him on the back. “Twelve dollars, five thousand dollars, what difference does it really make between friends?”
“The difference,” said Dubowski firmly, “is four thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight dollars. And if you don’t have it, you don’t get any of this.”
“Well, what can we get for twelve dollars then?” asked Si.
Dubowski picked up the rusted muffler, tore off one corner, and held it out. “Here, you can have this for twelve bucks and consider it a gift.”
“Wow, thanks,” said Si, reaching for it, but Meese slapped his hand down.
“You can keep that thing. It’s not worth twelve cents.”
“YeahsothereandImightstickoutmytongue-atyoutoo,” mumbled Curly.
Dubowski glared at them. “We got us a couple of special employees for dealing with customers like you.”
“Wow, special employees just for us,” said Si.
Dubowski whistled and they could all hear the sounds of something hurtling toward them.
Curly saw them first. “Ohboythisdoesn’tlook-goodsodon’tevenlook.”
Two very large and very fierce guard dogs flashed around a corner of junk and headed right toward the Fries with their very big fangs bared.
“Get ’em, boys,” yelled Dubowski.
“YEOW!” yelled Si, and he took off, dragging Meese along. Curly started running too, but in a different direction. “CatchmeifyoucanbutIdon’tthinkyoucan.”
The two dogs ran after Curly. The green Fry, however, was very, very fast, and the dogs were not gaining on him. In fact, he was so speedy he had to keep stopping to let the dogs catch up.
Curly flew up the side of a large crane and ran out onto its arm. Swinging around and around, he then let go, uncoiled his long arms, and snagged a weathervane on top of the junkyard’s office building. From there he sailed to the ground, did a forward roll, popped up, came around behind the two dogs, and zoomed in circles around them so fast they finally fell over, dizzy, with their tongues hanging out.
Curly used a water hose to fill up a car hubcap he’d found on the ground. The dogs thirstily lapped up the water while the green Fry scratched them behind the ears. When they were done with the water, the dogs licked Curly’s arm. He said, “Comeonlet’sgoseemyfriends.”
When Dubowksi saw his dogs meekly following Curly, the cigar fell out of his mouth. From the top of the fence, Si yelled, “Atta boy, Curly. You sure have a way with mean dogs.”
“They’renotmean,justmisunderstood,” mumbled Curly.
“Hey, you stupid dogs,” growled Dubowski. “What do you think you’re doing? I told you to sic ’em.” He cuffed one of them on the ear and it yelped.
“Don’thitthemagainorI’llhavetogetroughwithyou,” Curly warned him.
Dubowski walked over to Curly and balled up his fists. “They’re my dogs and I’ll treat ’em any way I want to.”
Curly looked at the dogs and mumbled, “Okay-guysgogethimbutnobodilyharm.”
The dogs started growling and moving toward Dubowski, who backed up, looking terrified.
“Ihopeyoucanrunreallyfast,” mumbled Curly.
With a scream, Dubowski took off running, and the dogs flew after him.
Si and Meese jumped down from the fence and ran over to join Curly.
Si said, “Okay, let’s get out of here while the getting is good.”
He made a move to leave, but Meese refused to budge.
“Meese, let’s go before that guy gets back. I’m sure he just loves me because he could see what a great wheeler-dealer I am, but I don’t think he likes you very much.”
“Give me the twelve dollars,” said Meese.
“What?”
“The twelve dollars, give it to me.”
Si handed him the money, and Meese laid it on the ground and put it a stone on it so it wouldn’t blow away.
“What are you doing?” asked Si.
“Paying for this.” Meese picked up the blue suede car seat.
Si beamed. “Meese, you do think it’s true, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, but if Elvis Presley did sit his butt on this thing, I guess it’s worth twelve bucks.”
The three streaked away while Irvin Dubowski ran screaming around the junkyard, the dogs right behind him.