by R. L. Stine
“He’s pretty fast for a chihuahua,” Handy Sandy said.
“So that’s our magic trick,” Adam Bomb explained. “Rob Slob Junior made Good Boy disappear. Then he brought him back. Oh, and made him disappear again. That’s three tricks in one!”
The mayor stood there red-faced, gritting his teeth, squeezing his hands into fists, trembling with anger. Finally, he picked up the blue-ribbon award from the floor.
“I hate to do this,” he said, turning to Adam, Sandy, and me. “I really really really really really hate to do this. I would much rather smash in my own head with a sledgehammer. But . . .”
But?
The three of us waited in silence for him to finish.
“But I am going to award the grand prize to you and your hideous animal.”
“Wait!” a voice shouted.
“Wait! Please Wait!”
“Huh?” I gasped. I turned to see five kids running toward us across the center of the arena. One of them carried a big black cat!
“Oh, wow!” I cried as they ran closer. “Look at them!”
Adam Bomb slapped his forehead. His eyes bulged out of his head. “Look at them! Look at them!” he screamed. “I . . . I don’t believe it!”
EIGHTEEN
Adam Bomb here. I have to continue telling you the shocking part of this story. Rex was too nervous, and had his eyes closed for most of this.
And it was shocking. I stared in amazement at the five kids carrying their black cat into the arena. We all stared, shaking our heads, mumbling and muttering, and nearly choking with surprise.
As we stared, our other friends—the kids from our house—came rocketing down from their seats to join us. Now all ten of us were staring in shock and amazement and disbelief and anything else you can think to call it.
My head was spinning. My chest was tightening. I held my breath to keep from totally exploding!
The five of them stopped running when they saw us.
“HUH?”
“WHA—?”
“WHYA—?”
“WHOA!”
“AAACK.”
They gasped and groaned and muttered and moaned just like us. The five of them stared at the ten of us. It was the longest staring match I’ve ever been in.
Why?
Why were we all so shocked and amazed?
I’ll tell you why. It was because the five of them looked just like us!
I mean, we Garbage Pail Kids know we’re not normal. The Perfect twins are the normal kids. And we are nothing like the Perfect twins or any of the other kids at Smellville Middle School.
We know we’re different. We’re different and we’re proud. (Most of the time.)
But now we were standing in the middle of the arena, staring at five kids who also looked . . . different.
The arena grew silent as we all stared at one another.
Finally, Cranky Frankie broke the silence. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Yeah, what are your names?” Wacky Jackie demanded.
They went down the line.
“I’m Windy Winston.”
“I’m Nat Nerd.”
“I’m Brett Sweat.”
“I’m Nasty Nancy. Want to make something of it?”
The last kid had been picking his nose the whole time. He pulled his finger out and wiped it on his jeans. “And I’m Disgustin’ Justin,” he said.
“This can’t be happening,” I muttered. “Are they for real? Or did they come here to make fun of us?”
The kid named Windy Winston took a few steps toward us. “We call ourselves the Garbage Pail Kids,” he said.
“No way!” Cranky Frankie shouted.
“That’s a lie,” I cried. “We’re the Garbage Pail Kids!”
“No, you’re not!”
“Yes, we are!”
“No, you’re not!”
“You look like garbage,” Nasty Nancy said. “But we’re the Garbage Pail Kids.”
“Fakes!”
“You’re the fakes!”
“You’re fake garbage!”
“You smell like garbage!”
It was starting to get nasty. My head started to throb. My heart was thudding like a jackhammer in my chest.
“Whoa. Hold on,” Brainy Janey chimed in. “Why do the five of you call yourselves the Garbage Pail Kids?”
“I’ll tell you why,” Disgustin’ Justin replied. “Because we live behind a bunch of garbage pails.”
“No way!” I cried. “We live behind garbage pails. We do—not you!”
“We do! You’re a bunch of fakes! Fake garbage!”
“You’re the fakers! You are!”
“I know we’re garbage, but what are you?”
This was too weird. Too shocking. Too unbelievable.
Everyone was shouting and pointing fingers.
I couldn’t take any more. My head throbbed harder. My chest pulsed and throbbed.
I told you my name is Adam Bomb. And you know what happens to me . . . BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOMMMMMM!
First, my head EXPLODED—and then my whole body!
What a mess. What a horrible mess.
And all over the floor of Smellville Town Hall, too.
NINETEEN
Brainy Janey here. I have to continue the story since Adam Bomb exploded all over the place. Cranky Frankie and Junkfood John carried him away. But don’t worry. He’ll be fine. He just does that from time to time. It’s kinda his thing.
Once the others got over the shock, we all started to fight and shout and point again. But Mayor Crumbum stepped between us and broke things up.
“Shut up! Everyone shut up!” he shouted, waving his hands above his head. “Shut up—or I’ll award the grand prize to that chihuahua, even though he ran away.”
“Yaaaay.” Peter and Patty Perfect clapped.
“You two shut up, too,” the mayor snapped.
The Perfects gasped.
Brett Sweat wiped sweat off his face with the front of his T-shirt. “What is the grand prize, anyway?”
“The grand prize,” Crumbum answered, “is a free all-day trip to Six Thrills Amusement Park!”
“You’re joking,” Nasty Nancy said. “I went to Six Thrills once and I only had five thrills!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Junkfood John told her. “You’re not going to win anyway. Your cat can’t beat our . . . uh . . . dog.”
I gazed down at our furry pet. Rob Slob Junior was chewing on one of Luke Puke’s sneakers. Luke didn’t look happy.
“Our cat is named Winner,” Windy Winston said. “That’s because he’s going to win the contest.”
“Winner is a loser,” Wacky Jackie snapped.
“Stand back, everyone,” Mayor Crumbum ordered. “Back. Get back. Let’s see what this cat can do. I’m allergic to cats, but I can still be a fair judge.”
Brett Sweat wiped his face on the front of Mayor Crumbum’s shirt. Then he placed the big cat on a stool.
Nat Nerd handed the cat a violin and bow.
We all stood around watching in silence as the cat sat up and tapped one back paw on the table to set the rhythm. Then the cat pulled the bow over the violin— and played a complete violin concerto by Mendelssohn.
When the cat finished, the auditorium remained silent. The audience had tears in their eyes. The music was so beautiful, some people were sobbing. Others held the person next to them and hugged.
Mayor Crumbum wiped tears off his cheeks. He raised the blue ribbon above the black cat’s head. “I think Winner is the winner!” he exclaimed.
TWENTY
“Not fair!” cried Patty Perfect. “Not fair at all!”
“Good Boy plays that concerto in his sleep!” Peter Perfect exclaimed. “Just last week, he burped the whole concerto! And it didn’t smell one bit, either.”
“Your dog ran away,” Babbling Brooke shouted. “Your dog is a quitter!”
“He’s not a quitter!” Patty protested. “He just got shook
up because your dog tried to eat him!”
“Rob Slob Junior didn’t try to eat him,” I explained. “He simply gave your dog a big kiss.”
“You call that a kiss?” Peter cried. “If that was a kiss, your dog has some pretty big lips!”
“No fat-shaming!” Babbling Brooke cried.
“Stop fighting!” Nasty Nancy shouted. “Our cat won fair and square.”
Disgustin’ Justin shoved Junkfood John with both hands. “You’re all a bunch of bad sports!” he yelled.
“You’re the bad sports!” Babbling Brooke cried. “You came too late to enter the contest! You can’t just show up at the last minute.”
The argument turned into a shoving match, with everyone shoving everyone else.
Even people in the audience started to shove one another, taking one side over the others.
“Good Boy!”
“Rob Slob Junior!”
“Winner!”
Nervous Rex backed away and hugged himself. His legs were trembling so hard, it looked like he was dancing.
Junkfood John had a big bag of tortilla chips tilted into his mouth. He always eats when he’s nervous. (And when he’s not nervous.)
The girl called Nasty Nancy was so worked up, she started to punch herself!
Mayor Crumbum ducked under a table, his hands over his ears. “Break it up! Break it up, guys!” he kept shouting.
Nat Nerd leaped up onto the table. He cupped his hands around his mouth and cried at the top of his lungs: “Manners, everyone! Remember your manners!”
The auditorium fell silent. The shoving stopped.
Then there was a loud crunch. I looked down and saw our hippo gobbling up the black cat’s violin.
The mayor climbed out from under the table. “The boy standing on the table is right. Everyone—manners! Stop and calm down,” he said. “No more shoving. Or yelling!”
“We’ll stop after we win!” Cranky Frankie cried.
“Enough,” Crumbum said. “I declare this contest a tie! You all win. You all win a trip to Six Thrills Amusement Park!”
Everyone cheered. Babbling Brooke jumped up and down and then did a cartwheel.
“YAAAAAY!”
The sound echoed off the arena walls.
“A TIE! A TIE!”
“No way!” Crankie Frankie shouted over the cheers. “That’s not fair. No way!”
TWENTY-ONE
The cheering stopped. A hush fell over the auditorium.
“Frankie, what’s your problem?” Wacky Jackie asked.
Frankie pointed at the five new kids. “Those Garbage Pail Kids over there can’t just show up at the last minute and win the same as us. I don’t want them to come to Six Thrills with us,” he said.
“Why?” Jackie demanded.
“Because they’re fake.”
“Your brain is fake!” Nasty Nancy shouted at Frankie.
Brett Sweat picked up the black cat and mopped sweat off his forehead with it. By the time Brett was finished, the cat was dripping wet.
“Who are the fakes?” Brett demanded. “And who aren’t the fakes? We know who we are. But who are you?”
“Who are I?” Wacky Jackie replied. “Don’t you mean, who am you?”
“Who am you?” Brett said. “That’s what I’m asking. I know who I are. But is you who?”
“You’re not me!” Wacky Jackie exclaimed. “So who am I?”
“Who am me?” Brett Sweat replied. “I’m asking you, who am me?”
“You is you and I am me,” Jackie said.
“You’re giving me a m-migraine!” Nervous Rex cried, holding his head.
Wacky Jackie frowned. “Is it my graine? Or is it your graine?”
Nat Nerd jumped back up onto the table again. “Manners, everyone. Remember your manners!” he shouted.
I gazed down. Rob Slob Junior had eaten one of the mayor’s shoes. I think the mayor was too upset to notice.
I’m the brainiac in the group, so I knew it was my job to settle this argument. The contest was a tie, so everyone was going to the amusement park.
There had to be a way to make everyone happy about that.
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding up both hands. “You fake Garbage Pail Kids are welcome to come along with us to Six Thrills. But we’ll have a better time than you!”
“Huh?”
“Wha—?”
“Excuse me?”
Nasty Nancy shook her head. “We’ll have a better time than you with our eyes closed!” she said.
“Don’t shut your eyes—just shut your mouth!” Cranky Frankie snapped.
“Manners, everyone! Manners,” Nat Nerd called from on top of the table.
Patty Perfect stuck her perfect nose in the air. “Peter and I will have the best time!” she said. “That’s because we are perfectly happy wherever we go.”
“We always have a perfectly awesome time because we are perfect!” her brother exclaimed.
“Your dog ran away. Who says you get to go?” Cranky Frankie exclaimed.
“Yea,” Nasty Nancy agreed. “Mind your own business.”
I could see another fight was about to start. I knew I had to think quickly to stop it. But thankfully, quick thinking is what I’m known for. My quick thinking is quicker than anyone else’s quick thinking.
“How about a contest?” I said.
Windy Winston squinted at me. “Another pet contest?”
“No,” I said. “A contest to see who has the best time.”
They all muttered to themselves. I’m not sure what they were saying, but I think they were talking about how brilliant I am.
“We’ll give out points at each ride and each game and each food place,” I said. “Points for having the best time. And we’ll see who really has the best time.”
“I’m already having a great time,” Babbling Brooke said. “I got a head start on all of you!”
“Nobody puts Peter and Patty Perfect in the corner. We started having a good time yesterday,” Peter Perfect said. “So we’re going, too. And we’re already winning—big time.”
“Let’s start the contest at the amusement park,” I said. “Everyone agree?”
“I know who I are,” Brett Sweat said. “But who am you?”
TWENTY-TWO
As we were walking home, I had a lot of brilliant ideas about how we could have the best time at Six Thrills Amusement Park. My brainiest idea was for each of us to carry a feather. That way we could tickle one another all the time and we would keep laughing.
But no one seemed to like that idea.
“Feathers make me sneeze,” Wacky Jackie said.
“I’m not ticklish. Tickling makes me puke,” Luke Puke said.
“I’m scared of feathers,” Nervous Rex said. “I always wonder where they came from. Did someone pull them off a bird? Did it hurt to have their feathers p-plucked out?”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Forget the feathers. Here’s another brilliant idea. Whenever we go on a ride, we don’t get off when it’s over. We go around six times for every ride. How much fun would that be?”
“I always puke on rides,” Luke Puke said.
“Rides make me nervous,” said Nervous Rex. “I’m always thinking, when will the ride end? How much longer will it go? And, what if the ride never stops?”
“I get hungry on long rides,” Junkfood John chimed in. “Once, I was on a very long roller coaster ride and I just kept thinking about tortilla chips and salsa. I know other people were laughing and screaming, but I couldn’t hear them because my belly was growling too loud.”
“Come on, guys,” I pleaded. “We’re a fun group— aren’t we? We love to have fun. And I know we can have the most fun of anybody at the park!”
“YAY, JANEY!”
Babbling Brooke clapped her hands, leapt in the air, and performed a cheer.
“YAY, JANEY, YAY, JANEY,
“YOU’RE SO BRAINY!
“BUT WE DON’T LIKE YOUR IDEAS,
“WE THINK THEY ARE LAMEY!
“YAAAAY!”
She did a backward somersault and fell down an open manhole.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You don’t like those ideas. Let’s have a meeting when we get home and talk about how we’re going to win the contest.”
“We can’t,” Junkfood John and Rob Slob said at the same time. “No meeting today.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because we have to watch The Mighty Hairball,” Rob answered. “He got his own TV series, and the first episode is on this afternoon.”
“The Mighty Hairball joined the League of Sidekicks,” John said. “And his new show is on the Sidekick Channel.”
“But how can the Hairball fight crime without Jonny Pantsfalldown and his Pants of Steel?” I asked.
“It’s gonna be awesome!” Rob Slob declared. “For one thing, in the new series, the Mighty Hairball doesn’t wear pants!”
THE MIGHTY HAIRBALL
Episode 1
Get ready for a HAIRY adventure, everyone, as the world’s mightiest sidekick lurches off on his own to fight crime, bad people, and bad stuff wherever he finds it! “I spit on crime!” is the Hairball’s motto. And when he spits, criminals better duck!
Don’t look away!
It’s me, the Mighty Hairball, and I just sneezed all over my face. I’m allergic to my costume, and this happens a lot. As you can see, I’m wiping the snot away with my Official Hairball Handkerchief—made of real hair—which is available on my website, BigLoser.com.
I know, it’s a bad name for a website. But all the good ones are taken.
You may think that as a supersidekick, my life is one thrill after another. But you’d be wrong. Right now I have a big problem.
Like what to do with a snotty handkerchief when I don’t wear pants and there are no pockets in my costume? I can’t just stand here holding it. Where can I put it?
I guess I’ll tuck it under my shirt. UGH. It’s all slimy.
That’s one thing they don’t teach you at Sidekick School.
But I can’t worry about that now. I have bad guys and bad things to fight.
I’m on my own now. My partner, Jonny Pantsfalldown, was hurt in a very bad toilet accident.
