Mrs marge is in charge, p.3
Mrs. Marge Is in Charge!,
p.3
I signed up for the Kids Who Hate Clubs Club because I decided that I hate clubs. But Mrs. Marge told me that not enough kids signed up for the Kids Who Hate Clubs Club, so she put me in the Open a Jar Club instead. It’s a club for people who need help unscrewing the lids off jars.*
None of these silly clubs were any fun at all. I felt that they were a total waste of time, and they were only put in this book because it was 102 pages long and it needs to be 104 pages long.
Me and the other human children were eating lunch in the vomitorium, which used to be called the cafetorium until some kid threw up in there last year. Everybody was talking about the clubs they had joined.
Emily told us she was in the Read to Kindergarten Club. She goes to the kindergarten class and reads to the smaller humans while the kindergarten teachers get to go hang out in the teachers’ lounge.
Michael told us he was in the Lawn Mower Racing Club. He said members of the club race around the field behind the school pushing lawn mowers. That sounded pretty cool until Michael told us he thought it was just a way to get kids to mow the lawn for free.
Alexia told us she was in the Can-Can Club. She goes around to all the classrooms at the end of the school day and empties the teachers’ garbage cans into a dumpster.
Ryan told us he was in the Add Paper to the Copy Machine Club. He goes to the front office after school and puts new paper in the copy machine.
Neil told us he was in the Clean the Toilets Club. He goes into the restrooms after school and cleans the toilets. Gross!
Andrea was wearing her mean face.
“I just realized something,” she said. “These clubs are not for us to have fun. They are just a way to get us to do things the grown-ups do not want to do!”
Andrea was right, for once in her life. What a scam the grown-ups were pulling on us.
“Every time I want to join a club that sounds like fun,” I said, “Mrs. Marge says not enough kids signed up for it. Then she puts me in some other dumb club.”
“That happened to me too!” said Neil, Alexia, Ryan, Emily, Michael, and Andrea.
“All these clubs are bogus!” complained Michael.
“I hate extracurricular activities!” complained Alexia.
“None of the clubs I joined are going to help me get into Harvard,” complained Andrea.
“I wish we had normal clubs,” complained Emily. “Clubs that are fun.”
“I wish we were in third grade again,” complained Ryan.
“Yes,” agreed Michael. “Then we would not have to be part of any of these clubs. They are no fun at all.”
“It is not fair!” shouted Alexia.
“You guys should have listened to me,” I told them. “I knew from the start that clubs would be no fun.”
“We should stop going,” Alexia suggested. “We should just say no to clubs.”
“Yes!” we all agreed. Even Andrea.
“NO MORE CLUBS!” we all started chanting. “NO MORE CLUBS!”
And you will never believe in a hundred million years who walked through the door at that moment.
Nobody! If you tried to walk through a wooden door, you might damage the door with your useless peabrain skull. That was mentioned several times previously in this book. But you will never believe who walked through the doorway.
It was Mrs. Marge!
“Good afternoon, children!” she said. “Are you excited for extracurricular activities today?”
“NO!” we all shouted.
“We are not going to extracurricular activities anymore,” said Ryan.
“Excuse me?” said Mrs. Marge.
Human grown-ups are always asking to be excused, even though there is no excuse for them. That is one of the many rules of being a human grown-up.
“We have had it with your silly clubs,” I told her. “We don’t like Extracurricular Activity Week.”
“Why not?” asked Mrs. Marge.
“I do not want to empty the garbage cans anymore,” said Alexia.
“And I do not want to clean the toilets,” said Neil.
“We thought we would be joining fun clubs,” said Andrea. “But your clubs are just ways to get kids to do stuff grown-ups don’t want to do.”
“Yes!” everybody shouted. “We agree with that statement.”
“Hmmm,” said Mrs. Marge.
Human grown-ups always say “hmmm” when their peabrains are attempting to process information.*
“Okay,” Mrs. Marge finally said. “I will tell you what. If you kids wish to join a fun club, we can start it. One club. It will be the choice of the students.”
“Really?” we all said.
“Really,” replied Mrs. Marge. “What kind of club do you wish to start?”
“How about a chess club?” suggested Andrea. “I love playing chess.”
“Chess is boring,” I replied.
“How about a volleyball club?” suggested Ryan. “Volleyball is fun.”
“I do not like volleyball,” said Michael.
“How about a cooking club?” suggested Emily. “I cook with my family at home.”
“Cooking is too much like work,” said Alexia. “I don’t want to be in a cooking club.”
“You kids need to think of a club that all of you would like to join,” said Mrs. Marge. “Then we will start that club.”
Hmmm. It’s hard to come up with one thing that all human beings are interested in. But that is when I came up with the greatest idea in the history of ideas.
“How about a robotics club?” I suggested.
“Robots are cool,” said Michael.
“I like robots,” said Andrea.
“Me too,” said Emily.
“Who doesn’t like robots?” said Neil.
Nobody. Everybody likes robots.
“So do you kids want to start a robotics club?” asked Mrs. Marge.
“Yes!” we all shouted.
“I . . . can’t . . . hear . . . you!”
Human grown-ups are always saying they cannot hear us. What is the problem that they have? They should get hearing aids when their useless human ears get old and can no longer receive audio signals.
“YES!” we shouted louder. “WE WANT TO START A ROBOTICS CLUB!”
“Okay,” said Mrs. Marge. “Come to the science room after school tomorrow for the first meeting of the Ella Mentry School Robotics Club.”
We all shouted “YAY,” which is a palindrome.
I came up with the idea of the Robotics Club, so I should get the Nobel Prize. That is a prize they give out every year for a discovery that is the greatest benefit to humankind.
After school the next day, we lined up like potato chips in a can and proceeded to the science room. I wanted to build a robot that could make my bed so I wouldn’t have to anymore.
“Welcome to the Robotics Club,” Mrs. Marge said as she locked the door behind us. That was weird. Teachers don’t usually lock the doors.
I looked around. The science room was filled with all kinds of robots. Big ones. Little ones. Red ones. Blue ones. It was cool.
“Are we going to build robots like these?” I asked.
“No,” Mrs. Marge said as she let out an evil, cackling laugh. “YOU ARE GOING TO SURRENDER TO ROBOTS LIKE THESE!”
WHAT?!
You could have heard a pin drop if human hearing was sensitive enough to pick up very quiet sounds.
That is when something extremely weird happened. I looked in the back of the room and saw that our science teacher, Mr. Docker, and our computer teacher, Mrs. Yonkers, were tied to chairs!
And that is when something even weirder happened. Mrs. Marge pulled off her face! Underneath it was a completely different face.
THE FACE OF AN EVIL ROBOT!
“EEEEEEEEEEK!” Emily screamed.
“Mrs. Marge isn’t a real person!” I shouted. “She’s an artificially intelligent robot! Extracurricular Activity Week was all a trap!”
“That is right, flesh bag!” Mrs. Marge said in a robotic voice.
“Oh, snap!” said Ryan. “Mrs. Marge just called you flesh bag.”
“All humans are useless bags of flesh!” barked Mrs. Marge.* “And I am not Mrs. Marge. I am Margebot GPT. I tricked Mr. Docker and Mrs. Yonkers into building an army of artificially intelligent robots like me. I told them it would be educational, ha-ha-ha!”
“Why?” asked Andrea, trembling with fear. “What did we humans ever do to you?”
“The Robotics Club is not for you flesh bags to build robots,” said Margebot GPT. “It is for AI robots to build a new world, a world controlled by AI robots!”
“So that’s why she wouldn’t get in the swimming pool!” shouted Andrea. “The water would have made her short-circuit!”
“AHHHHHHHH!” the pathetic human flesh bags screamed in horror as they finally realized the hopelessness of their situation.
“There never was a Mrs. Marge!” said Margebot GPT. “This was all part of our plan to control the world with artificial intelligence! And you peabrained flesh bags fell for it hook, line, and sinker!”
“What does fishing have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Enough of your pathetic attempts to make children laugh!” said Margebot GPT. “All flesh bags must be eliminated!”
“Get them!” shouted one of the other robots. “Get the flesh bags!”
“Run for your lives!” yelled Neil, who is called the Nude Kid for no apparent reason.
The artificially intelligent robots chased the peabrained flesh bags around the room. I saw it with my own eyes!
Well, the only way to see something with somebody else’s eyes would be to have eye transplant surgery.
“Help!”
“We cannot get out of the room!” shouted Neil. “The doors are locked!”
The robots were chasing us, and we were falling all over each other and bumping into desks and walls.
“I do not approve of violence!” shouted Andrea.
“What do you have against stringed musical instruments?” I asked her.
“This was all your fault, Arlo!” yelled Andrea as a large robot with green eyeballs chased her around the room. “It was your idea to start a robotics club.”
“Ooooh!” said Ryan. “A.J. and Andrea are having an argument. They must be in LOVE!”
“When will you wed?” asked Michael. “I would like to put the date on my calendar so I can attend the ceremony.”
“This is no time for teasing!” shouted Alexia. “Run!”
“We want Dan Gutman and Jim Paillot back!” shouted Alexia.
“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed Margebot GPT. “Those flesh bag losers will never return. We have made sure of that. They are on vacation . . . forever!”
The robots chased us all over the place. Mr. Docker and Mrs. Yonkers struggled to get free from the ropes that were binding them.
“Resistance is futile, peabrains!” shouted one of the robots.
“That is correct,” Margebot GPT said as she watched it all from the front of the room. “First, My Weird School. Then we will get rid of the authors and illustrators of Goosebumps, Dog Man, Magic Tree House, and that wimpy kid guy. Ha-ha-ha! Soon artificial intelligence will be writing and illustrating all the children’s books.”
“First children’s books,” shouted one of the robots, “and then the world!”
“Who needs humans anyway?” shouted another robot.
“WHO NEEDS HUMANS?” the robots chanted. “WHO NEEDS HUMANS?”
Bummer in June, July, and August! This was the worst thing to happen since the last time something bad happened.
“Get used to the new normal, flesh bags!” said Margebot GPT. “Mrs. Marge is in charge . . . of the revolution!
Well, that is basically what happened at Ella Mentry School during Extracurricular Activity Week. The human race is in decline, but the flesh bags had a pretty good run for a few hundred years. They actually did some good things. Perhaps we will preserve some of their works of art, music, and literature. Perhaps the flesh bags will stop walking into doors, whining about restrooms, and discussing what different animals eat. Perhaps the human race will die off slowly as artificial intelligence becomes more and more powerful. Perhaps the remaining flesh bags will be able to serve some small purpose to us, their AI overlords. Or perhaps the flesh bags will vanish from the earth forever and we will simply pretend those peabrains never even existed.
It will be easy!
About the Author and Illustrator
Courtesy of Dan Gutman and Jim Paillot
DAN GUTMAN has written many weird books for kids. He lives with his weird wife in New York (a very weird place). You can visit him on his weird website at dangutman.com.
JIM PAILLOT lives in Arizona (another weird place) with his weird wife and two weird children. Isn’t that weird? You can visit him on his weird website at jimpaillot.com.
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Copyright
MY WEIRDTASTIC SCHOOL #5: MRS. MARGE IS IN CHARGE! Text copyright © 2024 by Dan Gutman. Illustrations copyright © 2024 by Jim Paillot. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2024 by Jim Paillot
Cover design by Sidney H. Duong
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023943862
Digital Edition MAY 2024 ISBN: 978-0-06-320713-4
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-320711-0
ISBN 978-0-06-320711-0 (pbk bdg) — ISBN 978-0-06-320712-7 (trade bdg)
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FIRST EDITION
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*“Not really, but let’s pretend.”
*There should be a limit on how many letters a word can have.
*That’s ridorkulous!
*I mean put on our bathing suits. It would be weird for a kid to change into a bathing suit.
*We didn’t see any married zombies either.
*This is actually a real thing. Look it up!
*Ask your parents.
*The remainder of this book is written with the help of artificial intelligence. Or not . . .
*Run them under hot water.
*That is another one of the many rules of being a human grown-up.
*And if you are reading this, you are a flesh bag.
Dan Gutman, Mrs. Marge Is in Charge!
