The Fantastic Flatulent Fart Brothers Go to the Moon!: A Spaced Out Comedy SciFi Adventure that Truly Stinks (Humorous action book for preteen kids age 9-12); US edition

by M. D. Whaleb

“P-Peter, help!” Willy cried, holding on by a single hand. One small slip and he would fall to his doom.

  “I’ve got it!” Peter shouted.

  He rolled up his pant leg and carefully peeled off a scab so big, black, and ugly, it even grossed him out.

  Peter’s arm drew back, then with every fiber of strength, he spun the scab through the air, exclaiming:

  “May the Flatulence be with you!”

  Willy’s free hand caught the flying scab. It was thick and lumpy, and gooey on one side—he fought the urge to vomit.

  He reached over to the edge of the pit and shoveled up a small mountain of onion dip. But even then, he didn’t immediately shove it in his mouth.

  Eating his brother’s scab would be the most disgusting thing he’d ever done in his life—well, except maybe the time he accidentally stepped in dog doo and tracked it all over the house, including on his sister’s bed.

  Just do it, he told himself.

  He placed the scab on his tongue.

  He gagged.

  He chewed.

  The scab turned out to be leathery, though crisp around the edges. It tasted like burnt cheese. But it was still gross.

  He shut off his mind.

  He swallowed.

  Eww.

  Powerful fizzing and foaming, like fireworks in his guts, wound down through the maze of his intestines. At last, he felt the tell-tale bloat, like balloons inflating inside his belly.

  The fart burst out like a spouting whale. In the low gravity it gave the boost he needed to pull himself onto the bridge.

  The alien’s fart-saber scorched the bridge near Willy’s feet.

  Willy turned around, loosened his pants and aimed.

  An epic fart shot through the air, touched the alien leader’s sizzling weapon, and ignited into flame. Willy now had his own orange-hot fart-saber.

  The Big Fat Pupu Face attacked with masterful moves, driving Willy backward to the middle of the rickety bridge, which bent and swayed over the corkscrew pit. It was all Willy could do to keep his balance and fight at the same time.

  The Big Fat Pupu Face struck with an inside left. Willy parried with a low thrust. But the alien had the greater skill, attacking with a rapid series of jabs.

  One swinging blow so narrowly missed his face that Willy lost control. His fart began to sputter. He was almost out of gas!

  At last, Willy got in a lucky jab, scorching the alien’s free tentacle in a little burst of green smoke. But rather than making the Uranian leader retreat, it sent him into a rage.

  Willy dodged and ducked one ferocious thrust after another, driving him to within a few short steps of the churning corkscrew blade.

  “Come on, Willy!” Peter jumped and waved his arms, while the Uranians belched support for their leader.

  Willy’s legs were losing strength. His fart gas was running dangerously low. He closed his eyes and remembered his brother’s words:

  May the Flatulence be with you.

  He knew exactly the move he had to make.

  His knees clamped together. His butt poised to strike his target at its very heart. Ready to unleash the deciding fart blast, he clenched his sphincter muscles, when he heard a sharp metallic snap that chilled him to the bone.

  CHAPTER 16

  War of the Worlds

  It sounded like the barbed twang of a breaking guitar string.

  Then another.

  The Uranian leader heard it too. The duel came to a stop while Willy and the Big Fat Pupu Face teetered on the narrow bridge, craning their heads in search of the sound’s source.

  There it was again, just behind Willy—an ear-piercing metallic pop, followed by a long, whining SPROING!

  The Big Fat Pupu Face trembled with fear. Willy turned to look.

  The noise came from the cable attached to the giant corkscrew—the one running through the top of the structure and on up through space to the Uranian space ship. The cable that would tow the Moon to Uranus. That cable was made from hundreds of metal strings, all twisted together.

  That cable was coming apart.

  There it was again: one of the strings snapped. Now Willy saw why.

  “Squeaky!”

  The crazy little hamster perched on top of the corkscrew, nibbling away at the cable.

  ka-BOING!

  There went another strand.

  The Big Fat Pupu Face pointed his fart-saber toward the unsuspecting hamster.

  Willy had only a few seconds of intestinal gas left. Enough for one final flaming swing at the Uranian leader.

  But what if he missed?

  Willy bounced up and down on the rickety bridge, throwing the Big Fat Pupu Face off balance.

  The alien belched furiously, slashing again and again at the hamster with his deadly flame, getting nearer each time.

  Willy crouched low. With one mighty kick, he launched himself high into the air, his fart propelling him like a rocket.

  PLINK! Another cable strand snapped.

  Squeaky’s sharp little teeth clamped onto the last remaining strand. A fart-saber jab singed his whiskers.

  Willy squeezed everything he had into one absolutely final blast of gas, grabbing the hamster as he zoomed past.

  The bottomless dark pit loomed below. Would he make it to the other side?

  May the Flatulence be with you.

  One last little butt peep did the trick.

  Willy tumbled down onto safe, solid ground.

  The shrill whine of the cable’s one remaining strand sounded like a giant slingshot stretching back and back.

  The Big Fat Pupu Face belched orders. The Little Pipi’s ran around like frightened Uranian chickens.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Willy shouted to Peter.

  They jumped into their space suits and ran. Sitting beside the entrance was the missing hamster ball.

  —kerrrr...SNAP!!!—

  The cable broke. It spun toward the ceiling.

  “Jump!” Willy cried.

  They leaped out the door.

  If the Moon had a real atmosphere, they might have heard a terrible ripping sound, as the entire Uranian base tore from the lunar surface, aliens and all, and tumbled end over end like one of those roll-up paper party horns, away up into space.

  The Uranian starship fired its engines, but too late. The spinning mass of wire and metal pierced the ship like a bullet.

  The spaceship shuddered. Its lights went out.

  Then the only thing visible was a huge angry ball of orange smoke and debris.

  It was the coolest fireworks display Willy had ever seen. A few flame bursts later, nothing remained of the Uranian mission other than a few sparkling embers drifting off toward the stars.

  “Nobody’s going to believe a single word of this,” Peter said.

  CHAPTER 17

  Planet Gas

  “I don’t believe a single word of this,” said a red-faced Mister Chan, spittle spraying from gritted teeth.

  He pounded a fist on a messy stack of papers on his messy white desk in his plain white office in the stark white Mission Control headquarters.

  Willy and Peter twisted in their seats on the other side of the desk. Their attempt to land the returning spacecraft in Siberia or the Sahara Desert, or anywhere as far as possible from Space Command, had failed when they’d spilled tropical punch all over the controls.

  After splashing down right in the middle of a water fun park, they’d been delivered by helicopter directly to Chan’s office.

  “You’ve got to believe us. Cross my heart,” Peter said. “There’s life on Uranus.”

  “On my what?” Chan screeched.

  “The planet, stupid,” Peter said. “We discovered big-eyed beans from Uranus trying to steal the Moon to feed to flatulent cow-snails.”

  “And I stopped them with my burning fart-saber,” Willy said. “Plus, our sister’s hamster helped.”

  Chan tapped his fingertips together.

  “Right. And I’m supposed to
believe that. Prove it!”

  “Sure, I’ll prove it,” Peter said. “Know how they say the name of our planet in their language?”

  He drew in a deep breath, then belched loud enough to be heard three doors away:

  “Uuuurrrrrrpthhhhhhhh!”

  Chan looked ready to explode. “Oh, you guys are dead. I mean, you were already dead before, but now you’re much, much deader.”

  He picked up a thick stack of papers. “Know what this is? This is a list. Of every law, ordinance, regulation, and procedure you two have broken.”

  There were thousands. Chan pulled out a random page and read:

  “Carrying an un-quarantined animal into space. Importing food from another planet without inspection. Improper use of official documents.”

  “We ran out of toilet paper,” Willy said.

  And this,” Chan flicked another paper stack, which was only a little bit thinner, “is a list of lost and broken materials, including one whole space capsule which has to be sold as playground equipment, plus two Extravehicular Mobility Units....”

  “What are you talking about? We didn’t destroy any space suits,” Peter said.

  “The amount of gas pooted inside those suits, our maintenance staff said they’ll never get the smell out. They had to be incinerated.”

  Chan leaned across the desk into their faces. “You two are going to spend the rest of your lives in prison,” Chan said. “As soon as I get your names.”

  Peter looked at Willy. Willy looked at Peter.

  “You mean, we never told you?” Peter said.

  Chan took out a piece of paper and a pen. He nodded at Willy. “You first.”

  Willy put his hand over his heart and said, “Frank N. Farter.”

  “And I’m his cousin, Yura Buttface,” said Peter.

  “Is that one or two T’s?” Chan said.

  He finished writing, then picked up the phone. “Hi. Send the National Security Team, please. I’ve got a Farter and a Buttface in need of hard labor.”

  “Wait a second!” Willy pressed the disconnect button on Chan’s phone. “If we can really prove that we met aliens from Uranus”—he stopped to giggle along with Peter—“then we’ll be heroes instead of criminals, right? You can even take credit for sending us there.”

  Chan leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Okay, one last chance.”

  “My air tank,” Willy said. “It contains pure, concentrated Uranian alien farts, which smells better than anything you’ve ever smelled in your whole life. You can even take it to a lab for testing.”

  Chan considered for a moment, then pressed a button on his phone. “Bring in the brat’s air tank.”

  A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. Chan waited for the delivery man to leave, then walked over and hefted the tank in his hands.

  “Go ahead. Put on the mouthpiece,” Willy said.

  Chan eyed him warily.

  “Come on,” Willy urged. “I’ve been breathing from it all week. No problem.”

  Chan wrapped his lips around the mouthpiece, turned the valve all the way up, and sucked in a deep breath.

  His face went red again, then yellow, then a bright fluorescent green. His eyes spun in their sockets, his hair stood straight up. Then he toppled over like a chopped-down tree and lay motionless on the floor.

  “What the—?” Peter said.

  “They must’ve brought in your air tank instead of mine,” Willy said.

  “So?”

  “Well, when you said you were moving to Uranus, I farted into your air tank for revenge. I mean pure, concentrated Grade A fart.”

  Peter scratched his head. “Hm. No wonder it smelled so bad on that ride back to the spaceship.”

  Down on the floor, Chan groaned.

  “Time to leave this orbit, I think,” Willy said. “Three–two–one...”

  “Blast off!” they said together, bending over and letting out absolutely, disgustingly green, rancid farts before speeding from the room.

  CHAPTER 18

  Out of the Clouds

  Every seat in the kindergarten activity room was occupied, except for two in the middle of the sixteenth row.

  The performance had already started, so people weren’t too happy when Willy and Peter squeezed past.

  One man scolded: “Sit down. Can’t see my daughter. She’s playing the haystack.”

  Peter tore open a bag of garlic-and-Limburger-cheese flavor rippled potato chips, while Willy removed the lid from a container of Moon onion dip. They munched noisily, until someone blurted out: “Can you two kindly keep the noise down? And whatever you’re eating stinks like crazy.”

  Peter belched the Earth’s name in Uranian at him.

  “Hey, where’s Squeaky?” Willy said. “I thought you were carrying his ball.”

  “I was. I just put him on the floor and...wait a minute...uh oh.”

  On stage, the kid playing Old MacDonald the farmer was tripped over his five-sizes-too-big overalls, while the kids in the chorus, who were all supposed to look like ducks and chickens, sang the song.

  The barnyard animals started parading in.

  Finally, the chorus got to the line: “Old MacDonald had some sheep, E-I-E-I-O.”

  Two little girls, wearing wool caps and what looked like white bathroom rugs strapped around their bodies, skipped onstage. The second sheep stood on her tippy toes, searching the audience, then stuck out her lip and seemed about to cry.

  Willy and Peter rolled their eyes at each other. Then Willy tipped onto his left butt cheek, and Peter tipped onto his right.

  A long-drawn-out, sickening, double-whammy fart engulfed the auditorium in thick greenish-gray fumes. People right, left, front, and center gagged and retched.

  When the clouds cleared, there were three whole rows of empty seats around Willy and Peter.

  Up on stage, Skyler’s face lit into a big, sunshiny grin. She waved to the audience and announced:

  “Hey, everybody! My big brothers are here!”

  Bonus Section

  for curious minds

  Zero-G Gastronauts

  Astronauts fart more in space.

  That’s because in zero gravity, the air in their stomachs can’t rise and come out as burps. The burp air mixes with fart gas inside their stomachs, then the digestive muscles push everything all together out the back end.

  Which brings up the obvious question on the next page.

  Fart Rockets

  Do farts act like natural rocket engines in space? The universe needs to know!

  When asked whether space explorers actually tried blasting themselves through the air by farting, astronaut Chris Hadfield replied:

  “We all tried it. Not the right type of propulsive nozzle.”

  The fact is, farts do have some propulsive force. In zero gravity and the vacuum of space, you could theoretically fart yourself all the way to the Moon...in 300,000 years.

  Space Fart Pollution

  NASA scientists worry that farts in space are truly silent-but-deadly.

  Besides stinking up spaceships, the methane and hydrogen in astronaut butt gas could actually be a fire hazard.

  In 1969 researchers studied how to reduce astronaut farts. They put together two groups of people. One group was fed the same diet as the Gemini space missions. The other ate bland Earth meals. Then they tested their burps and farts.

  Not surprisingly, bland food produced less gas. And less fun.

  First Fart on the Moon

  Astronauts first touched down on the lunar surface in July 1969. But the first confirmed fart on the Moon didn’t happen until April 1972.

  Apollo 16 astronaut John Young not only farted up a storm while on the Moon, he told the whole universe about it. During a conversation with NASA Mission Control, broadcast live all around the world, Young announced:

  “I have the farts again. I got ’em again, Charlie.”

  Faster than a Flying Fart

  Can you out-run a f
art?

  Farts travel up to 7 miles (11 km) per hour. Most people jog at around 8 miles (13 km) per hour. So that means when you hear a fart, you have a chance to escape?

  Not so fast!

  At butt level, a fart might be that strong, but it obviously slows down right away as it meets the air around it. So that means you can just walk away, right?

  Sorry, no.

  Although a fart’s wind speed might slow down, the tiny stink molecules quickly spread at 800 feet (243 meters) per second. That’s 545 miles (878 km) per hour: nearly the speed of a jet airliner.

  Still think you can out-run a fart?

  GET YOUR FREE BOOK!

  How much do you know about farts?

  Fish fart. Astronauts fart even more. Even dead people fart. Farts can destroy the planet, but smelling farts can be good for your health.

  Ancient fart jokes. Fart-worship religions. Farts that started wars. Human farts are illegal in Africa and cow farts are illegal in California. The fartiest foods, the gassiest animal, and much much more.

  Crack open a can of beans, and laugh from both ends at this zany-but-true encyclopedia of the windy and wacky world of musical gas!

  GET YOURS FOR FREE AT:

  http://freebook.fartboys.com

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