“We made it.” Anna sighed as she squeezed out of the backseat.
“Hicklesnicklepox,” muttered Michael.
“Definitely,” I said, agreeing with him.
“You boys are pretty popular now,” said Ex-Dad, jabbing his finger at the closed garage door. “But fame has its price. The press? They’ll hound you like rabid jackals. Especially if they find out you based a TV show on your son and his best friend and everybody thinks you’re horrible for cashing in on their misery. And that you shouldn’t make money making fun of poor, defenseless kids. How you’re a terrible person, blah-blah-blah.”
He realized we were staring at him and stopped.
It was kind of quiet. For about five seconds.
Then a whole mob of reporters started banging on the garage door.
“David?” shouted one, his voice muffled by the aluminum garage door. “What do you think about what your father did to you and your friends? Is he a horrible person? Is Pottymouth and Stoopid the meanest and most despicable, not to mention the most horrendous, thing any father has ever done to one of his own children in the history of fatherhood?”
“Okay,” said Ex-Dad. “Gotta go.”
He didn’t even take his car. He just dashed out the garage’s back door.
Then he stuck his head in again.
“Tell your mother not to get any ideas; I’m coming back for my convertible first thing tomorrow. Probably around three in the morning. That’s when most reporters finally go to sleep. Be safe, boys and girl. Don’t forget to watch our show. Tell all your friends.”
And then he hightailed it across our backyard and jumped over the neighbor’s hedge, a couple of reporters at his heels.
Michael, Anna, and I kind of crept into the house. I peeked through the curtains in the living room.
The reporters had set up camp on our front lawn. Literally. A couple of them had brought along a portable grill so they could have a weenie roast.
Suddenly, the home phone rang. “Hello?” I asked.
“David, it’s Porter Malkiel. President and chief executive officer of the Cartoon Factory. We did an assembly together today, remember?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m calling from my private jet.”
“Cool.”
“I know. So, what are you and Michael doing tomorrow?”
“Um, going to school, I guess.”
“Guess again. You’re coming to Chicago! It’s time our biggest stars finally visited the Cartoon Factory!”
Where the Magic Happens
So the very next day, Michael and I climbed into another limo and drove off to a strange private airfield to board a way cool corporate jet!
Talk about free snacks; this plane had everything, plus leather swivel seats!
Two hours later, we were in Chicago. Mom would’ve come with us but she had to work the early shift at the diner. Michael managed to get the Brawleys to okay the trip without giving them any details—he just asked them for permission to go while they were fighting.
Another limo was waiting to pick us up at O’Hare Airport. We were chauffeured downtown to the home of the Cartoon Factory studios!
Talk about awesometastic. This place was incredibly cool.
Dozens of computer geeks were tapping on keyboards while artists sketched on tablets. We saw two actors in headphones standing in a soundproof booth voicing the characters flitting across the big screen in front of them.
“Whoa,” said Michael. “Those flufferknuckles are us!”
“Hey, welcome to the extremely hip and cool nerve center of the whole operation,” said Mr. Malkiel as he came out of his glass box of an office. “This is where the magic happens, kiddos. This is where Pottymouth and Stoopid come to life.”
Mr. Malkiel showed us around the production studio. We saw the storyboards where the episodes were roughed out. We saw the character artists, the guys who made sure Pottymouth and Stoopid looked the way they were supposed to in every frame. We met the painters and inkers who colored us in. (You have to figure they all aced “coloring inside the lines” in kindergarten.) Then we watched as the animators filmed an episode, one drawing at a time.
Okay, we watched them film only like five seconds of the episode because that was all they could shoot in fifteen minutes. Animation takes a long, long time!
“It’s great to actually meet you two,” said one of the artists, slipping another drawing into the frame under the camera. “You guys are, like, the hippest kids who have ever lived! Seriously, the way you stand up to Principal Blerguson and that bratty Kara Kentucky is super-cool. And the way you always look out for each other, like true friends should. You’re role models, dudes.”
Michael and I had never been considered role models or anything close to hip and cool.
In fact, I don’t think either one of us even knew what hip and cool was. But it didn’t matter. All the hip and cool people in Chicago were really nice to us.
“Kids pick on you?” said this one lady who could draw all sorts of expressions and emotions for Pottymouth with a flick of her wrist—all she had to do was change the angle of his eyebrows. “Kids used to pick on me too. They called me Miss Artsy Fartsy in seventh grade and made fun of the doodles I did on my notebook covers. But guess what, guys? It gets better. Way better. The same people who make fun of you now will be working for you someday.”
Everyone was so sweet to me and Michael, we figured we were going to have a sugar crash.
But you know what? We liked it.
No—we looooved it!
And then the nicest thing of all happened.
“So,” said Mr. Malkiel, “how would you two like to write your own episode? Forget your ex-dad. Forget everything. Throw out all the rules. Write me a two-minute episode filled with as much truth and honesty as you put into your speech at the assembly and I’ll find some place to run it. Can you do that, guys?”
“Fudging yes, we can,” said Michael.
I just said, “Woo-hoo!”
This was going to be fun. Maybe even hip and cool!
Based on a True Story. Lots of Them
We sat in a room with a whole bunch of writers and started bouncing around ideas for our very own two-minute Pottymouth & Stoopid cartoon.
Turns out, each and every one of the writers in the room had been teased and bullied when they were our age. So in honor of our visit, they decided to put their middle-school nicknames on their name tags.
“I was the Stink,” said a guy with glasses and short, spiky hair. “I swear I showered every day, so I never understood why. But then, the cool kids who slapped these names on us weren’t all that bright.”
“But we were,” said a girl in glasses. “That’s why they called me Egghead when they weren’t calling me Four-Eyes.”
“I was Nerd Breath,” said another writer, and, yes, he was wearing glasses too.
In fact, all the writers—including Spaz, Godzilla, Squirrel Girl, and Cheese Butt—wore big, thick glasses. Maybe they’d spent too much time geeking out in front of computer screens.
“I guess there have always been more licketerpicketer losers in middle school than whingeywhiney winners,” said Michael.
All the writers nodded.
“At my school, we outnumbered the cool kids nine to one,” said one of the girls in glasses (her bullied name was Wing Nut because her ears were so big). “Maybe we should’ve staged a revolution,” she added with a laugh.
“Yes!” I said. “That’s what this two-minute cartoon should be about. Pottymouth and Stoopid finally realize that they’re not the only ones being picked on. That there’s strength in numbers—”
“Yes!” said Michael. “A rattletrapple revolution!”
“We bring Anna Britannica back into the mix,” said Egghead. “I love Anna Britannica.”
“And we add in a new character named Wing Nut,” said Wing Nut. “Her ears are so big, she can fly—like Dumbo!”
All the writers pitched character ideas.
“The Geek-Vengers!”
“Justice League of Nerdmerica?”
“We need a name that shows how being underdogs have made them all friends.”
“Yeah!” I blurted out. “Because Michael and me? We’re going to be friends forever!”
“Grandpa Johnny said so,” added Michael.
“How about the Uncool Adventurers?”
“The Agents of Awkward?”
“I’ve got it,” said Cheese Butt. “Pottymouth and Stoopid and the Picked-Last Posse!”
“That’s it!” said Michael and I at the same time.
“But remember, you guys,” Michael continued, “these supernerds need to do snipplesnapple, fliggilyflaggily funny stuff.”
“Of course,” said all the writers.
“Okay,” said the writer wearing the name tag that said Stink. “We need our first supervillain.”
“How about an evil bully named Tony Skunkjelly?” I said. “His power is making fun of all the other kids and giving them terrible names.”
“He’s extremely oily,” said Egghead. “When he walks, we give his shoes a squishy, sloshy sound effect.”
“Like he has wet poop in his shoes,” said Michael.
“Ta-da!” said Squirrel Girl, who must have been an artist too. “Meet Mr. Skunkjelly.”
What a coincidence.
Mr. Skunkjelly looked exactly like Ex-Dad, Tony Scungili.
Can Somebody Say Spin-Off?
The two-minute cartoon went exactly the way we wanted it to go.
It was kind of like a superhero comic book come to life! All about the incredibly smart and funny but uncool kids joining forces to stand up together against the big, mean (and somewhat smelly) bully.
It was about picked-on underdogs realizing they had the power to take back their schools and their lives.
It had a new theme song too!
The opening scene showed the evil villain, the bully Tony Skunkjelly, picking on a kid he called Cheese Butt.
“Cheese Butt,” he sneered. “That’ll be your name for the rest of your life, punk! Why? Because I say so! And this is my school! Deal with it.”
Cheese Butt whimpered a little. That’s when Pottymouth and Stoopid swooped in.
“Yo,” Pottymouth said to Skunkjelly. “Quit picking on the hicklesnicklepox kid!”
“But I must make fun of him.” Skunkjelly cackled. “He smells weird and I can’t let that slide. He is Cheese Butt! Now and forever!”
“Um, don’t mean to be rude here,” said Stoopid politely, fanning the air in front of his nose, “but have you smelled yourself lately?”
“Because we, unfortunately, have,” said Pottymouth. “Whoa. How many dinkledorking bean burritos did you eat for lunch today?”
“Shut up, you losers!” cried Skunkjelly.
And that’s where we introduced Pottymouth and Stoopid’s new catchphrase.
“Uh-huh. Right back atcha!” sniggered Pottymouth and Stoopid.
“You would dare to stand up to me?” demanded Tony Skunkjelly.
“Uh, yeah,” said Stoopid. “I think there’s more of us than you.”
“One, two, three!” counted Cheese Butt. “Yup, I’m pretty sure three is more than one.”
A girl with braces barged into the scene. “Make that four, CB! I’m Tinsel Teeth!”
“Five!” said another supernerd, bursting into the frame. “Whoa. Who cut the cheese?”
“Silence!” yelled Skunkjelly. “You morons are nothing but lousy lamebrains!”
And then all the cartoon kids with nicknames pointed at Skunkjelly and said, chuckling, “Uh-huh. Right back atcha!”
It took all day for us to bang out the script and storyboard the idea, even though the final cartoon would be only two minutes long. The Cartoon Factory artists took a week to produce it. When they were finally finished, the two-minute clip ran only on their website.
But we were extremely proud of it. We figured it might give all the Pottymouths, Stoopids, Nerd Breaths, Wing Nuts, and Cheese Butts out there a little hope that things can get better. Especially if everyone looks out for one another.
Anyway, that two-minute clip of Pottymouth & Stoopid and the Picked-Last Posse on the Cartoon Factory website was a huge hit. Actually, it was ginormous. Maybe even bigger than the original Pottymouth & Stoopid.
In no time, the clip went viral. People kept e-mailing and texting and tweeting the link. A week later, The Picked-Last Posse became a brand-new spin-off show on the Cartoon Factory channel!
They still ran the original Pottymouth & Stoopid show but with some major changes because, thanks to Mr. Malkiel, both shows now had two new executive producers.
Yeah. Me and Michael! (We could do it only part-time because we still had to go to school. It’s a law or something.)
As for Ex-Dad?
He still has a job writing scripts.
Only now he works for us.
Hot Dogs Taste Better in New York City
As awesome as it was to be executive producers of Pottymouth & Stoopid, you know what the best part was?
We got paid to do it!
We received a pretty hefty chunk of change every week. In fact, we earned enough to pay for our college educations while making it possible for Mom to quit two of her three jobs and buy a new, nonclunker car.
Michael gave his foster parents a pile of cash too—but he told them they had to use some of it to go to anger-management classes.
In November, our school scheduled a class trip to New York City, and, for the first time since my grade started going on field trips, Michael and I were able to go. We could finally afford to pay for the bus tickets and the hotel and all the cool stuff we were going to do, like catch a Broadway show and look at the holiday windows in all the big department stores.
“Why take the bus?” said Mr. Malkiel when we had our weekly conference call to kick around new ideas for Pottymouth & Stoopid and the spin-off. “We’ll send the corporate jet to pick you boys up and drop you off in the Big Apple. It’s the least we can do for the stars of the Cartoon Factory’s two biggest shows!”
“Thanks, but we don’t mind taking the bofforrific bus,” Michael told him.
“We’re kind of looking forward to hanging with our peeps,” I added.
“Your peeps?”
“Yeah. Anna Brittoni, Fred Grabowski, Will Hunt, Katherine Kelly, a guy they call Norkface, a girl who’s been called Snotboogers since third grade…”
Mr. Malkiel chuckled into the phone. “Just like in The Picked-Last Posse, huh? Oh, by the way, be prepared for a couple of big surprises when you get to the Big Apple.”
“What kind of surprises?” I asked.
“Hey, it’s New York. Anything’s possible in that crazy town! Catch you later. I have to talk to the flufferknuckles down in the legal department.”
Early the next morning, a crisp, fall Wednesday, we climbed into the chartered bus and took off for New York City with our new friends. Yes, the cool kids sat in the back and tried to annoy us with spitballs and paper-clip projectiles.
But then, at exactly the same time, we all turned around and stared at them, totally silently.
The cool kids could count. There were fifty of us. Twelve of them.
The rest of the ride was kind of fun. When Kaya Kennecky tried to start a sing-along of “The Wheels on the Bus,” we all turned around and stared her down again.
New York City was even better. We did all the important cultural stuff: We visited Nike Town, had our picture taken with Spider-Man in Times Square, and chowed down as many of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs as we could stomach in honor of Takeru Kobayashi, the famous Japanese competitive eater (that’s my kind of sport). Kobayashi has won a bunch of Guinness World Records for eating, among other things, hot dogs (he gobbled down sixty-nine in ten minutes), meatballs, Twinkies, hamburgers, pizza, and pasta. I’m guessing that when he was i
n middle school, all the kids called him Garbage Gullet.
Well, guess who’s laughing and burping in their faces now? Takeru Kobayashi is definitely a Pottymouth & Stoopid kind of guy.
Heck, everybody is.
Even Kaya Kennecky.
“I’m different too,” she told us when she posed for her Times Square photo with Elmo instead of Spidey. “For instance, once, when I was in second grade, this really mean fifth-grade girl made fun of my nail-polish color!”
Okay. It was a start.
What is it that makes New York City so super-cool? It’s this: Everybody you see on the street is so different, it’s easy for all of them to fit in.
Thanks Giving
Our second day in New York wasn’t just another ordinary Thursday—it was Thanksgiving.
We all got up before dawn so we could go shiver on the sidewalk in front of our hotel and watch the truly amazing Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade pass by.
We saw marching bands, roller-skating clowns, weeble-wobbly big-headed Pilgrims, a giant motorized turkey, and lots of jumbo-size-cartoon balloons.
Including two floating giants who looked incredibly familiar.
“Whoa!” Michael and I shouted at the same time. All around us, our friends squealed.
“You think this is what Mr. Malkiel meant when he told us to be prepared for a couple of big surprises?” I asked.
“Hicklesnicklepox, yes!” said Michael. “Surprises don’t come much bigger than those two!”
One of the guys holding the strings to the Stoopid balloon saw me in the crowd.
“Hey,” he cried out. “You look just like my balloon!”
“No,” I said. “Your balloon looks just like me!”
And do you know what he said in reply? “Uh-huh. Right back atcha!”
When Pottymouth floated past, the whole crowd started chanting, “Fluf-fer-knuck-le! Fluf-fer-knuck-le!”
Pottymouth and Stoopid Page 10
