by Jim Smith
After that I had to sit through a whole day at school, while all the Feeko’s in Mogden were selling out of Tears of Granny Laughter. Then it was home time, apart from the fact I wasn’t going home.
‘Where in the unkeelness are we going?’ shouted Bunky, speed-walking behind me as I skateboarded through the gates, towards Mogden High Street. Nancy was running behind him, her hair swishing like a cat’s tail.
‘Feeko’s, of course!’ I panted. ‘To get some Tears of Granny Laughter before Gordon buys them all!’
I carried on skateboarding for another three and three-thirds of a minute, until we got to Feeko’s. The doors whooshed open and I zigzagged down the aisles, straight to the Soft Drinks section. I skidded to a stop next to a cardboard cut-out of Irene from the Tears of Granny Laughter advert and grinned my grin I grin when I’m about to buy a carton of the keelest drink ever. Then I spotted Gordon Smugly.
‘Afternoon, Barold,’ drawled Gordon, reaching out to grab a Tears of Granny Laughter, and I gasped. I was gasping because the shelf was COMPERLEETERLY EMPTY apart from that carton.
‘Oh dear, what a shame. None for little Barold!’ he smiled, grabbing the carton and holding it up like he was in an advert for Tears of Granny Laughter.
The carton was Beryl flavour, which everyone knows is the tastiest Tears of Granny Laughter flavour, seeing as Beryl is the least ugly out of the three grannies in the advert.
‘NOOOOO!’ I wailed, just as a skinny man in a Feeko’s uniform popped his head around the aisle.
‘Hello, my name’s Mike. Let me see if I can find you another carton of Tears of Granny Laughter today!’ chuckled the man, whose name tag said Mike, plus he’d just said his name was Mike, so I spose his name was Mike.
Mike pulled a screen out of his back pocket and started tapping on it with his finger. ‘Okey-dokey, sold out there . . .’ he mumbled, checking all the Feeko’s in Mogden to see if they had any cartons left. ‘Nope . . . nope . . . nope . . .’ he frowned, and then his frown turned upside down and he looked up, the way a Mike looks up when he’s found a Feeko’s with some Tears of Granny Laughters in it.
‘Two cartons left in Feeko’s Funsize!’ he grinned, as Gordon glided off towards the till.
‘Where are we going now?’ shouted Nancy, as I zigzagged back down the aisles and out the whooshing doors towards Feeko’s Funsize, which is where the last two cartons in the whole of Mogden were.
Feeko’s Funsize is the keel mini Feeko’s on Mogden Common, the bit of grass where everyone goes to let their dogs do poos.
‘We’ve got to get to Mogden Common before Gordon!’ I cried, turning right and zooming down an alleyway. ‘Follow me, I know a short cut!’
At the end was a brick wall with an old sofa slumped in front of it, soaking wet from rain and dog wee. ‘It’s a dead end!’ shouted Nancy, running up next to me with Bunky, and I turned my head and smiled, feeling like Future Ratboy.
‘Watch this!’ I grinned, aiming my skateboard at a plank of wood that was leaning against the sofa like a ramp. ‘YIPPEE-KEEL-KAYAY!’ I screamed, as I fast-forwarded up it and shot into the air.
‘CRUNK!’ bent my nose, donking straight into the brick wall, and I flomped on to the sofa. ‘Dime dokay . . .’ I said, clambering up the soggy cushions and over the wall, then crashing into a bush growing next to a dog poo bin.
‘WEEEHEEE!’ cried Bunky, plomping down next to the bush on a nice soft bit of grass with flowers growing out of it, and I wondered why it always worked out so well for everyone else but me. Then I heard a thud.
‘AAARRRGGGHHH!!!’ screamed Nancy, who was lying by the wall, holding her leg. ‘MY ANKLE! I THINK IT’S BROKEN!’
Bunky leaped up and ran over to her as I scrambled out of the bush and jumped on my skateboard, pushing off towards Feeko’s Funsize.
‘What are you lot doing here?’ said a familikeels voice out of nowhere, and I spotted Anton Mildew speed-walking past us towards the mini supermarket.
‘Why is Anton speed-walking towards Feeko’s Funsize?’ I mumbled to myself, scratching my head.
‘A-HA!’ I boomed, working it out. ‘He must be after the last Tears of Granny Laughters too! Now I’ve got Gordon AND Anton to deal with!’ I said. I don’t know why I was talking out loud to myself so much, by the way.
‘Not so fast, Mildew!’ I blurted, zooming past him through the whooshing doors and into Feeko’s Funsize.
The only problem was, I’d never actually been inside Feeko’s Funsize before.
I zogzigged down the aisles, darting my eyes around for Tears of Granny Laughter. ‘Nope . . . nope . . . nope . . .’ I muttered, reminding myself of Feeko’s Mike, until I spotted a familiar-looking granny.
Facing me at the end of the aisle stood a cardboard cut-out of Gertrude, the ugliest of all the Tears of Granny Laughter grannies.
‘Oh my keelness, are you a sight for sore eyes!’ I said, darting towards Gertrude, the last two cartons of Tears of Granny Laughter sitting on the shelf next to her.
One of the cartons was Beryl flavour, which everyone knows is the tastiest, and the other was Irene, which everyone knows isn’t. I reached my hand up for the Beryl and it bumped against another, non-Barryish hand.
‘Not so fast, Loser!’ warbled Anton Mildew.
‘That’s not fair, I got here first!’ I shouted, scrabbling Anton’s hand away from the carton of Beryl flavour Tears of Granny Laughter. Anton’s hand scrabbled back, knocking the Irene flavour carton off the shelf, and I caught it.
‘Fine with me!’ smiled Anton, lifting up the Beryl carton.
Just then Nancy limped round the corner, using Bunky as a walking stick. ‘Thanks for all your help, Barry,’ she groaned, giving me an evil stare, and I did my face I do when I haven’t got time to say sorry.
‘Anton stole my carton of Beryl!’ I whined, in a whiney kind of way.
‘What, this one?’ said Bunky, snatching it out of his hand.
‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ screamed Anton, and Bunky snatched the Irene one out of my hand too, just to make it fair.
Bunky looked at me and smiled his stupid smile. ‘Now what, Barry?’ he said, and right there on the spot I came up with one of my brilliant and amazing ideas.
I reached my hand into my pocket and pulled out the magic 50p. ‘Let’s flip my coin for the Beryl carton!’ I said, tossing it in the air. ‘Heads or tails, Anton?’
‘Er, umm, ooh, I can’t decide . . .’ warbled Anton, as the coin shimmered in mid-air. ‘Tails!’ he shouted, as it landed in my palm.
I peered into my hand and felt my nose droop. ‘Tails it is!’ smiled Nancy.
Bunky passed Anton his carton of Beryl. ‘Oh well, at least I’ve got a Tears of Granny Laughter!’ I said, opening my hand to grab my carton of Irene, and my magic 50p slipped out of my palm, bounced along the floor and rolled underneath the shelf.
‘WAAAAH! MY COIN!’ I screamed, dropping to my knees and scrabbling about underneath the shelves. ‘Bunky, Nancy, help me look!’ I cried, as Gordon Smugly’s shoes appeared in front of my eyes.
‘We meet again, Barold,’ burped Gordon’s smug, ugly voice as I carried on scrabbling around for my coin. His burp drifted down towards my nostrils, smelling of the Beryl carton he’d bought earlier.
‘Ooh, look what we have here, the very last carton of Tears of Granny Laughter!’ he said, staring at the one in Bunky’s hand and pulling a non-magic 50p out of his pocket.
I stopped scrabbling for two milliseconds and peered up at Gordon’s face. ‘Please don’t take my Tears of Granny Laughter, Gordon,’ I begged. ‘It’s all I’ve got to live for!’
Gordon smiled his smile he smiles when he’s enjoying watching someone scrabble around on the floor. ‘I’ll give you ten seconds. After that, the carton’s mine,’ he chuckled. ‘Better get scrabbling, Loser!’ he said, and he started counting down from ten.
‘TEN!’ I heard, as I slotted my hand back underneath the shelf and started scrabbling it around. ‘NINE!�
�� he boomed, and I felt something small and round and metal.
‘Got it!’ I shouted, pulling out a 1p.
‘I’ll let you have a sip of my Beryl carton for 1p!’ chuckled Anton, at the same time as Gordon was shouting ‘EIGHT’.
‘Where in the unkeelness is it?’ I sighed to myself, and my sigh blew a ball of dust the size of a bogie along the floor. The dust bogie rolled along, stopping when it bumped into a familiar-looking shape. ‘My 50p!’ I gasped, stretching my fingers out as far as they could go. ‘C-can’t . . . quite . . . r-reach . . .’ I stuttered, not quite reaching it.
I breathed out, flumping against the floor like one of Desmond’s empty nappy bags. ‘FOUR!’ shouted Gordon, and I thought of my mum and dad at home, peering into Baby Des’s eyes.
I breathed in again, and tried to come up with another one of my brillikeel and amazepoos ideas. ‘BY THE POWER OF KEELNESS!’ I roared, and a plan popped into my head.
‘Bunky, rip me off that straw!’ I boomed, as Gordon opened his mouth to shout ‘THREE’.
‘Eeve keelse!’ smiled Bunky, ripping the straw off the carton of Irene and throwing it to me.
‘Ungfh!’ I blurted, diving to catch the straw and ripping it out of its plastic sleeve. I looked at the little pink tears dotted all over it and smiled, even though there really wasn’t time for smiling at pink tears.
I pincered the straw in my fingers and slid it underneath the shelf, trying to flick the 50p towards myself.
‘. . . ONE!’ boomed Gordon. ‘Time’s up, Barry!’ he grinned, as I quadruple-reverse-waggle-flicked the straw and the 50p shot out from under the shelf.
‘Not so fast, Smugly!’ I beamed, holding it up to his smug, ugly face, and Bunky passed me my carton.
‘I’ll get you for this, Barold!’ wailed Gordon as I handed my magic 50p over to the cashier and carried the Irene flavour Tears of Granny Laughter out of Feeko’s Funsize. Who cared if it wasn’t a Beryl? I still had a carton of the keelest drink in Mogden.
‘See you tomozkeels!’ I shouted at the top of my road, as Nancy limped off, using Bunky as a zimmer frame, and I trundled up to my house.
I opened the door and immedikeely wished I didn’t have any ears or noses.
Desmond Loser the Second had stunk the house out with one of his poos and his screams were jiggling the china pigs on the mantelpiece.
My mum was in the bathroom with Desmond, changing his nappy. ‘Barry, do me a favour and pass me that toilet roll, would you,’ she said, not even asking what I’d done at school that day.
I’ve always hated it when my mum asks me what I’ve done at school that day, but now that she’d stopped, I sort of missed it.
‘Guess what, Mum!’ I smiled, holding up my carton. ‘I got the last carton of Irene flavour Tears of Granny Laughter!’ I was so excited, I’d forgotten she didn’t want me drinking it.
‘That’s lovely, dear,’ she said, not even listening. ‘Now pass me that toilet roll, would you?’
I spun a metre of toilet paper off the roll and scrunched it into a ball, throwing it at my mum just as the phone started ringing.
‘Get that, would you, Barry?’ she said, and I swivelled round on the spot and flicked the phone out of its holder, rolling my eyes to myself.
‘Loser residence,’ I said into the little holes at the bottom of the phone.
‘Ooh is that my little Barry Warry?’ warbled Granny Harumpadunk’s voice out the little holes at the top of the phone.
I put my hand over the little holes at the bottom of the phone so Granny Harumpadunk couldn’t hear, and turned to my mum. ‘It’s Granny Harumpadunk,’ I said, wondering why I didn’t want Granny Harumpadunk hearing me say her name.
‘Take Des would you, Barry,’ said my mum, passing me Desmond and grabbing the phone. ‘Hello, Sheila,’ she said, because Granny Harumpadunk isn’t her mum, she’s my dad’s.
I waddled into the living room, carrying Desmond Loser the Second, who was peering into my eyes the way I peer into my cuddly Future Ratboy’s. ‘What?’ I said, and he smiled, then giggled, then burped, then did a blowoff, then stuck his bottom lip out and started crying.
‘Nope, nope, nope . . .’ I noped, sounding like Feeko’s Mike again. The last thing I needed was Desmond wailing down my earholes when all I wanted to do was put my feet up and drink my carton of Irene flavour Tears of Granny Laughter in peace and quiet.
I plonked my bum on the bouncy ball my mum uses when she does her yoga and started boinging Desmond up and down. ‘ “He’s the keelest at playing it keeeeeel” . . .’ I sang, singing the theme tune to Future Ratboy.
‘WAAAAHHHH!!!’ screamed Desmond, his whole face turning into a mouth.
‘Look Des, it’s a carton of Irene flavour Tears of Granny Laughter!’ I cooed, picking up my favourite thing in the whole wide universe amen.
Desmond Loser the Second stopped crying and looked at the little straw with pink tears dotted all over it, which I’d already poked through the foil circle on the top of the carton. ‘BLURGLE!’ he smiled, reaching out to grab it, and I pulled my hand away, knocking something off the mantelpiece behind me.
I swivelled round on the bouncy ball and spotted one of my mum’s little pigs flying towards the fireplace tiles. ‘NOOOOO!!!’ I screamed, reaching out to catch it. The even-laster thing I needed was my mum shouting at me about a smashed-up pig.
The only problem with reaching out to catch a flying pig when you’ve got a Baby Des in one hand and a carton of Irene in the other is you’ve only got two hands.
‘Sorry Irene!’ I cried, dropping the carton, because I couldn’t really drop my own baby brother, and I bounced off the yoga ball towards the pig.
SMASH! It slipped through my fingers and broke into ten pieces.
‘Oh. My. Unkeelness,’ I whisper-shouted. But the worst bit was still about to happen.
‘Bye, Sheila!’ I heard my mum warble as she hung up and started walking towards the living room.
I plonked Baby Des on the sofa and dived towards Irene, who was lying on the tiles. I’d remembered my mum didn’t like me drinking it, and I didn’t want her to take it off me.
‘BY THE POWER OF KEELNESS!’ I roared, crashing nose first into the fireplace, which luckeely for me is one of those fake fireplaces that only has vases of dried flowers in them.
Unluckeely for me, my foot landed RIGHT ON TOP OF Irene. SPLURGE! exploded the carton, squirting Irene tears all over the dried flowers.
‘NOOOOOOO!!!’ I screamed. The dried flowers weren’t dry any more. And my carton of Tears of Granny Laughter was comperleeterly empty.
‘What in the name of Great Uncle Desmond is going on here?’ screeched my mum, her shadow making everything go dark.
I picked up my squidged carton of Irene and held it in my arms. ‘Oh my poor, sweet Irene,’ I sobbed, as my mum barged past me and scooped up Des, who’d stopped wailing and was sleeping like a baby.
My mum spotted my carton and gasped. ‘Barry, what did I tell you about drinking that awful stuff !’ she shouted. She bent over and picked up the little pig’s curly tail, holding it between her fingers like a worm poo.
‘My piggy!’ she screeched, and she spotted her soaking wet dried flowers. ‘My flowers!’ she shrieked, and Desmond started to cry.
I dropped to my knees and started crying too, seeing as the one thing I had to live for had just been squashed flat by my own foot. ‘It’s all Des’s fault!’ I wailed, stroking my flattened-out carton.
‘Don’t you start blaming your little brother, young man,’ barked my mum, kissing Desmond’s head, and we stared at each other, both of us stroking our babies.
‘I wish Desmond Loser the Second was never born!’ I boomed, crawling between my mum’s legs towards the stairs, and I stomped up to my room and curled up in bed.
My dad was shaving in the upstairs bathroom the next morning and my mum was changing Desmond’s nappy in the downstairs one as per usual, so I left for school without doing my morning poo.
‘We need to talk, Barry!’ called my mum as I slammed the front door shut, comperleeterly ignoring her.
‘Where’s Nancy?’ I said, blowing off as I bumped into Bunky at the top of my road.
‘She can’t walk!’ smiled Bunky, like it was the best thing ever. ‘The doctors put her foot in a cast and said she couldn’t go to school for a whole week. How was your carton of Irene?’ he said, all in one go.