Once again I was falling and tumbling through time.

  When I finally landed, I was sitting in a giant chair at the head of a table longer than an airport runway. It looked like we were in the middle of some sort of fancy board meeting. There were dozens of hotshots in expensive suits sitting around nervously looking at me like I was an even hotter hotshot.

  At the other end of the table someone was jabbering about the millions of dollars the company would make off a new doll that looked and sounded exactly like—you guessed it, yours truly.

  “Not only does it shove up his glasses and eat Gooey Chewy bars,” he was saying, “but it also has a money-back guarantee to fall over, run into something, or create a major disaster every seven and a half seconds.”

  He wound up the doll and set it on the table. We all watched as it took three steps and crashed on its face, then two steps and stumbled into someone’s coffee, then another three steps and fell off the table, shouting a very believable and quite familiar:

  “AUGHhhhhh . . .”

  I thought it was a pretty good impression, but no one showed any emotion . . . until I grinned.

  Then, suddenly, they all grinned.

  Then I laughed.

  And suddenly they all laughed.

  I was about to leap up and run around the room (just to see how far they’d play this Simple Simon Smooch-Up-to-the-Boss Game). But for some reason I couldn’t get to my feet.

  I glanced down at my body and saw the reason. Besides a Gooey Chewy bar in each hand, I noticed I’d also put on a few pounds. Actually 271. I don’t want to say I was fat, but if the Goodyear Blimp ever broke down, they could use me to film all those bowl games.

  Suddenly all of the hotshot suits were jumping up and trying to help me to my feet:

  “Please, Mr. McDoogle, allow me.”

  “Let me give you a hand, Mr. McDoogle.”

  “Oh, Mr. McDoogle, what a lovely tie you’re wear—”

  “Sit down!” I shouted.

  I was amazed at how gruff my voice sounded. I was even more amazed at how everyone ran back to their seats and cowered in terror. Not only had I grown pretty heavy over the last fifty years, but it sounded like I’d gotten pretty mean, too.

  I gave up trying to stand just as the doors burst open. A skinny old man in rags staggered into the room. “Mr. McDoogle, Mr. McDoogle,” he shouted, “you’ve got to help us.”

  I recognized the voice but couldn’t place the face. Another old timer limped in behind him. She was in worse shape than he was. She had a pathetically wrinkled face and worn out clothes, but at least I was able to recognize her.

  “Wall Street?” I cried in stunned amazement.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, giving a low bow. “I’m so sorry for the interruption. I told Opera that he couldn’t barge in like this, but he—”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, turning to the skinny old man. “Are you Opera?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “But . . . what happened? How’d you get so skinny?”

  “I’m starving to death. Just like everybody else in the country.”

  I scrunched my eyebrows into a scowl. “But . . . how? . . .”

  “You know how!” he shouted. “Ever since you ordered all the world’s food to go into making extra Gooey Chewy bars, there’s been nothing for the rest of us to eat.”

  “I . . . I can do that?” I asked.

  “Of course you can. You can do anything you want. You’re the great Wally McDoogle, the richest and meanest man in the world!”

  “I am?” But before I could find out any more good news about myself, we were interrupted by a deafening:

  WHOP-WHOP-WHOP-WHOP

  We all turned to look out the large window of our towering office building. There was a helicopter hovering just outside.

  “Wally McDoogle,” a voice bellowed from the helicopter ’s loud speakers. “This is Billy Buckleman.”

  “Billy Buckleman?” I turned to Opera. “Is that Billy Buckleman, the great athlete from our school?”

  “The great EX-athlete,” Opera corrected.

  “Why ex?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Wall Street offered. “He fell in that gopher hole during the Little League All-City Championship fifty years ago. He got so discouraged that he quit sports all together.”

  “That’s right,” Opera said, inching his way closer to my Gooey Chewys. “The poor guy dropped out of school; turned to a life of crime; and when he came to you for help, you had him arrested.”

  “I did?”

  “Wally McDoogle!” the voice yelled from the helicopter. “I’ve escaped from prison, and I’ve come for my revenge. The building is wired to blow up. In just a few seconds I will-ill press this-is-is. . . . Wait a minute. What-at-at’s going on-on-on?”

  I didn’t need anybody to answer that one. I could tell by all the shaking that my old buddy the WUM was dropping by for a little social call. I spun around and sure enough

  K-BLAM!

  He was breaking through the wall, just like old times.

  Everyone gasped. He had grown even uglier and more menacing than before. I don’t want to say he was scary, but if you were to picture your worst nightmare, then picture your worst nightmare having a worst nightmare . . . well, at least you would be getting close.

  He wailed mournfully as he turned his giant head (complete with a couple of dozen double chins) back and forth searching the room.

  At last he spotted me. With great effort he raised his massive hand to the controls of the motorized chair, shoved the lever forward, and started rolling directly toward me.

  His wailing grew louder as he headed toward me faster and faster. And then, just when I was trying to decide whether to let him run over me or beat him to the punch by having a good, old fashioned, heart attack—

  SNAP . . .

  ZIP . . .

  FLASH . . .

  POP . . .

  Once again everything went into slow motion as my twelve selves showed up in the room with their usual smoke and special effects.

  “Am I ever glad to see you guys!” I cried.

  “We thought you might be,” they said.

  I motioned around the room. “I can’t believe all this will happen.”

  “And it’s only the beginning.”

  “How did I get to be so rich and mean and . . . plump?”

  “It’s all tied together,” they said. “Your cheating brought you fame, your fame brought you riches, your riches brought you power, and your power brought you incredible greed.”

  “But, what about the meanness?” I asked.

  “The more powerful you got, the meaner and tougher you had to become to hang onto that power. But you’ve only seen the beginning.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m afraid so,” they said.

  I shook my head in amazement. “All of this for just changing one detail?”

  “Every detail counts,” they said. “Everything’s part of a plan.”

  I was beginning to get the point.

  “Now will you come back with us to repair the damage?” they asked.

  I glanced around. There was Opera shouting at me. There was Billy Buckleman blowing me up. There was the WUM running me over. It was like everybody wanted a piece of me. And by my current size it looked like there would be plenty to go around.

  Still, I wasn’t completely convinced.

  “Look,” I argued. “Maybe I can change this. Maybe I can turn things around and still keep all the fame and money and stuff. Maybe I could even join a health club.”

  They shook their heads. “After all this, you still don’t want to go back?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “We were afraid of that,” they said as they reaimed their vacuum cleaners.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Time for one last stop.”

  “Where am I going now?”

  “Another fifty years into the future. Ready!”

  “Wait a—”

  “Aim!”

  “Come on fellows, can’t we talk this—”

  “Fire!”

  WOOOOOOSSSSSSSHHHHHHHhhhhhh . . .

  Chapter 9

  The Final Chew Down

  Once again I was either traveling through time or tumbling inside somebody’s blender. It’s kinda hard to tell the difference when you’re in such pain.

  But this time my photocopy buddies made a major mistake. This time they had either transported me underneath some gigantic boulder or under some overfed elephant carrying that boulder. Whatever I was under, it weighed so much I could barely breathe.

  “Help . . . me . . .” I gasped. I tried to open my eyes, but the weight was also pressing them down shut. “Get . . . it . . . off. . . .”

  “There’s nothing on you,” my vacuum cleaner pals answered in their usual unison.

  “That’s . . . im . . . poss . . . ible. . . .”

  “Open your eyes, Wally.”

  “I . . . can’t. . . .”

  “Yes, you can.”

  I tried with all of my might. It was like somebody had tied a giant, hundred-pound weight to each lid, then tossed on a couple of armored trucks just for good measure. It took all of my effort, but at last I managed to crack them open just the slightest bit.

  What I saw made me wish I hadn’t opened them at all.

  I was sitting amidst the crumbled ruins of a city. Every building had collapsed. Every wall had caved in and fallen. There was nothing left. Except for one distant room with a closed door, everything had been reduced to piles of rock and rubble.

  And the smell. It was worse than my gym locker. There was rotting garbage everywhere.

  The place was spooky, big time. The only thing spookier was the sound.

  There was none.

  Except for the wind that blew and swirled trash in all directions, there was only silence.

  “What . . . happened . . . ?” I gasped. “Who . . . did . . . this . . . ?”

  “You did,” my choir of Wallys answered.

  I tried to turn to them, but the weight on me was too great.

  “What . . . happened . . . ?”

  “You had everybody destroyed.”

  “What? . . . Why?”

  The first Wally swooped down closer and tried to explain. “The older you got, the more powerful you became. And like we said before, the more powerful you became, the meaner you grew. You wanted everything your way no matter what. You became a selfish old man, Wally. You hated anyone who crossed you.”

  “That’s . . . not . . . true,” I choked.

  “I’m afraid it is,” he said.

  I began to hear another sound—squeaking, lots of it.

  “What’s . . . that?” I asked.

  “Take a closer look.”

  I squinted my eyes. At first I thought the ground was moving, but it wasn’t the ground. It was rats. Millions of rats. I gasped. They were swarming over everything. Squealing and squeaking and swarming.

  The first Wally explained. “When all the people were gone, the rats moved in.”

  “My family? . . .” I gasped. “Wall Street . . . Opera . . . ?”

  “All gone.”

  The words hit like someone had punched me in the gut. “How . . . ?” I stammered.

  “Starvation.”

  “Could . . . I . . . have helped?”

  “Sure. But you were too greedy. And there were all those Gooey Chewy bars you had to manufacture to eat.”

  This was too much to handle. My head began to spin. I could feel my eyes burn with tears, but I couldn’t seem to raise my hands to wipe them.

  “What . . . about . . . the WUM?”

  He looked at me sadly. “Don’t you know yet?”

  “Know?”

  He gave a pitiful look to the others.

  “Tell . . . me . . . ,” I demanded.

  He motioned to two Wallys who swooped down behind me. Then, ever so slowly, I felt myself being turned. The best I could figure, I was sitting on something with wheels, and they were rotating it around.

  I spotted two other Wallys propping up a large, broken mirror. I continued rotating toward the mirror until, at last, I was able to see my reflection.

  “NO!” I screamed. “NOOO!!!”

  The first Wally sadly nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “IT CAN’T BE!”

  “Yes,” he said. “Wally Ulysses McDoogle,” he pointed first to my reflection then to myself, “meet Wally Ulysses McDoogle. Better known as W.U.M.”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was me! I was the WUM. I was the monstrous mountain of flesh. WUM wasn’t a name. It was initials. My initials. W.U.M. Wally Ulysses McDoogle. I was the disgusting creature everyone was afraid of. I was the wailing, monster of blubber traveling back in time trying to destroy myself. Now all the weight on me made sense. There was nobody on top of me. There was just me. Me in all my terrible tonnage.

  “PLEASE,” I cried. “NO. . . .”

  The first Wally gently explained. “It’s you, Wally. The WUM is you. You’re the one who’s been traveling back in time trying to destroy yourself.”

  “But . . . why?” I sobbed.

  “Because you were so unhappy. You knew if you went back in time and destroyed yourself, you would no longer exist. And no existence would be better than this existence.”

  Tears ran down my enormous cheeks and off my multiple chins. My heart was breaking. I couldn’t stand it. I had to get away. Anywhere.

  I remembered the WUM chasing me. I remember how he . . . how I had maneuvered the controls of the giant, motorized chair.

  The first Wally saw the look in my eyes and cried in alarm, “Wally, no!”

  But I had to get away. With great effort I raised my monstrous arm and rested it on the control box.

  “Wally!”

  Then with all of my strength I pushed the lever.

  “Wally, don’t!”

  But in true McDoogle fashion I shoved the chair into reverse instead of forward and shot backwards just slightly under the speed of sound.

  “Wally!” They all raced after me.

  I picked up speed.

  “Look out!”

  Thousands of rats scrambled out of the way as I rolled through the sea of squealing tails and bodies.

  Then, as only my McDoogle luck would have it, I realized I was heading toward the one and only building that was still standing.

  “No!” they cried. “Not in there!”

  The one and only building still standing with a closed door.

  K-BAMB!

  Well, at least it had been closed.

  Now I was plowing through a room darker than Aunt Zelda’s roots after a bad hair dye job. All around me were shelves stacked to the ceiling with boxes and . . .

  K-BOOM!

  . . . a mighty hard wall at the far end.

  I hit that wall with such force that I tumbled off the chair and crashed onto the floor. The impact caused the room to shake violently until the shelves started breaking from their supports and began spilling their boxes on top of me.

  “Help!” I cried.

  Out of those boxes tumbled dolls. Thousands of wind-up Wally McDoogle dolls. Thousands of windup McDoogle dolls all starting to walk and crawl on top of me. All chanting the same thing:

  We love you, Wally. You are great.

  We love you, Wally. You are great.

  We love you, Wally. You are great—

  “What’s happening?” I screamed.

  We love you, Wally. You are great.

  We love you, Wally. You are great—

  “You programed all the dolls to say that!” the first me cried from outside the door. “They’ve been your only source of company for years.”

  We love you, Wally. You are great.

  We love you, Wally. You are—

  Of course I wanted to jump up and throw them off, but I was too heavy to move.

  We love you, Wally—

  But that wasn’t my only problem. The squeaking of the rats grew louder. I looked up and saw them swarming into the room. They were starved for food, and since I couldn’t defend myself, it looked like they were coming at me for a free lunch.

  squeak, squeak, squeak . . .

  We love you, Wally. You are great.

  We love you, Wally.

  “Somebody . . . please . . .”

  squeak, squeak, squeak . . .

  I could feel their wet noses and whiskers as they sniffed my soft skin.

  “HELP ME!”

  “You’ve got to go back!” the twelve Wallys shouted. “There’s no other way!”

  We love you, Wally. You are—

  squeak, squeak . . .

  great. We love you,—

  All of this . . . the destruction of the world, the death of my friends, my hideous self, the rats, the toys . . .

  We love you, Wally.

  squeak

  You are—

  squeak

  We love . . .

  all because of one little change.

  We

  squeak

  love

  squeak, squeak

  you,

  squeak . . .

  “Make it stop!” I screamed. “Make them stop!”

  Wally.

  squeak

  You

  squeak

  are—

  “You have to go back.”

  We love.

  squeak, squeak

  You are—

 

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