I’M NO FOOL
by Dave White
Story Editor - Melody Rondeau
Music by - Cusco
Executive Producer - Ponsonby Britt, O.B.E.
I’m no fool, no sir-ee,
I’m gonna live to be ninety-three,
I play safe for you and me,
‘Cause I’m no fool.
Dale sang the old refrain as he checked for a pail of water that might be propped up over the door. He had already searched for chili peppers in his toothbrush, shoe polish in his comb, and itching powder in his shirt. He was on the lookout for trick candy, joy buzzers, “Hey, what’s that?” gags or surprise packages. I’m not going to be the April Fool this year, he thought.
But elsewhere in Rescue Ranger headquarters, powerful forces were at work to foil his intentions. As careful as Dale was, his friends were sneaky. They were also extremely inventive, highly intelligent and supremely zany. It didn’t look like Dale stood a chance of coming through the day unscathed.
“Is everything ready?” Chip asked. “I don’t want to disappoint Dale on one of his favorite holidays.”
“All set!” Gadget replied. “April Foolery on final approach!”
“Here he comes, mates!” Monty called as he ran across the front room. “Take cover, quick!”
The Rangers hurried away to prearranged places of concealment just before Dale crept into the room.
“There is a strange tremor in the Force,” Dale said in his best Darth Vader imitation. “Obi-Wan IS here...” Dale leaped over the couch and discovered... no one lying in wait for him. It dawned on him that he hadn’t seen any of the other Rangers since a boring and uneventful breakfast.
“They aren’t tryin’ too hard to fool me. I wonder what they’re up to?”
Growing curious over the whereabouts of his friends, Dale checked exercise room. Behind the phonograph-treadmill Chip waited for Dale to reach the exact center of the room before triggering the Big Bertha Butter and Cookie Crumb Double Whammy (DexterLabSupply.com). This would be one of the best “Gotcha Lasts” of the year, and Chip barely suppressed a chuckle.
“Is anybody here?” Dale called, oblivious to the large red X on the floor he had stepped on to. Chip, with a grin of premature triumph, pulled the trigger.
Across the room, a concealed popgun fired, sending a cylinder of pre-softened butter arcing through the air to land squarely, not on Dale, but on Chip. He was instantly covered in gooey, semi-solid butter. Overhead, a large party favor, the sort used for firing confetti, broke free of one of its support lines and swung aside. It fired in sequence as planned, but delivered its charge of cookie crumbs to the freshly buttered Chip, the force of the shot sending him skittering across the floor.
Dale startled at the twin loud noises and was surprised to find himself untouched. He investigated the odd sounds and found not a trace of any prank or prankster, the evidence having been hockey pucked right out of sight.
“Hello? Anybody?” Dale queried. Disappointed, he turned and left.
“Shucks. Missed him,” Chip said as he began to attempt a self-rescue from the folds of a wrestling mat. Not an easy task for one covered in butter and loose cookie crumbs.
Entering the spacious front room, Dale still saw no sign of any of his friends. That was because Monterey Jack had considerable experience in not being seen. He watched as Dale walked into the focal point of four big purple arrows that indicated the impact area of the Sub-Orbital Cream Cheese Transportation System. Ordinarily, rocket propelled surprises were Gadget’s field, but since this was a kit (AcmeMunitions.com), Monty decided to have a go. And the moment Dale paused in the midst of ground zero, Monty pushed the button.
The rocket roared from behind the TV set and shot past Dale, missing by a fraction of an inch and setting him spinning like a top. The ballistic jest took a lap around the room, peeling back its banana yellow skin and revealing its rich, tasty payload. It scudded downward, aiming with unerring accuracy squarely for Monty. The impact carried him down the hallway and clear into his own bedroom. The sudden deceleration from near sound barrier to zero turned the cream cheese to a warm, cloying, sticky suit of goop. The squashed rocket motor gave a weak chug and a gentle raspberry as it expired.
“Crikies! Guess I should have read the instructions.” He tried to make his way out of the room, only to discover the really low coefficient of friction offered by near-liquid cream cheese.
Dale finally stopped spinning and braced himself for the big payoff. To his surprise, nothing happened. Except for a few drifting wisps of smoke, the room was quite empty.
“I’ve got the feelin’ I’m missing something today,” Dale said. Now becoming concerned, he headed out the front door to check the hanger.
Gadget stood beside a human size saucepan examining its molten contents. Rubbing her hands in wicked anticipation, she contemplated her scheme of ultimate doom for Dale. She dabbed her finger into the liquid mass. Good. Not too hot, she thought. She stuck her finger in her mouth and savored the taste. “Mmmmm, Godiva,” she said aloud. “Only the best for my friend.”
Gadget heard the front door open and scurried to hide, resting her foot on the boobytrap trip of The Chocolate Fondue Flipper Flopper (HackwrenchInventions.org). This would be an April Fool that Dale would truly appreciate.
Dale walked down the landing pad to the huge red and white bullseye painted in the middle of the deck. He stopped in the precise center of the target and scratched his head in continuing puzzlement. “Hmmmm,” he said, catching the scent from the fondue pan, “someone’s cookin’ something good. Needs pepperoni, though.”
Gadget gleefully stomped the foot trigger.
The Flipper Flopper should have flipped its flop on Dale’s end of the flipper. But instead the flipper flapped its flip in a flip flop floop that flung the flippant female flyer feet over fanny far, far from the firm footing she felt before the Flipper Flopper flubbed... Awww, skip it.
Gadget’s end of the diabolical device spronged her into the air. She unwittingly executed a half gainer double somersault with a two-and-a-half twist that would have won high marks if she hadn’t landed tushie first in the middle of the fondue pan. The sound made Dale look around, but he was too late to get in on the judging.
“Doggone it!” Dale exclaimed. “Where’d everybody go today?” He went back inside the headquarters as Gadget slowly rose from the dark brown pool, liberally and thoroughly coated in some of the world’s finest chocolate.
“Golly. I’ll bet this won’t be easy to fix.” She climbed out of the chocolaty morass and slipped and skidded toward the back door of the kitchen.
Dale regarded the empty front room. No one had even attempted a decent April Fool on him all day! He crossed to the dining table and swept his hand under one of the chairs, coming up with a whoopee cushion. He halfheartedly mashed it between his hands, producing a bagpipe-running-out-of-gas sound. “Lame-O,” he said dejectedly.
He gave a deep, sigh and said aloud, “Maybe they just don’t care about me anymore.” And he sat down in the chair.
The .22 caliber blank hidden in the chair kicked Dale against the ceiling with more than enough residual energy to ricochet him off the adjoining wall. He continued to bounce, rebound, recoil and rubber-bumper around the room, accompanied by the sound of pinball bumpers, bells and buzzers as well as wildly flashing lights. As Dale sailed past the TV screen, it proclaimed: FIFTY FREE GAMES - YOUR SCORE 3,452,850! “Wow!” Dale marveled, “I think that’s a record!”
Dale might have made it safely to the ball return but for the intervention of The Stanley Springer Spatulator, a spring loaded Teflon coated spatula that launched the high scoring chipmunk back across the room with speed worthy of Buzz Lightyear. Just as it seemed he would come to a rather unfunny end flattened against the wall, a large pie tin filled with thick white foam popped up in his path. The impact all but emptied the tin and completely engulfed Dale. From across the room another small spring poinged, and a cherry landed with geometric precision on top of Dale’s head. He slid out of the tin, made a surprisingly gentle landing on his rump and stared in amazement.
“The Grand Incomparable Whipped Cream Surprise! (GearlooseSurplus.com) I didn’t think they made these anymore! YIPPIEE!”
The faint sound of voices came to Dale’s ears, and he dashed to the kitchen. There he spotted Chip, Gadget and Monty just as the hapless trapsters began to discuss the best and least painful manner of separating their differing delicious outercoats from their fur.
“YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST FRIENDS A CHIPMUNK COULD HAVE!!!” Dale bellowed, and rushed at them, his arms wide open, his speed astonishing.
“No! Dale, wait!” Chip cried. “I’m gooey!”
“I’m sticky!” Monty shouted.
“I’m soft creamy center!” Gadget protested.
Dale, heedless, barreled into them and tumbled them all across the kitchen floor. The entire mess dissolved in peals of laughter and a combination wrestling match, food fight and tickle contest.
“Hey!” Monty said at last, licking his fingers. “We make a pretty good chocolate cheesecake!”
“Yeah!” said Dale. “Let’s link arms and throw ourselves in Fat Cat’s face! That’d be a real April Fool!”
The gaiety at last drew Zipper from his afternoon nap. He flew into the kitchen and buzzed in alarm.
“We’re fine, Zipper,” Chip insisted.
“It’s nothing a hot shower won’t cure,” Gadget agreed.
Zipper hummed “Okay,” and flitted to the sink. He grabbed the sink sprayer and spun the water on full force. It took only a few seconds of delighted squeals and thorough hosing to result in four not-quite squeaky clean Rangers.
“Thanks, Zipper!” Dale said. “That’s a real time saver!”
“Too right, mates,” Monty said. “But it might be a good idea to get out of these wet clothes and pick out any leftover sticky spots.”
“Good thinking, Monty,” Gadget said, and she led the way toward their respective rooms.
Zipper went into the front room and gathered the tools he had borrowed from Gadget’s workshop. If she noticed them missing, she might figure out why all the tricks and traps backfired. There were times when being small, unnoticed and inconspicuous really paid off. For instance, when your friends were filling the house with boobytraps. Or when you were busy sabotaging them.
As he toted the tools back to the workshop, he hummed the old, familiar tune Uncle Jiminy used to sing:
I’m no fool, no sir-ee,
I’m gonna live to be a hundred and three,
I play safe for you and me,
‘Cause I’M NO FOOL!!
THE END
DISCLAIMER: Gadget, Chip, Dale, Monterey Jack, Zipper, and the Rescue Rangers are © and T.M. The Walt Disney Company and were employed without permission.
All other characters, locations, equipment and situations are © 2001 by David D. White. Permission to copy and redistribute without charge is granted, provided the work is not altered, edited, boobytrapped or otherwise fiddled with.
No copyrighted characters were injured in the production of this story. I used professional stunt rodents (the poor devils).
If the thought of Gadget coated in Godiva chocolate arouses curious or unusual thoughts, seek professional help immediately.
Godiva Chocolate, the Walt Disney Company, and the National Safety Council recommend against submerging mice or chipmunks in melted chocolate. For best results, place the rodent in a mold and pour the chocolate over them liberally. Tie them up if necessary.
Wait a minute. If you’re actually thinking of making chocolate covered mice, get yourself to a head doctor or I’m getting out the strait-jacket launching bazooka.
Employment of rocket propelled dairy products may fall under the restrictions of several disarmament treaties. Consult the Dept. of Defense or Dept. of State prior to any such stunts.
Awwright, nut case. Yeah, you, with the chocolate dipper and the mouse in your shirt pocket. You asked for it. Monika, gimme the mallet.
Under ordinary conditions, whoopee cushions do not make bagpipe sounds. But chipmunks that eat chocolate covered pepperoni do.
If you’ve been sitting there reading every one of these disclaimers - April Fool!