by Susan Berran
Geez, I was going to get that Sucky Samantha!
Over the next couple of days, I watched Samantha like a hawk. I saw her massive gigantasaurus sore in the middle of her forehead grow bigger and redder. By the end of the week it was the size of a small planet and pulsing bright red with its humongous, creamy whitehead ready to erupt. It seemed to be taking on a life all of its own too. I could swear it was breathing . . . and watching me. I could see the zit pushing upward, as if the thick whitehead was trying to burst through. It was payback time!
I waited till nap time when all the kids were fast asleep. Once the carers thought we were all sleeping soundly, they quietly tiptoed out of the room and off to the staff room to drink coffee, munch chocolates, and watch TV. That’s when I went to work. I threw back my “blankie” and shoved “Floppy,” my stuffed cat, under my arm. I quietly slid down the zipper on Floppy’s belly that usually stored my pajamas and took out the thick, red marker that I’d hidden in there and snuck over to Samantha and veeery carefully drew a great big butt around her pimple!
When Samantha finally woke up she had this huge, bright red “butt” and massive whitehead right smack in the middle of her forehead, leaking, festering, slimy, and very smelly pus from her pus-butt mountain. Payback was awesome!
And the best part was that butt-mountain stayed on her forehead for nearly two whole weeks.
Hey, I was three and three quarters, how was I supposed to know the marker was permanent . . . I couldn’t read!
So anyway, when your nose does “run,” I don’t know where it goes, do you? I definitely think there should be some sort of “nose race,” or world record for the biggest bucket of snot. Actually, I do know the guy that holds the world record for “longest unbroken booger.” He’s in the “Extra Ginormous Book of Incredibly Awesome and Unbelievable World Records.”
But I also don’t get why your nose “runs” instead of “walks.” Nobody says, “Hey get a tissue, your nose is ‘walking’.” Did someone just decide that snot runs because it likes to exercise and stay fit? Or maybe it runs to escape? Yeah, that’s probably it. Your boogers are trying to escape before they get eaten!
We’ve got this kid at school, Toffee Thomas. He’s totally stuck up and thinks he’s sooo cool but he’s actually repulsive.
If there was a world record for fastest “nose picker,” Toffee would win easily. I reckon he’s got a snot factory instead of brains. He must have. No one can have that much snot just in their nostrils. Unless their nostrils are the size of buckets! Toffee’s always got his fingers zipping in and out of each nostril like ferrets whizzing in and out of their burrows.
There was this one time when one of the other kids, Abbey, went to borrow Toffee’s eraser, which was sitting on his desk. She walked up behind him so she didn’t see him happily picking away. She reached across his shoulder to pick up the eraser when sploosh Toffee raised his snot-loaded finger towards his mouth but slammed it into Abbey’s arm instead. I thought he was going to bite off a chunk of her arm. Wow, did she scream. She spent the rest of the day scrubbing her arm clean.
Toffee just sits in class with his elbows leaning on the desk so that he can continue his picking and eating non-stop for hours. Once he gets going there’s no stopping him. It’s just a blur. A crazy ballet of fingers dipping in the nose sauce at supersonic speed. Each finger goes up and in, and before it even gets to his mouth, another finger from the other hand is already on the way into the other nostril.
One time he was going in and out so fast that when the teacher said to take notes, he grabbed his pen and accidentally shoved it right up into his nostril—wham—“Arghhh.” Geez, that would’ve hurt! He jammed it in so hard that it must have embedded in his brain! They had to get the school nurse to yank it out with pliers! It was hilarious.
It can be very hypnotic once you start watching him for a while. Kind of like watching one of those zombie horror movies, when the zombies start chewing on someone. It’s so disgusting and gross that you desperately want to turn away, but you can’t. Hey, here’s a thought—zombies are the foulest creatures to ever walk the Earth: the living-dead, the disemboweled deceased, the decomposing departed, the walkers, the rotting corpses with maggots chomping on their flesh—but, have you ever seen a zombie sticking one of his loose flesh fingers up his nose, wiggling it about, and then yanking it out to eat his boogers? Noooo!
Because picking your nose is even way too gross for zombies. What does that tell you Toffee?!
So every single class, Toffee is tugging at his nostril taffy. And it’s fun to watch, because at least twice a day he falls asleep, jamming his fingers right up into his nose and straight into his brain. And the moment he does it, everyone knows because the second his fingers block his nostrils—shnort!
But when we have gym, that’s when everything gets really gross—and it’s definitely no longer funny! If we’re playing tennis, it’s fine until it’s Toffee’s turn to serve. He chucks the ball up into the air with his snot-covered hand and smashes it right at me! I hit the ball and sploosh the ball sticks to my racquet like a velcro glove! At the same time, slithers of snot come splashing through the racket and splatter me in the face—the ball just sort of hangs there like a slimey yoyo on my racket until I have to grab the snot covered thing and pull it off! What’s fair about that? It’s not my snot!
I love playing soccer—until Toffee, who is our goalie, stops the ball, picks it up in his snot covered hands, and kicks it to me. Boof. My boot is engulfed in a flood of snot as I try kicking it, but it instantly returns, tethered to my boot by strands of his snot until I sit down and yank it off. Eeewww! Surely that’s worth a red card?
And then there’s basketball. Well, I’m sure by now you get the picture. Me attached to the ball, hanging from the basketball ring, surrounded by Toffee’s snot. Toffee and any sport equals disaster of unhygienic proportions.
So basically no matter what sport we play, there I am, soaked in snot, and no one else seems to notice or even care! Not the teachers or the other kids. No one!
Toffee is addicted to snot. He just sits around all day, twirling the slimy, stretchy snot around his fingers like cotton candy on a stick and then into his mouth it goes. Other times stretching and twanging it as if it’s some sort of musical instrument that he continues playing until it snaps.
So, why does your nose “run”? To get away from people like Toffee Thomas of course!
Beep beep beep beep beep beep
The alarm clock screamed at me with its deafeningly high pitch that makes me want to rip my ears off my head and stuff them into a blender—I really hate that thing! One of these days I’m going to shove a massive firecracker in its battery compartment! Then blow the thing into a gazillion and one pieces, feed it to the dog, burn the dog’s poop, and rocket it to the center of the sun. Yep, that ought to do it.
Then I smelled it. The disgusting stench and the putrid odor of morning breath. It was kind of like sticking your nose into a laundry basket full of dirty underwear and socks. What a way to wake up. But then I remembered, today was the day! “Extra Ginormous Book of Incredibly Awesome and Unbelievable World Records,” here I come.
I’d been dreaming of this day for ages. From the first moment I’d come up with my awesome idea, I’d been patiently waiting for my opportunity. Trying to imagine what it would be like to have hundreds of thousands of people—well at least a few thousand . . . maybe a few hundred . . . actually probably more like a hundred—with their mouths hanging open, staring wide-eyed in total gob-smacking amazement at me, glued to my every move. They would be blinding me with lights as their cameras honed in to capture history in the making. I couldn’t wait to take in the cheering, the applause, and no doubt, the looks of sheer amazement.
Today was going to be the most incredibly awesome, fantastically amazing day of my entire life. And, just like the humongous pus-filled zit pulsating away on the end of my nose, I was ready to explode forth and fulfill my destiny! Nothing was go
ing to stop me. Fame and fortune awaited and I was going to make sure that no one would forget this day, ever!
I realized early on that I needed to be super fast, agile, and very, very, very flexible. Like every other great athlete, I had dedicated myself to the task with lots of preparation and training, spending day after day, week after week, stretching and running as much as possible . . . totally naked of course, just to make sure everyone was paying attention, as I prepared for the biggest event of my life. I reflected on my rigorous preparation.
I had wanted to make absolutely certain that I was at the peak of physical fitness. So I ran and ran and ran. Only a little at first. Short quick dashes outside when no one was around to watch. The last thing I wanted was to have a heap of people making weird faces, staring, laughing, and pointing at me. I’d been spotted before running around with nothing on and people treated me like some hideously gross monster. Parents would turn away, quietly telling their children not to stare.
Some days were harder than others as I tried to keep up with my grueling schedule. But I soon found that I was beginning to actually enjoy the training sessions. I began to increase my speed and distance, always trying to maintain complete secrecy so that no one would try to stop me. The main reason I didn’t want anyone to see me out training was if someone guessed what I was up to, they’d probably try to beat me to the record! Or worse still, turn me in. I wasn’t going to let that happen. This was my chance at a new World Record!
Of course it would have been way easier if I had asked for a bit of help, but I couldn’t risk it—what if my “helper” turned traitor and tried to wipe me out!? Yes, I knew I had to do this on my own and I’d only get one shot at it. Just one chance because . . . well let’s just say, I don’t think anyone is going to let me hang around with nothing on long enough to take another shot at it.
But as go-day drew near, I began to grow suspicious that someone knew what I was up to and had told on me. I could tell that people were trying to stop me from training. If I even looked like running outside, someone would suddenly point at me, sneering, laughing, or making cruel, weird, twisted faces, and nasty comments. It was even worse at school. I could feel the burning gazes of the teachers and kids staring at me. They were ready to snap like the worn-out elastic in Grandma’s undies if I even looked like I was going to run. It totally sucked!
But it was really Kevin, my number one evil archenemy, who I needed to hide from. He’s a bully, and for as long as I can remember he’s always picked at me. Whenever he thinks no one is watching, he starts poking and pushing me. It really hurts too! Sometimes if a teacher catches him he’ll get in trouble. We’ve even been to the Principal’s office, but that just ends up in a bit of a lecture for him to leave me alone. Kevin always sucks up and says “Sorry, I won’t do it again” and that’s it! Of course, the minute we get out the door Kevin starts having a go at me all over again!
Yep, Kevin was the one person that I really worried might find out and wreck everything for me. If he knew what I was planning, there was no way that he’d let me go for the record.
Like the other day; there I was right in the middle of training, finishing one of the longest runs I’d had in ages, when suddenly there he was. He made sure no one was about, and then started poking me with his long bony fingers and taking huge digs at me. Where were all the teachers when I needed them?
Then things started to get really bad. Mom and Dad spotted me running. They didn’t say anything to me directly, but that night I overheard them talking.
“We have to put a stop to it! And he has to wear something warm when he goes outside!” Mom said all in a fluster. “We need to get this out of his head! If he keeps running like this we may as well take him to hospital right now!”
I knew I was constantly being watched, but I wasn’t giving up. After getting caught by Mom and Dad, I did all of my naked training under the cover of darkness; stretching inside where no one could see me before sneaking out into the freezing night air. I’d take one quick peak around to make sure the coast was clear before zipping out and taking off like a rabbit with its fluffy little tail on fire. The colder it was, the faster I was.
After a couple of weeks my “Incredibly Awesome and Unbelievable World Record” was looking better and better. I just had to stick to the plan and run as if I had a banana taped to my butt and there was a starving gorilla on roller blades chasing me.
Finally, my big day had arrived!
The annual school play was the perfect setting for my record-breaking attempt. I was going to break the record right there on stage, in front of as many people as possible. I wanted an audience full of witnesses with cameras so that there was absolutely no way anyone could question the result. It was perfect!
You see, every year our crappy little school does some totally lame, boring little play like . . . “Eat Your Vegetables Or You’ll Die,” “Cross The Road at The Crossing or You’ll Get Smooshed And Die!,” or “Be Nice to Everyone or You’ll Die!”
Yep, totally lame!!
And this year there was a new one, “Never Ride a Crocodile or You’ll Die!” Wow, worst play ever! But I didn’t care. There would be heaps of people to tell the incredible story of my unbelievable record for generations to come. Children would sit at the smelly feet of their great-grandfathers, glued to every word pouring from their cracked, yellowing lips. And for all those unfortunate people who didn’t attend the play tonight, they would forever regret not being in the audience to witness the historic event.
The play wasn’t due to start for a while, but already school kids were gathering in the dusty old town hall. Behind the heavy, red curtain they formed a tight little huddle as the principal, Miss Nada, began to give us her long, boring speech about “Giving it your best shot!” and “There’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’.” Well derrrr! Wow, it’s two minutes till show-time and we’re having a spelling lesson?
But if she didn’t hurry up with her speech, there could be a few dead actors, or people vomiting from standing next to the thick, furry armpits of “BO” Brett. Yep, anywhere near BO for more than about five seconds was a disgustingly gross and deadly place to be. He smells so bad that the poor kids that sit next to him in class are always pretending to have a cold just so they’ve got an excuse to stuff great wads of tissues up their nostrils. And everyone answers the teacher’s questions the second they are asked so he doesn’t shoot his arm up in the air and release his deadly toxic stench into the classroom.
I pitied the people in the front three rows of the audience because BO was the “Band Conductor” and he was going be raising his arms and waving them around all night long! Eeeww!
Miss Nada continued to prattle on and on. “Every student is just as important as the next one. Even getting my coffee and broccoli sandwich at lunch time is just as important as playing the lead role.”
Yeah right . . . not!
Everyone knows that Zombie Marty got stuck with the “coffee making” job because he’s totally useless at anything else. We call him “Zombie” because he wanders around with this blank look on his face. Kinda like he’s wandering about searching for a brain.
He has this little trail of dribble from the corner of his mouth rolling down his chin and his face is almost completely covered in these festering, red, scabby sores. His sister, Feral Cheryl, got the job of sandwich collector because she acts about as bright as a dead glowworm dipped in black paint, sealed in a black box in a cave at the bottom of the ocean. I overheard the teachers talking and saying that Zombie and Feral might have picked up their behavior from their dad. On the school camping trip last year they’d seen Zombie and Feral’s dad stick his hand into the fire to “see if it was warm enough.”
Yep! The jobs they’d been given were important alright—important to make sure they were kept as far away from everyone else as possible! And as for me? I was in the lead, naturally. And now I was about to become famous! My record would go down as one of the greatest moments in our town’s hi
story! In fact, it might actually be one of the greatest moments in our state’s history . . . or even our country. Fame was near.
High above the stage hung a very ordinary looking clock. Its simple, round face was worn and faded from the many decades that had passed. As the thin, aging silver hands struck seven, the large, wooden auditorium doors squealed open like a violin being played by a goat, before slamming back against the outer crumbling brick walls.
The hall began to fill with parents, teachers, friends, relatives, and other invited guests. They were all shuffling along like a herd of confused sheep, wandering down the aisles, treading on toes, nudging and squeezing past each other with a fake “sorry” while they looked for their correct row. It was fun to watch people scooching along over strangers’ laps to search for their allocated seat, all the while talking loudly on their cell phone so everyone could see how important and cool they were.
Other people were talking even louder to friends who were standing all the way across the other side of the hall. I don’t know why they didn’t just wait until after the show to yak to each other about all the boring stuff they were doing!
Chairs were being scraped and screeched along the hundred-year-old, wooden floorboards like fingernails drawn down a dusty chalkboard with the evil, ear-piercing sound echoing throughout the auditorium. There were the people elbowing the person beside them “accidentally” as they stood by their seat and shuffled about trying to remove their oversized jackets and put down their handbags filled with junk.
