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looked out the window. We were in the middle of a jungle. Vines and trees obscured my view. The air was warm and humid, and I thought I heard the sound of the ocean. We were like castaways, lost on some faraway tropical island, but instead of a boat with a hole in it, we had a flying house with no cable.
    “We’re doomed!” Pete lamented as he scanned TV station after TV station of static.
    No, this wasn’t the handiwork of the Cloud People. How could it be? Cloud People live in the clouds. That’s why they call themselves “Cloud People.” Although, to this day, Spice Girl still thinks that they call themselves “Clown People.”
    “They’re not very funny,” Spice Girl had said as the Cloud People flew overhead and blasted downtown in their hovercraft.
    “Invasion hordes are
never
funny!” I replied, diving out of the way of falling debris.
    “Except for invading hordes of clowns,” Spice Girl corrected.
    But, as I looked out the window, I knew two things for sure. Clowns, in fact, are not funny, and the Cloud People were not behind the transport of my house.
    “Maaph ma pam ma maam? Ma pam pam ma maah phamm,” Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy said.
    “What?” I said.
    “Maaph ma pam ma maam? Ma pam pam ma maah phamm,” Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy repeated.
    “I’m sorry, I just don’t understand what you’re saying.”
    “MAAPH MA PAM MA MAAM? MA PAM PAM MA MAAH PHAMM!” Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy yelled.
    “Is it me? Am I the only one who has no idea what the heck he’s saying?” I turned to Boyin-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy’s Giant Hamster Ball of Justice. “What are you saying? WHAT?!” I banged on the side of the Hamster Ball of Justice.
    “This is no time for jokes,” Exact Change Kid cut in. “Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy’s right. We need to devise a plan and do some recon.”
    “He did not say that! How the heck do you know he said that?” I blurted.
    The Sidekicks stared blankly at me.
    “He’s about as funny as the Clown People,” Spice Girl commented.
    “Run! Run! We’re under attack!” Pumpkin Pete shouted as he ran into the room. “They’re monsters, I tell ya! Monsters!”
    Everyone dove for cover. I quickly crawled over to Pete. “What is it, Pete? Who’s attacking us?”
    “Is it the flying monkeys?” Spice Girl asked. Pete’s eye darted about in a panic. “Worse! A billion, jillion times worse! It’s worse than worse! It’s really worse!”
    “What is it, Pete? What?!”
    “Look!” Pete thrust out a container of canned pumpkin. “I found it in the kitchen pantry!” he gasped. “Soon, they’ll be putting all of us in cans! Like cattle!”
    I looked at the can. GOOD EATS PUMPKIN PIE FILLING. IF IT’S GOOD EATS, IT EATS GOOD! the label read.
    “Pete, my mom bought that at the store,” I informed him. “It was for Thanksgiving.”
    “Gaaah! It’s worse than I feared!” Pete howled. “They’re making my people into THANKSGIVING PIES!!!!”
    “ATTENTION LEAGUE OF BIG JUSTICE!” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DOOM!”
    “Aaaaah! They’re coming for my head!” Pete shouted. He grabbed his orange skull and raced to the closet. “They want my big, fat, orange pumpkin head for Thanksgiving pie!!!!”
    “ATTENTION LEAGUE OF BIG JUSTICE!” the voice called out again. “PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DOOM!”
    “We got it the first time!” Boom Boy yelled out the front door.
    “Why do they think we want to meet Doom?” Spice Girl asked.
    “They didn’t say ‘meet Doom,’ ” I clarified. “They said ‘meet your doom.’ ”
    “That’s silly,” Spice Girl snorted. “I don’t even have a doom. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t call him ‘doom.’ I’d probably call him ‘Mr. Skittles.’ ”
    Not that I’ve ever tried to make sense out of anything Spice Girl has said, or, for that matter, anything Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy or Exact Change Kid have ever said, either, but before I could ask what in the