Free The World's Loudest Armpit Fart by Steve Hartley Page B
Authors: Steve Hartley
or the cheese?’
Sally punched Danny playfully, but hard, on the arm.
‘Ow!’ he complained. ‘What’re you doing here, Sally?’
‘I’m with Wibberley Wobberley,’ she said. ‘My dad’s the Regional Manager, so you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on.’
‘Your dad’s a jelly salesman?’ asked Matthew.
‘Yeah! How cool is that?’ Sally smiled at Danny and rested her hand on his. ‘Do you like jelly, Danny?’
‘Yeah . . .’
‘I can get you as much jelly as you can eat.’
Suddenly Danny had an idea. He pulled his hand away and folded his arms.
‘Could you get me enough jelly to break a record?’ he asked.
‘Course I can. Dad’s got thousands of boxes full of “experimental” jelly-mixes that nobody wants.’
‘ Experimental jelly-mixes?’
Sally counted the different flavours on her fingers. ‘Caviar and Custard.’
‘Gross!’
‘Turnip and Trifle.’
‘Mega-gross!’
‘Fig and Fish Finger.’
‘Giga-gross!’ said Matthew.
Sally nodded. ‘They made people throw up, and it was hard to get the mix right: they either wibbled too much or they didn’t wobble at all. Anyway, you can have them all if you want.’
‘Ace!’ said Danny.
Matthew said nothing.
‘ I broke the County Junior Jelly-juggling record, with three balls of Pepperoni Pizza and Pomegranate jelly,’ boasted Sally. ‘Two minutes, fifteen point four seconds.’
Danny was impressed. ‘You can juggle jellies?’ ‘Duh! If I couldn’t juggle jellies, I wouldn’t have broken the County Jelly-juggling record, would I?’
Matthew nudged Danny on the arm. ‘Here come the teams.’
The trumpets blared once more and the Walchester United and Downmouth Albion players ran out on to the pitch in two long lines. The roar of the crowd wrapped around Danny, Matthew and Sally and pulled them to their feet to cheer.
‘By the way,’ shouted Sally as the players’ names were announced. ‘Have you seen who your school team is playing this season?’
‘No,’ replied Danny. ‘Why?’
Sally didn’t answer. She flashed Danny a huge smile, then turned back to watch the game.
‘COME ON THE WIBBERLEY WOBBERLIES!’ she screamed.
Danny was looking forward to getting back to school. He hobbled on his crutches alongside Matthew as they passed through the school gates, the plaster cast on his leg now black and blue and green and red and purple and orange and pink with signatures. The name in pink was Sally Butterworth.
‘I’ve got a record-breaking itchy leg underneath all this plaster,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait for them to cut the cast off tomorrow.’
‘I’ll count the signatures at home-time and you can write to Mr Bibby at the Great Big Book of World Records to ask if it’s a record.’
Danny shook his head. ‘There’s nowhere near enough. He’d say: “Good try, Danny! You’re not going to believe this, but Thelma McCurdie’s massive record-breaking 622-centimetre bottom has foiled another one of your record attempts! In January 1994, Thelma slipped on a chilli-cheese French fry and broke her bum!”’
‘Mr Bibby would never use the word “bum”,’ said Matthew.
‘True,’ Danny grinned. ‘How much plaster do you think you’d need to cover a bottom as big as that?’
Matthew shrugged. ‘About three tonnes, I bet.’
‘“When the cast was sawn off four months later,”’ continued Danny, pretending to be Mr Bibby again. ‘“Officers from the Great Big Book of World Records took eleven years, five months and nineteen days to add up all the names.”’
‘“It took so long, because after five years, three months and twenty-nine days, they lost count and had to start again!”’ laughed Matthew. ‘“They eventually counted twelve quidtrillion, nineteen zigzillion, six googillion, four thousand, five hundred and forty-three signatures!”’
Danny chuckled. Then he nudged his friend. ‘Look, Matt!’
Mr Collinson, the Coalclough Sparrows football coach, was
Sally punched Danny playfully, but hard, on the arm.
‘Ow!’ he complained. ‘What’re you doing here, Sally?’
‘I’m with Wibberley Wobberley,’ she said. ‘My dad’s the Regional Manager, so you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on.’
‘Your dad’s a jelly salesman?’ asked Matthew.
‘Yeah! How cool is that?’ Sally smiled at Danny and rested her hand on his. ‘Do you like jelly, Danny?’
‘Yeah . . .’
‘I can get you as much jelly as you can eat.’
Suddenly Danny had an idea. He pulled his hand away and folded his arms.
‘Could you get me enough jelly to break a record?’ he asked.
‘Course I can. Dad’s got thousands of boxes full of “experimental” jelly-mixes that nobody wants.’
‘ Experimental jelly-mixes?’
Sally counted the different flavours on her fingers. ‘Caviar and Custard.’
‘Gross!’
‘Turnip and Trifle.’
‘Mega-gross!’
‘Fig and Fish Finger.’
‘Giga-gross!’ said Matthew.
Sally nodded. ‘They made people throw up, and it was hard to get the mix right: they either wibbled too much or they didn’t wobble at all. Anyway, you can have them all if you want.’
‘Ace!’ said Danny.
Matthew said nothing.
‘ I broke the County Junior Jelly-juggling record, with three balls of Pepperoni Pizza and Pomegranate jelly,’ boasted Sally. ‘Two minutes, fifteen point four seconds.’
Danny was impressed. ‘You can juggle jellies?’ ‘Duh! If I couldn’t juggle jellies, I wouldn’t have broken the County Jelly-juggling record, would I?’
Matthew nudged Danny on the arm. ‘Here come the teams.’
The trumpets blared once more and the Walchester United and Downmouth Albion players ran out on to the pitch in two long lines. The roar of the crowd wrapped around Danny, Matthew and Sally and pulled them to their feet to cheer.
‘By the way,’ shouted Sally as the players’ names were announced. ‘Have you seen who your school team is playing this season?’
‘No,’ replied Danny. ‘Why?’
Sally didn’t answer. She flashed Danny a huge smile, then turned back to watch the game.
‘COME ON THE WIBBERLEY WOBBERLIES!’ she screamed.
Danny was looking forward to getting back to school. He hobbled on his crutches alongside Matthew as they passed through the school gates, the plaster cast on his leg now black and blue and green and red and purple and orange and pink with signatures. The name in pink was Sally Butterworth.
‘I’ve got a record-breaking itchy leg underneath all this plaster,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait for them to cut the cast off tomorrow.’
‘I’ll count the signatures at home-time and you can write to Mr Bibby at the Great Big Book of World Records to ask if it’s a record.’
Danny shook his head. ‘There’s nowhere near enough. He’d say: “Good try, Danny! You’re not going to believe this, but Thelma McCurdie’s massive record-breaking 622-centimetre bottom has foiled another one of your record attempts! In January 1994, Thelma slipped on a chilli-cheese French fry and broke her bum!”’
‘Mr Bibby would never use the word “bum”,’ said Matthew.
‘True,’ Danny grinned. ‘How much plaster do you think you’d need to cover a bottom as big as that?’
Matthew shrugged. ‘About three tonnes, I bet.’
‘“When the cast was sawn off four months later,”’ continued Danny, pretending to be Mr Bibby again. ‘“Officers from the Great Big Book of World Records took eleven years, five months and nineteen days to add up all the names.”’
‘“It took so long, because after five years, three months and twenty-nine days, they lost count and had to start again!”’ laughed Matthew. ‘“They eventually counted twelve quidtrillion, nineteen zigzillion, six googillion, four thousand, five hundred and forty-three signatures!”’
Danny chuckled. Then he nudged his friend. ‘Look, Matt!’
Mr Collinson, the Coalclough Sparrows football coach, was