The Adventures of Beeron Glugly, Arthur Limbada [reading books for 4 year olds txt] 📗

Tally was learning the great art of the Ramonic Pass. Her instructor was an old, wizened gentleman without ears or any back teeth. His gorgeous grey hair always curled, even while wet and his Flamingo accent charmed Tally immensely. Though he swam like a fish out of water, Beeron, the instructor, was making good time in teaching Tally the advanced skill of Ramonic Passing.

   Ramonic Passing is a highly formed art of diving into a pool of water while flourishing ones fingers and toes in diverse patterns of movements. Beeron was highly skilled at, what some of the haters of this sport called, “wobbling his digits”; it was just the, not drowning when one enters the water part that he found incredibly tricksy.

   Unfortunately, that was a requirement at the Ramonic Passing and Tarjalanting School Beeron went to. (Tarjalanting being an intense from of blowing into ones hand with making as much noise as you can in the exact amount of two minutes, twenty seven seconds, and forty eight milliseconds) However since he was so good at, what some other haters called, “acting like a stupid little child and getting paid for it, this is an outlaw! I have worked hard labor for thirty seven years and I haven’t got paid once blah blah blah” they decided for the greater good of the sport, that rule be skipped.

  So now Beeron is enjoying life! He has a great job, he’s doing the thing he loves, and the only nuisance is he dies seven to nine times a day and has to get brought back to life again.

    Oh and of course that crazy old man who came to his door this morning. He was also a nuisance. Shouting at him so early in the morning, breaking his favorite teacup, kicking his dog, eating the rabbits food and cutting up his sofa with those big green scissors that just came out of nowhere. That was really weird since the colored cutting device was as big as the vexing visitor’s large stomach. And after all that the man with the bursting tummy left Beeron with a letter! Beeron hated letters! They gave him the creeps! (And made him cry in loud soulful batches)

   According to his parents, Beeron had had an extremely traumatic experience with letters when he was a child. He got one once, apparently, going by his parents, and it said that his little pet dog died by falling off a cliff.

   He wept for months after that. You can’t blame him you see, just a few hours before the dog died, he ate Beeron favorite sparkly button, and now he couldn’t get it back. Okay, let’s say he’s a little bit eccentric.     

  Oh and did I mention the crazy man also knocked off Beeron’s ears with two large blocks of wood that he pulled from underneath his arms. That was a nuisance to! Because of that, now Beeron couldn’t hear Tally shouting to him desperately. It was very strange since it looked like she was shouting “ghfi jhdid nkdkdj kkjk!” or something to that extent, but it sounded more like “                                         !”

  However, since he lost his hearing this morning, Beeron’s other senses had greatly increased. Especially his sense of smell.

    Unknown to most humans, everything on your body emits something. We are not just talking about body language but a whole new advanced line of thought. You do not need to be able to hear to hear people! When you learn to understand smells, and can locate and recognize the distinct and fluctuating odors coming from a people, you can translate those smells into words. I am not skilled in this form of communication so I cannot describe exactly how it is done.

  However Beeron strained and focused firmly on the smell coming from Tally. It first smelt like three and a half tablespoons of grape flavored yogurt that has been left out for thirty seven hours and four minutes after seven flies have landed on it. That meant something, if he remembered correctly, like Herb, or no help.

   He then smelt a faint twinge of burning grass and a dog that was bathed three days ago in the town’s communal bath. This smell he remembered very well, it meant the. He studied that over and over so he knew not to forget.

  He smelt something else. That smell you get when you just finish cutting your toe nails and you sniff them. I don’t know if you do that but it is very enjoyable for Beeron. Oh and a faint smell of those black beads his grandmother would wear. That meant men, usually in the form of three men. Usually in the form of three men with one that had black hair and the other two with brown and they were probably wearing boxers, not briefs. And what? I didn’t make up the language!

  Again he smelt something else, puffer fish liver and warthog snot. Beeron remembered how when he was learning that word he thought it odd how sweet the warthog snot smelt. That word stuck with him. Are!

   Lastly, the final smell was over powering potent. It smelt like that quilt he had at home that never cleaned, no matter how much he washed it, right after he dipped it in a bottle of mustard and stuck kernels of pepper in it. Yes, Beeron did that. It really didn’t seem that weird when you have nothing to do and are really bored at home. That smell meant, he quickly looked into his underwater safe notebook, coming.

  Of course, Beeron was busy drowning, but he was only thinking of those words. HELP, THE MEN (three, one black haired etc) ARE COMING! The life guards would come and bring him to life soon but he really needed to do something about those men! All of a sudden everything turned black, and entirely free of smell.

* * * *

  This was getting utterly annoying, Beeron was sick of watching his life flash before his eyes all the time. Seriously, imagine watching a movie that made you really uncomfortable, about sixty times a week. Trust Beeron, it sucks pretty badly.

    It was like it always was when he died. He was standing in a square room colored a sickly yellow. A bright fluorescent light shone above him and in front of him sat an angel next to a projector. Across from the angel was a projector screen. It was one of those old film projectors. Beeron wondered, like he did every time he came here, that if this was the afterlife, why didn’t they have newer equipment.

   The angel gestured for Beeron to grab the spare chair and switched off the lights. He clicked the on button on the projector and a musty image started playing on the screen.   

  After a few seconds he wiped a lone tear off his cheek. He really missed his ears, they were, he thought, his best feature. They were so cute, for people who are into ears that is.

  When one is dead, time speeds up incredibly. So although Beeron was watching fifty years of life, it was only taking fifty seconds. After awhile, this morning came to focus.       

* * * * *                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

   Willard Velcro rang the doorbell to Beeron’s house at exactly 5:38 a.m. earlier this morning. The sun hadn’t even risen and he was banging repeatedly and insistently. That was a nuisance.

   “BEERON GLUGLY!”

  Beeron knew he had to answer the door. That bugger definitely didn’t seem like he was going to be leaving anytime soon. So, gathering his bath robe and all the grace he had at such an early time in the morning, Beeron went to confront the nasty prick at he door.

   The man who shouted his name was, in fact and not meant to cause any offence, a grotesque sight to behold. Beeron would much rather return to the ugly green monsters from his dream than speak to this disheveled specimen of male humanity.

  Freezing cold air was not the only element that greeted him as he opened the door.  A strong foul stench also waved its salute joyfully. It reminded poor, tired Beeron Glugly of that dead squirrel he attempted mouth to mouth on after he found it squished by a car on his evening jog last night. An undercurrent of sea weed and rusted metal joined the earlier stink and a final wet dog odor joined the boisterous group that was having a tea party in his nose.

  If Beeron had lost his ears while he slept last night, he would have had quite a difficult message to puzzle over. It probably would have turned out to be something like, “that pink robe makes your ass look big.”

    The sight of the man was even more appalling then his smell. The pudgy guy was not only vomit inducing but he definitely seemed like the cause of some major diseases. He was also wearing pink and brown striped overalls. What type of person wears pink and brown overalls? Yuck!          

    “Hello, how can I help you, Beeron asked, holding his nose?”

“Beeron Glugly, I am Willard Velcro, I have a message to give you!”

    “Okay, Beeron responded?”

    “Can I come in, it is rather cold out here, the pudgy man asked?”                                                                             

       All of a sudden he had this green banjo in his hand and was playing it most horrifically. It was almost bad enough for Beeron to wish his ears to be knocked off right then.

     “Okay, okay, come in, he replied.” He’d almost do anything to stop him from playing.

   The stinky man scurried in through the front door as if he owned the place. The way his stubby legs moved amused Beeron to quite a great extent, and for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself laughing.

  He laughed and laughed till his stomach felt like it was going to explode, and tears rolled down his face like waterfalls.

    After about three minutes, he composed himself and looked up to see a very surprising sight. The early visitor was standing in his kitchen, face up to the ceiling, and a little cup in the shape of an ostrich perched on his nose. This buffoon was attempting to balance his prize teacup! Beeron realized it was slightly mean to laugh at someone for three minutes straight, but this was just too much!

     Beeron won that cup in a Call Down God tournament. It was a test to see who could throw a pink tissue paper roll the farthest in the sky. Apparently, the ancient natives believed that if you through a dirty used leaf a certain height in the sky, God would become angry and visit you the next day for a spot of paint wrestling. Paint wrestling being normal wrestling, except the contestants roll in paint previously.

    God never visited him. Beeron cried for three weeks, and three days straight. He has not been able to cry since that fateful day. The doctors said it was because he used up all the tears in his body. Now days he sings when he is sad. Pity he is such a dreadful singer   

   As this was running through his head, he heard a sudden crash.