The Fantastic Flatulent Fart Brothers Save the World!: A Comedy Thriller Adventure that Truly Stinks (Humorous action book for preteen kids age 9-12); US edition Read online

  by M.D. Whalen

  illustrated by Des Campbell

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  Details at the end of this book.

  The Crybaby

  Plane Full of Nuns

  Lost at Sea

  Balloon Dilemma

  Stinky Beasts

  Unfunny Farts

  Booby’s Tale

  The Labs

  Fart ABC

  Fart D

  The Wee Wee Plot

  Phew-nited Nations

  The Butt Scratcher

  Celebration

  POOPIE’s Last Stand

  Farts in High Places

  A Gross End

  Bonus: Farty Facts

  The Fart Brothers Go to the Moon

  Who writes this stuff?

  CHAPTER 1

  The Crybaby

  Meet Willy. He likes to lie around eating chips and nose goo. He also cries at TV commercials.

  “No, I don’t,” Willy said.

  Sure he does. When the girl in the shampoo commercial woke up with hair as tangled as a puked-up cat hairball, making her embarrassed to go to school, it was the saddest thing he had ever seen.

  Willy’s eyes welled up.

  “I will not cry,” he said. “I...will...not...”

  Oh no! Here comes the girl’s mother!

  Tears spilled down Willy’s cheeks and onto the sofa. He wiped snot from his nose, then sucked it off his fingers. It was stretchy, with lumpy, chewable bits, which cheered him up a little.

  The girl’s mother held up a shampoo bottle and smiled. No mother smiled like that in real life! Willy couldn’t bear to watch. Get out, girl! Run!

  The front door banged open. It was Willy’s big brother Peter.

  “Hey, guess what? I just farted up a school bus full of Girl Scouts!”

  Peter pointed his butt at Willy. “First I gave ’em a Stealth Stinker, like this.”

  pffffooOOOIT!

  A smile struggled to break through Willy’s trembling lips.

  “Some were still standing, so I let out a Drone Attacker.”

  BRRRRUMMFF-FF-FF-FF-fffffff...!

  “When the driver pulled over to grab me, I gave him a full Foghorn Blast right in the face and escaped.”

  Peter sure knew how to cheer up a guy. Willy turned over on the sofa and farted a loud one straight at his brother. Then they both tumbled onto the floor, kicking their feet and laughing so hard that Willy choked on the last mucus dribbling over his lip. Who cared anymore about a stupid shampoo girl?

  But speaking of girls...

  Their little sister Skyler skipped into the living room, hugging a doll and a blankie.

  “Ew! I heard you guys. You’re gross!”

  “Oh yeah?” Peter said. “You haven’t seen gross.”

  HONNNNNNNK-popple-popple-SPLEEP!

  He let out a green, greasy cloud that stunk like prehistoric rotten eggs.

  Skyler snuffled. Her face went red. She squeezed her fists at her sides. A major tantrum was about to erupt. Which meant Willy and Peter were in deep trouble.

  Last time Skyler threw a tantrum, they’d had to do laundry duty and not only touch their sister’s undies, but put them away in her icky-girlie underwear drawer!

  Willy made a funny face, just in time.

  Skyler relaxed and said, “So what are you getting me for my birthday on Monday?”

  Willy and Peter looked at each other. They’d forgotten their sister’s birthday, just three days from now.

  Just then a news bulletin came on TV:

  “Breaking news! The Yummy Tummy Onion Dip Factory, world’s largest maker of onion dip, has been destroyed in a huge explosion. Panic buying has emptied store shelves of onion dip, causing a world-wide shortage. The Wize Krakker Evil Clown Corps is claiming responsibility for the attack.”

  “Aah! That’s the worst news ever!” Peter said.

  “What? Some dumb dip factory?” Skyler said.

  “No. I mean your birthday coming up.” Peter tooted out a little fart and laughed.

  “Gross!! You’re the worst brothers in the whole wide world!”

  Skyler ran crying out of the room.

  “Now you did it, dummy,” Willy said. “Now we have to get her a real present or we’re dead meat, folding undies forever...or worse: girls’ pajama bottoms.”

  “Shh! Look!” Peter said.

  Another TV commercial came on.

  “Whoopee! It’s the Death Breeze 3000, the most futuristic whoopee cushion ever made, brought to you by the Roadapple Corporation.”

  “Cutting edge—get it? Cutting?—new Flatulatronics technology lets you make the grossest, spewiest, splatteringest, stomach-turning, ear-twisting noises such as the world has never heard before.

  “But that’s not all! Our unique, patented i-Stink mode transmits eighteen different stinky stenches, smellable up to half a mile away.

  “Get down to your local toy store today! Be first to own the smelly new—PFLLLL-KATHWORPPP!—Oops! Har har!—Death Breeze 3000!”

  Peter sprang up. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Will said.

  Peter grabbed Willy and dragged him out the door, while humming a birthday song.

  CHAPTER 2

  Plane Full of Nuns

  Willy had a hard time keeping up as he and Peter ran the fourteen blocks to the toy store. He caught his breath at a stoplight, and said, “You’re not really thinking of getting Skyler one of those whoopee cushions for her birthday? Girls don’t like that stuff.”

  “It’s not just a whoopee cushion, it’s the Death Breeze 3000. Of course she’ll like it. Everyone in the world’s going to want one!”

  On that last point, Peter was right. The line from the toy store stretched three blocks and moved at the pace of a snail’s grandfather. Not even Peter’s sourest, gassiest farts made people leave. That trick didn’t work in this crowd!

  Finally, they were inside. The prize was in sight. The kid in front of Willy and Peter bought two Death Breeze 3000’s and danced away. Peter held out money between his trembling fingers. But the saleswoman said, “Sorry,” and put up a sign: SOLD OUT

  “No! It can’t be!” Peter shrieked. Kids holding bought-and-paid-for Death Breeze 3000’s stuck their tongues out at him.

  The saleswoman said, “Come back next week.”

  “But our sister’s birthday is Monday,” Peter pleaded.

  “Wish I could help you gentlemen,” the sales woman said.

  “I know,” Peter said. “Maybe call another branch of your store, and ask them to hold one for us.”

  The saleswoman went to her office to call. Willy walked to a shelf and picked up a blue pony doll with pink hair. Squeezing it made an adorable little “Neee” sound. Now, this was what girls liked. “Let’s get her a My Cutie Horsie,” he said.

  Peter scowled.

  “Just get it over with,” Willy said. “Anyway, she’ll like it and maybe leave us alone.”

  Peter didn’t say anything as Willy placed the blue pony on the sales counter.

  Just then a kid walked past with a Death Breeze 3000 in a shopping bag and blew them a loud razzie. Peter’s face went red. He swept the My Cutie Horsie onto the floor. “This has become a matter of family honor. How will we look to the rest of the neighborhood if we’re the only home without a
Death Breeze 3000?”

  The saleswoman returned, shaking her head. “Seems we’re sold out almost everywhere. The closest place with a Death Breeze 3000 in stock is our South Beantown branch.”

  “Beantown? Isn’t that on the other side of the country?” Peter said.

  “Got that right,” the saleswoman said.

  Willy tried to tug his brother toward the My Cutie Horsies. Maybe he’d go for the purple one with orange hair. But Peter pulled his arm free and announced to the saleswoman: “Tell them to hold it for us!”

  “How are we supposed to get to Beantown?” Willy said.

  Peter pointed to the corner bus stop, where a sign said Airport bus. “We can fly there and be back in time for dinner.”

  “How are we supposed to pay for plane tickets?”

  “You hungry? I am,” Peter said.

  “What’s that got to do with plane tickets?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Peter led them to a supermarket across the street, where they bought bags and bags of cheese-and-garlic potato chips and a whole carton of canned bean dip.

  Once they were on the bus, Peter said, “Start eating.”

  By the time they reached the airport, Willy felt like a balloon ready to burst. Peter stood on one side of the entrance gate and Willy on the other. When the flight was announced, Peter gave a thumbs-up. They both leaned over and exploded out massive, suffocating stink clouds.

  The lined-up passengers choked. They retched. They shouted, “Eww!” The fart clouds swirled together around the ticket taker, who fainted onto the floor. Peter and Willy dashed through the gate and straight onto the plane.

  Half the seats on board were filled with black-robed nuns. An evil grin crept across Peter’s face.

  “Um, maybe we should keep a low profile,” Willy said, shrinking into his seat.

  “And lose the chance of a lifetime?”

  The plane took off. Willy and Peter watched cartoons and stuffed themselves on airline cabbage-and-onion sandwiches and orange soda.

  Willy’s stomach gurgled. Peter’s bubbled.

  They jumped up and down to shake everything up inside them. This was a truly bad idea, Willy thought. But a truly funny one.

  Willy’s guts fizzed and frothed. Peter’s poppled and plopped.

  They bent over in the aisle. Out foamed thick clouds of rotten stink that smelled like the innards of a thousand garbage trucks. The air turned green; the nuns’ faces turned greener. Veils popped off gagging heads.

  Peter and Willy held their bellies, laughing and laughing, rolling side to side on the floor.

  Or was it the airplane rolling and rocking?

  People screamed. People fainted. The pilot staggered out of the cockpit, clasping an oxygen mask to his face. “Who did this?”

  Everyone pointed. That is, everyone who was still able to breathe.

  “Aaaahhhhhh!!!” said Willy and Peter.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lost at Sea

  Willy and Peter floated in the middle of a wide ocean, no land in sight. Not even a bird flew overhead. The sun burned their heads. All they had to hold onto were their cartons of chips and dip.

  Willy cried and blubbered. His nose ran with snot, which didn’t taste half bad, actually, after all those airline sandwiches.

  “What are we gonna do? I can’t swim good. And I’m scared of sharks!”

  His tears flowed so hard the sea rose three full inches. Or maybe that was just a passing sea swell.

  “We still got our potato chips,” Peter said.

  “I don’t care about potato chips! I want to go home!” Willy cried even harder and the sea rose some more. Gray clouds gathered on the horizon.

  “I mean those bags are full of air. If we tie them together we can make a raft,” Peter said. “Hand me your shoelaces.”

  In a little while they were bobbing on their potato chip raft. But those clouds were coming closer, and they were dark and looked a bit mean. A storm would be bad news on the open sea. They didn’t even have an umbrella.

  Peter grabbed a passing stick. “Give me your shirt!” he said. He tied their shirts together into a makeshift sail.

  “By my calculation, we should head west,” Peter said. He shaded his eyes and looked toward the sun. “You’re better at science. The sun rises in the west, right?”

  “I’m pretty sure it rises in the east,” Willy said.

  “West.”

  “East.”

  “West, you idiot!”

  “East, you dumb-butt!”

  Maybe it was the heat and the salt in his eyes, but Willy couldn’t take any more. He raised his fists, and Peter did the same. Just then they heard rumbling like a gassy stomach, though it wasn’t either of theirs.

  Lightning flashed. The dark clouds were closer and scarier than ever.

  “We can’t panic,” Willy said. “When people disagree, what’s the democratic thing to do? We compromise!”

  “Good idea. Let’s go that way instead.” Peter pointed south. Or was it north?

  But no matter which way they pointed, there wasn’t enough wind.

  Peter grabbed cans of bean dip from the carton. “Eat!”

  They ate. And ate. And ate. Until the rumbling in their bellies was louder than the approaching storm—though without the lightning shooting from the ever-angrier clouds.

  They got on their knees and dropped their pants, but held it in until Willy felt like knives pierced his gut.

  Finally, Peter said, “Now.” They aimed the sharpest, squealiest, strongest stink jets of their lives straight at the sail.

  It was kind of fun the way they practically flew over the swells. At the top of one wave, Willy saw a sight so welcome he nearly lost control of his butt. “Land ho!”

  A rocky island dipped and rolled into view while behind them the sky turned nearly black. The sea boiled.

  “Turn up the juice!” Peter shouted.

  They gulped bean dip down to one last can. Willy’s butt was on fire, but he couldn’t lose control now. He aimed the malodorous air stream in a focused, powerful flow.

  Lightning crashed so close, one of the raft’s bags burst, ridged potato chips flying everywhere. Peter cracked open the last can of dip. The took turns licking it clean. Then Willy and Peter locked eyes and nodded to one another. This was it. Their lives depended on one last fart.

  “Ready...”

  “Aim...”

  Willy let go until he thought he’d blown out every molecule from inside his body.

  The raft shot skyward. Lightning struck left and right, ahead and behind.

  “Aaaahhhhhh!!!” said Willy and Peter for the second time that day.

  They crashed down hard, potato chip bags bursting beneath their bodies, and tumbled across wet white sand. Rain pelted down, stinging their faces.

  Willy pointed to an opening in a rocky cliff. “A cave!”

  Inside it was dry and warm. Crabs scuttled aside. The boys lay on their backs and caught their breath, then gave each other a high five.

  “We did it! We’re safe!” Willy said.

  “Of course. We’re the coolest, smartest, strongest guys in the universe. Nothing can ever harm us!” Peter said.

  An ugly laugh echoed behind them, like the squish of a plunger clearing a blocked toilet.

  “What have we here?” said a deep, scratchy voice coming from an evil clown face, grinning through red dripping teeth.

  “Aaaahhhhhh!!!” said Willy and Peter for the third time.

  CHAPTER 4

  Balloon Dilemma

  The clown croaked out a long, gurgling belch, then laughed again.

  “Care for some strawberry soda?” That might explain the red teeth.

  “Um...sure,” Willy said. He was pretty thirsty after all that bean dip and potato chips and sea water, not to mention the boogers he’d been treating himself to when Peter wasn’t looking.

  A liquid jet shot from a flower on the clown’s chest, drenching Willy and Peter in
sticky, sweet soda pop.

  Peter waved a fist. “Not funny, you stupid clown!”

  The strange thing was, the clown seemed to agree. He didn’t even crack a smile.

  “I do apologize,” the clown said. “Allow me to introduce myself. Kookie the Clown at your service.” He bowed and lifted his little derby hat. A boxing glove sprang out and knocked Peter to the ground.

  Then he turned his attention to Willy.

  Willy wanted to run away, but his path was blocked by the evil Kookie. He swallowed hard, trying not to cry.

  “Where are we?” Willy said.

  “You really don’t know? This is Wize Krakker Island. Lots of kids come here.”

  Willy looked at Peter. They’d heard that name before.

  “Aren’t you the ones who blew up the onion dip factory?” Peter said.

  Kookie the Clown put on a huge grin. He was nuts. “Wanna see a balloon act?”

  Did they have a choice?

  Kookie pulled a fistful of colored balloons from his pocket and blew up a long, skinny one, then another and another, all the while making ha-ha and hee-haw noises, though they sure didn’t sound funny to Willy’s ears.

  The clown twisted balloons into loops and hooks, which didn’t look like any balloon animal Willy had ever seen. In fact, they looked more like...

  Chains.

  Kookie threw back his head and shook with squishy laughter, while he looped the chains around Willy and Peter, trapping them inside multi-colored balloon cocoons.

  For the fourth time that day, Willy and Peter said, “Aaaahhhhhh!!!”

  CHAPTER 5

  Stinky Beasts

  Kookie the Clown looped one last balloon around Willy and Peter, and dragged them across the cave’s sandy floor. Willy tried to squirm free, but the harder he struggled, the tighter the balloons became.

  If only that dumb Peter had listened and bought the My Cutie Horsie, they wouldn’t have ended up lost at sea, nearly fried by lightning, and now, dragged through dirt by an evil, crazy clown.