I Funny: Prologue–Chapter 20

Well, that’s why my humble story is going to start with some pretty yucky tension—plus a little heavy-duty drama (and, hopefully, a few funnies so we don’t all go nuts).

Okay, so how, exactly, did I get into this mess—up onstage at a comedy club, baking like a bag of French fries under a hot spotlight that shows off my sweat stains (including one that sort of looks like Jabba the Hutt), with about a thousand beady eyeballs drilling into me?

I don’t think this is how a comedy act is supposed to go. I’m pretty sure jokes are usually involved. And people laughing.
Yeah, it’s “Grimm.” As in prognosis looks “grim.”

I don’t think this is how a comedy act is supposed to go. I’m pretty sure jokes are usually involved. And people laughing.
Yeah, it’s “Grimm.” As in prognosis looks “grim.”

I did a whole bunch of homework and read every joke book and joke website I could find, just so I could become a comedian and make people laugh.
I guess you could say I’m obsessed with being a stand-up comic—even though I don’t exactly fit the job description.

“Wow, what a crowd,” I say, surveying the audience. “Standing room only. Good thing I brought my own chair.”

So let’s check out a typical day in my ordinary, humdrum life in Long Beach, a suburb of New York City—back before my very strange appearance at the Ronkonkoma Comedy Club.

Fortunately, my neighbors move extremely slowly (lots of foot-dragging and Frankenstein-style lurching).

So how did I end up here in this zombified suburb not too far from New York City?

That’s right: Never underestimate the power of a good laugh. It can stop some of the fiercest middle-school monsters.

Bullies can smell fear. Sweat, too. They’re also pretty good at picking up on involuntary toots.

He lurches forward, grabs hold of both my armrests, and leans down. I’m basically frozen in place. Petrifying fear and locked wheel brakes will do that to you.

He just slugged me in the gut and laughed hysterically when I toppled backward.

He even kicked my wheelchair off to the side so I’d look more like an average loser sprawled out on the black asphalt.

You bully without regard to race, religion, creed, national origin, or physical abilities. You are an equal-opportunity tormentor.

100% corn dog-fed beefcake over here! 105 lbs. of pure gristle!
You look at me, and I know what you’re thinking: “Zac Efron without the hot legs.”
Okay. Maybe not. But I do have a pretty good set of guns. Check out my bulging biceps.

If we’re just hanging out, they’ll both hunker down into a deep knee bend or find something to sit on so we’re all talking eye to eye.

If you stare out the third window just the right way, you get an excellent view of the ocean and the beach. Well, it’s only a tiny sliver, but if you squint real hard, you can see the surf and my Uncle Frankie’s diner.

He owns the oldest diner in the whole New York metropolitan area.

The only sound in the kitchen is grease sputtering on the grill and some plates clanking behind us.

“Oh, and this morning, on my way to school? I wiped out a whole bunch of zombies. Rolled over them, too. I may never get all the green slime out of my tire treads.”

I’m not sure my mother’s sister was all that excited about adding me to her family. Have you ever seen one of those ADOPT A HIGHWAY signs on the interstate? I think that would’ve been her first choice.

As you might imagine, living with my new adoptive brother is a lot less Brady Bunch and much more Harry Potter. Stevie Kosgrov is my very own somewhat demented Dudley Dursley—if Dudley had muscles and serious BO issues and knew how to jam people’s heads down toilets to give them a swirly.

On the plus side, I’m the only kid I know with a genuine Weedwacker hanging on his wall.

For instance, last night the Smileys were watching that National Geographic movie March of the Penguins. It’s their kind of movie. Lots of ice, blizzards, gale-force winds, and those cute little penguins everywhere.

Maybe this is the secret to world peace?
Make everybody everywhere move to the nearest beach.
There would be no more wars—just a few small action-figure skirmishes around sand castles.

I’d be like Han, Leia, and Luke in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. Stuck on the endless expanse of the Tatooine desert—waiting for some sand creature to come along and suck me down into its sand pit for dinner, or maybe just a snack.

To me, the beach is just a desert surrounded by water you can’t drink!
I’d be stranded in my wheelchair as it slowly sank deeper and deeper.

Yakov Smirnoff says that in Russia, there were only two TV channels. Channel One was propaganda. Channel Two was a KGB officer telling you, ‘Turn back to Channel One.’

Home sweet garage.
I aim the remote at the door and wait for the familiar click, whir, and grind of the slowly rising paneled door.

“So how come calculus and girls are the same?”
“I dunno,” says Pierce. “How come?”
“Because I don’t understand either one.”

“That girl in physics,” says Pierce. “You know, Jamie. The one you’re always gawking at.”

I’m tempted to ask my friends what they think of Uncle Frankie’s idea—me trying out for the funny-kid contest.

I’m nodding, staring, and saying something like, “Stammer, stammer, stammer, stammer.”

Or maybe it’s “Hummina, hummina, hummina,” which is what the old-time TV comedian Jackie Gleason used to jabber whenever he choked.

Which gives me enough confidence to get out, “Usually I say something like, ‘Haven’t I seen you someplace before?’ And then they say, ‘Yeah, that’s why I don’t go there anymore.’”
Gilda laughs and then flings me her own comeback joke: “Yesterday this total jerk actually asked me what my sign was. I told him, ‘No Parking.’”

“I love old movies!” Gilda gushes.

Finally, we set out for the summit. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was dangerous. Yes, we had to wear helmets that gave us horrible hat hair, but it was worth it. Because I knew that if I could ascend Mount Everest, I would show the world that I could overcome any obstacle life put in my way.

Because I knew that if I could ascend Mount Everest, I would show the world that I could overcome any obstacle life put in my way. I could achieve any dream I dreamed. And so I pushed myself. Literally. I mean I used both arms and pushed—hard. That Everest is steep.

My wheels became caked with ice. My spokes became icicles.