Monkey love hot sauce!
Monkey love hot sauce!
It’s so hot, I love it a lot!
Monkey love hot sauce!
It’s ridiculous and stupid—in other words, perfect for YouTube.
I don’t know how long Mom’s going to be working, so I have to hurry if I’m going to film Frank. Where should he go kooky for hot sauce today? The TV room? The trash?
Within the next few hours, Frank scours my mother’s jewelry box, the recycling bin, as well as a basket of laundry, and the washing machine. The only difficulty Frank had was with one of Mom’s bangles. He was in such a frenzy to get his hands on the hot sauce that he ended up with the bracelet caught around the lower part of his face. It made for hilarious footage but he started freaking out, so I had to stop being cameraman/director and help him. A few of my mother’s chains and necklaces got pretty tangled, so I put them back in the bottom of the jewelry box where she won’t find them for a while.
By the time I get Frank in his crate, he’s exhausted and passes out on his blanket. Then I look for Bodi. I can’t give him equal time tonight, but I need to at least give him some. I settle him next to me on the couch as I download the footage from my phone to my laptop.
The footage came out GREAT and I’m excited to get to the editing phase, until I realize I’ve forgotten something. Since I can’t show my parents Monkey Love Hot Sauce, I’m going to need a decoy channel to show them what I’m doing for class. I not only have to make Frank’s show, I need to make another whole fake channel. What’s THAT show going to be?
I look around the room and bat around ideas. Derek eats? Boring. Derek eats candy? Been done. Derek watches TV? Too passive.
Mom’s got a few boxes near the front door of things going to Goodwill. She asked me a few days ago if she could get rid of some of my old toys and I said fine. I open up the boxes until I find the one full of action figures.
I really don’t feel like working but there’s no way around the task at hand. I set up the camera again and dump the box of action figures onto the kitchen table.
“Hi! Welcome to Action Figure Mashup,” I say to the camera. “I’m Derek, your host, and we’re going to create some NEW action figures out of my OLD action figures.”
I don’t have time for a lot of takes so I make sure to speak as clearly as possible. “First, we’re going to take off Bart Simpson’s head and put it on Gumby.” I yank off Bart’s yellow head and shove it onto Gumby’s stretchy green body. “Ta-da!” I hold my new creature up to the camera. “Say hello to Bartby.”
I sign off then check the quality of the video as Mom enters the kitchen with a stack of folders. She pours herself a glass of wine and asks how filming went. I lean over and show her the footage I just shot.
She takes a sip of wine. “Do you think it might skew a little young? You haven’t played with those toys in years—you might get a lot of four-year-old viewers.”
I tell her I don’t care WHAT age my viewers are, as long as I have some. But her comment makes me wish I could share my REAL show with her.
“See what your teacher says,” she adds. “But I think you might be able to challenge yourself a little more.”
She takes her glass and work upstairs and tells me it’s time for bed.
She has no idea I’ll be up for hours.
THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN
In school the next day, everyone who takes Mr. Ennis’s class is talking about how many views their videos have received, as well as some of the funny comments. Tyler’s YTP site has lots of absurd remarks, which only makes sense. Umberto’s are very positive, which makes sense too.
The real surprise is Carly’s channel; while the rest of us have single-digit viewers, Carly received more than thirty comments in twenty-four hours, even a few from people who DON’T wear braces. I check my channel between classes and at lunch, but only have seven views—all of them probably mine when I was testing it last night.
“The day you’ve all been waiting for,” Ms. McCoddle says before she dismisses us. “Your class pictures are back.”
Just what I need—MORE bad news.
There’s lots of excitement as she hands the pictures out; I just hope that lady who took them was better with a camera than she was with people.
Ms. McCoddle stands in front of my desk, wavering. “I’m not really sure what happened here. Maybe you should sign up for the reshoot day next week.”
She hands me the see-through envelope. I DON’T want to see it, but like an accident on the other side of the freeway, I can’t help but look.
My head is suspended against a wall of books. Just. My. Head.
Matt cranes his neck toward my seat. “Dude! It looks like you were decapitated.”
It doesn’t take long before everyone is on their feet, mocking my head floating amid a backdrop of books.
I’m not sure if my parents will laugh or be annoyed that I didn’t pay attention to the photographer’s dress instructions. Either way, they’ll insist I do a reshoot.
I grab my pen and write NO GREEN SHIRT on the back of my hand. Hopefully I’ll remember to read it this time.
NUMBER CRUNCHING
Both Mom and Dad think the class photo is hilarious; Mom even insists on buying
