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6 BDattle of in theDreamland oomed Brain-sucking Robots Written and Illustrated by
Peter Hannan
This book is dedicated to all the nieces and nephews of the world, but especially the best ones: Celia, Elizabeth, Luke, Rose, Kellen, Jeffrey, Caroline, Alec, Ross, Dustin, Colleen, Kathryn, Logan, Ian, Brian, Matthew, Patrick, Nathan, and Nate. Plus Aly. Plus new baby. Plus all future babies. That should cover it.
Table of
CONTENTS Chapter 1: In the Middle of Nowhere in the Middle of the Night Chapter 2: Super Sardines Chapter 3: Up on the Roof Chapter 4: Let’s Do the Time Loop Again Chapter 5: Up and at ’Em Chapter 6: A Miracle of Bad Planning Chapter 7: Sonny Slick Chapter 8: Every Slick in the Book Chapter 9: The Man of the House Chapter 10: Rage Inside the Machine Chapter 11: Am I Dead? Chapter 12: I, Robot Chapter 13: A Blob by Any Other Name Chapter 14: Blobby One-Note Chapter 15: The Golden Invitation Chapter 16: Essence de Goofball, or Highway Blobbery Chapter 17: The McButt Residence Chapter 18: Industrial Devolution
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Chapter 19: There’s No Badness like Blob Badness Chapter 20: Inviting Disaster Chapter 21: You Know the Drill Chapter 22: Let It Not Be Me Chapter 23: It Had to Be Me Chapter 24: Ready, Set . . . Blob! Chapter 25: The Honored Guests Chapter 26: Backstage Fright Chapter 27: Showtime Chapter 28: Inside Man Chapter 29: It’s a Thin Line Between Slick and Blob Chapter 30: Blobzilla Chapter 31: The Soft Underbelly of Blob Chapter 32: My Blobfriend’s Back Chapter 33: Goofball Against Goofballs Chapter 34: The Perfect Goofball Storm Chapter 35: The Sounds of Silence Chapter 36: Bad Blob Rising Chapter 37: To Heck and Back Chapter 38: Bye-Bye, Blah-Blah Chapter 39: On with the Show, This Is It
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About the Author Other Books by Peter Hannan Credits Cover Copyright About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1 In the Middle of Nowhere in the Middle of the Night
an, do I love driving a hundred miles an hour at night . . . backwards. I used to feel nervous when Granny did it, but now that I do the driving, it makes all the difference. Listen, reader: don’t try this at home. I mean on the road.
M
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First, I’m a professional superhero. And second, I’d recently installed a night-vision camera with a sixtymillimeter optical system that rotates three hundred and sixty degrees and feeds HD video directly into the screen of my helmet, so I see better driving backwards at night than your average Joe sees driving forward during the day. And in that screen I saw a car approaching in darkness—no headlights. Moonlight provided a quick glimpse of the driver’s silhouette. If you wanted to be polite, you’d say this guy was plump, but politeness isn’t always all that accurate. In truth, he was unbelievably fat. Inconceivably obese. More of a blob
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than a man. How he squeezed himself into that car just may have been the greatest unsolved mystery of the universe. His huge, squishy, hot dog–like fingers pushed a handwritten sign up against the glass:
And then he disappeared down the road in a cloud of exhaust. Hmmm. Well, I thought, you can’t please all the people all the time, and that guy in that car is probably crazy but harmless. Anyway, this was an exciting road trip because we were heading off to become rock stars. The band was called Goofballs + Ferret. It’s not the best name,
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because Granny and I are not Goofballs. I mean that’s obvious—when it comes to me, anyway. But it became convenient to call the house the House of Super Goofballs, so I’m just thrown into it, I guess. It used to bother me, but it doesn’t so much anymore. I was as excited about the band as all the other Goofballs were. Spea