by Jim Smith
First published in Great Britain 2014
by Jelly Pie, an imprint of Egmont UK Ltd
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2014
The moral rights of the author-illustrator have been asserted.
First e-book edition 2014
eISBN 978 1 7803 17045
barryloser.com
www.jellypiecentral.co.uk
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.
Contents
Cover
Copyright page
Title page
Satsuma Fronkle
Keelmas ruined
Turkey arm flaps
Terry Claus
Flying Feeko’s trolley
Darren’s house
Shazza’s house
Bunky’s house
Future Ratbarry
Throwing Terry away
Christmas Day
Feeko’s Extra-Sticky Sticky Tape
About the story wrapper-upperer
It was the night before Christmas and I was standing in my sitting room, chomping on a mince pie while watching the Satsuma Fronkle advert on TV.
In the advert, Santa is going round delivering pressies to all the kiddywinkles. The only problem is, his evil brother, Terry Claus, is creeping in right after him and nicking them.
‘BOO, HOO, HOO!’ roars Terry, snatching a kiddywinkle’s stocking and climbing out the window. Except this time Santa spots him.
‘OH, HO, NO you don’t!’ cries Santa, and he wraps up his little brother like a naughty pressie and chucks him in the bin. Then Santa pulls a can of Satsuma Fronkle out of his pocket and takes a sip.
‘Mmm, nothing like an ice-cold can of Satsuma Fronkle on Christmas Eve!’ he says, and the Fronkle logo comes up.
‘Best. Fronkle. Advert. Ever,’ I said to myself, walking into the kitchen to answer the phone, which had been ringing ever since the start of the advert. ‘Hello?’ I burped down the little holes in the phone.
‘Poo, your breath stinks!’ crackled my best friend Bunky’s voice, and I imagined how keel it’d be if we all had smellyphones like they do in Future Ratboy.
Future Ratboy is mine and Bunky’s favourite TV show. It’s all about Future Ratboy and his annoying sidekick Not Bird.
‘I can’t believe it’s only one more day until I get my Future Ratboy costume!’ I shouted down the phone to Bunky.
‘Me too!’ said Bunky, who was getting a Future Ratboy costume for Christmas as well, even though I’d told him he couldn’t.
‘You really should be getting a Not Bird costume,’ I said, because everybody knows I’m the hero out of us two, and Bunky is my sidekick (like Not Bird is Future Ratboy’s).
‘NOT!’ screeched Bunky down the phone, as my mum tapped me on the shoulder, looking like she had something to say.
She was wearing her green woolly jumper and sparkly red bauble earrings, and if I squinted my eyes, I didn’t know which one was our Christmas tree, her or the Christmas tree.
‘Gotta go, see you tomozzoid!’ I shouted down the phone, because the Bunky family were coming round to ours for Christmas Day.
‘Merry Keelmas, Barry!’ shouted Bunky’s voice, and I hung up and got ready to hear what my mum had to say.
‘We need to talk, Barry,’ sighed my mum.
‘I’m all ears!’ I grinned, imagining what it’d be like if I was made out of all ears.
‘I heard you talking to Bunky about your Future Ratboy costume . . .’ she said, stroking my cheek with her hand.
‘Can you believe Bunky’s getting one too?’ I said, like we were two mums having a chinwag. ‘I mean, he’s a sweet kid and everything, but he’s no Future Ratboy!’
My mum crept her arm round my shoulder, turning her cheek-stroke into a hug.
‘I don’t want you getting your hopes up too much about that costume, Barry,’ she warbled, and I wriggled out of the hug.
‘Excuse me?’ I said, even though I was all ears. I couldn’t see how this was me getting my hopes up. I didn’t HOPE I was getting a Future Ratboy costume, I KNEW I was.
‘It’s just that they’ve been very popular this year . . .’ said my mum, and I felt the mince pie I’d been chomping on earlier turn into a butterfly inside my belly.
‘B-but you did get me one, didn’t you?’ I stuttered. ‘Y-you bought one from Feeko’s Supermarket and wrapped it up in Future Ratboy wrapping paper like you said you would?’
My mum leaned towards me with her arms stretched out. ‘Oh, Barry Warry, I’m afraid they’d already sold out,’ she said, cuddling me into her jumper.
‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF UNKEELNESS?!’ I screamed, flapping my arms up and down like a turkey.
The downstairs toilet flushed and my dad wandered into the kitchen, drying his hands on his trousers. ‘What’s going on here?’ he said, going to kiss my mum’s cheek but missing, pecking her on her bauble earring instead.
My mum looked at him and raised her eyebrows. ‘Future Ratboy costume,’ she mouthed.
‘Oh . . .’ said my dad. ‘Well, don’t worry, son, we’ve got you something even better!’ he grinned.
I stopped flapping my arms up and down and peered up at my dad, the mince pie butterfly flapping its wings inside my belly. ‘Perlease tell me it’s not a Not Bird costume,’ I said.
‘Oh . . .’ said my dad again, and I saw his nose droop in the reflection of my mum’s earring.
‘WAAAHHH!!!’ I cried, running round in a circle, which I think is another thing turkeys do. ‘It IS a Not Bird costume, isn’t it!’ I screamed. ‘Now I’m gonna be Bunky’s sidekick for the rest of my life!’
My mum grabbed me by the shoulders and peered into my eyes. ‘BARRY!’ she screeched, like a Christmas tree shouting my name. ‘What HAS got into you?!’
‘What’s got into me?’ I shouted, and I thought about what had got into me, apart from that mince pie. ‘What’s got into me is my loserish mum and dad have comperleeterly ruined my entire Keelmas because they were too lazy to drive down Feeko’s Supermarket before all the Future Ratboy costumes sold out!’ I roared.
‘If you’re not careful, young man . . .’ said my mum, her baubles jangling.
‘If I’m not careful, WHAT?’ I screamed.
‘If you’re not careful, you won’t get ANYTHING for Christmas!’ she snapped back.
I stomped to the bottom of the stairs and looked over at the TV, which was playing the Satsuma Fronkle advert again.
‘I wish someone would unwrap Terry Claus so he can steal ALL my stupid pressies!’ I boomed, and I ran up to my bedroom and dived under my Future Ratboy duvet.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I think I must have, because all of a sudden I woke up, and you can’t wake up if you haven’t gone to sleep.
‘TAP! TAP! TAP!’ whispered my window.
‘What is it, Window?’ I muttered, rubbing my eyes, which were all crusty from dried-up tears. I glanced over at my glow-in-the-dark Future Ratboy alarm clo
ck and tried to focus. It was half past midnight on Christmas Day.
I yawned, stretching out my arms and legs, and noticed I was wearing my Future Ratboy pyjamas.
‘Mum must have changed me while I was asleep,’ I mumbled to myself, waggling my feet around to see if there was a stocking at the end of my bed. ‘Nothing . . .’ I grumbled.
‘TAP! TAP! TAP!’ whispered my window.
I kicked my duvet off and staggered over to the window. ‘What in the name of unkeelness do you want, Window?’ I said, my eyes all blurry.
‘BOO, HOO, HOO!’ boomed a familiar voice from behind the glass, and I swung the window open and stuck my nose out into the nightypoos.
I focused my eyes into the pitch-blackness, feeling my mince pie butterfly flutter round in my belly.
‘Merry Keelmas, Barry Warry!’ roared Terry Claus, and he reached out and pulled me through the window.
‘WAAAHHH!! WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!’ I wailed, as we whooshed through the clouds. I was in a Feeko’s Supermarket trolley, except not one of those normal, boring, non-flying ones.
‘You’ll see!’ chuckled Terry, who was even fatter in real life than he is in the Satsuma Fronkle advert. ‘Fanks for unwrapping me, by the way!’
‘Unwrapping you? H-how in the unkeelness did I unwrap you?’ I cried.
Terry made his face look all loserish and flapped his arms up and down like a turkey. ‘ “I wish someone would unwrap Terry Claus so he can steal ALL my stupid pressies!” ’ he warbled, and I remembered myself at the bottom of the stairs, shouting the exact same thing at my mum and dad.
‘B-but I didn’t really mean it!’ I cried, accidentally swallowing a tiny cloud.
‘Didn’t you?’ grinned Terry.
‘No I comperleeterly did NOT! And I do NOT want to fly around in your stupid Feeko’s trolley either!’ I shouted.
Terry swivelled round and made his eyebrows into a V.
‘Don’t be a Not Bird all your life, Barry Warry!’ he boomed. ‘Play it keel like Future Ratboy and come wiv me!’
I scratched my head and looked down at the rooftops below. Terry was right, it was sort of Future Ratboyish, flying through the sky in a Feeko’s trolley.
I thought about my stupid Not Bird costume, and how I was going to be Bunky’s sidekick for the rest of my poopoo-ish life. Maybe this was my last chance to play it keel before I became the biggest loseroid ever.
‘Oh, go on then,’ I mumbled, and we whooshed towards a familiar-looking block of flats.
The Feeko’s trolley screeched to a stop outside the top-floor window of the flats. Not that a trolley can screech in mid-air, seeing as there isn’t any floor for the wheels to screech on.
‘Hang on a millikeels, I know who lives here!’ I said. ‘This is Darren Darrenofski’s house!’
‘Shhh!’ whispered Terry, lifting up Darren’s window. He jumped through and I stuck my nose in, then my eyes, then my ears, then the whole rest of my body.
The room was pitch-black apart from the sound of snoring, which didn’t make it any brighter. Terry pulled a torch out and shone it at Darren. He was lying on his back, his feet scrunched up against a big red stocking.
‘I’ll ’ave that, fank you very much!’ whispered Terry, grabbing the stocking with his ginormerous hand and swinging it through the window, into the Feeko’s trolley.
‘W-what in the unkeelness are you doing?’ I stuttered. ‘I said I wanted you to steal all MY pressies, not everyone else’s too!’
‘Come on, Barry Warry, what’s Dazza ever done for you?’ growled Terry, and I thought about how horrid Darren is to me at school sometimes. ‘I bet he’s got a Future Ratboy costume downstairs, too!’ he grinned, clomping over to the bedroom door.
My eyebrows shot up and I gasped, or maybe it was the other way round.
‘D-do you think?’ I whispered, as a floorboard did a creak out in the hallway.
‘Dazzy baby, everything all right in there, love?’ warbled a voice from behind Darren’s bedroom door, and Terry blew off.
‘It’s his mum!’ he whisper-growled, grabbing my arm and diving through the window, back into the trolley. ‘Let’s get the smell out of ’ere!’ he said as we whooshed off into the clouds.
‘What about the Future Ratboy costume?’ I whined, watching Darren’s block of flats getting smaller and smaller.
‘Don’t worry, Barry Warry, we’ll try somewhere else!’ grinned Terry, swooping down towards a tiny house and parking next to a cat flap.
‘Me first!’ he puffed, jumping out of the trolley and poking his head into the cat flap. His big fat bum squidged through and I waited a few seconds before following, holding my breath in case he’d done another blowoff.
‘Hey, this is Sharonella’s house!’ I said, working out it was Sharonella’s house, mainly because Sharonella was standing in front of me and watching as I climbed through her cat flap.
‘BAZZA?’ she gasped, and I did a little wave, like a naughty cat. ‘Ooh, you’re the bestest Christmas pressie ever!’ she warbled, skipping over and giving me a hug, which I wriggled out of even faster than my mum’s one.
Terry chuckled to himself, pulling a Feeko’s carrier bag out of his pocket and scooping a pile of pressies into it from under the Christmas tree. ‘Don’t mind if we ’elp ourselves, do you, Shaz?’ he said.
‘Only this much,’ said Sharonella, stomping on his foot.
‘WAAHHH!!! That’s me bad foot!’ wailed Terry, dropping to his knees and wailing even louder. ‘AAARRGGHH!! Me bad knee!’ he screamed, and I wondered what there was of him that was any good.
‘Grab Shaz and keep ’er still so I can nick the pressies, Barry Warry!’ giggled Terry, getting up and scooping the rest of them into his carrier bag.
I looked at Sharonella and tried to think of something annoying she’d done, just so I wouldn’t feel bad about grabbing her. ‘Sorry, Shazza, but you really shouldn’t have given me that cuddle,’ I said, walking towards her with my grabbers stretched out.
Sharonella chuckled to herself, which was pret-ty annoying, seeing as I was doing my scariest face. ‘Grab this!’ she shouted, picking up a sleepy-looking hairy thing off the sofa and chucking it at me.
‘MEOWWWW!!’ screeched the cat, waking up in mid-air and landing on my face. I swivelled round and staggered towards the cat flap, trying to get away from Sharonella.
‘Not so fast, Bazzy Wazzy!’ she cried, grabbing my ankles and flipping me to the carpet, all while the cat was still on my face, by the way.
‘Somebody get this cat off my face!’ I screamed, waggling my legs around like a turkey, and Terry clomped over.
‘Heeeere, kitty kitty kitty!’ warbled Terry, and the cat hissed, leaping off my head and zooming upstairs.
I scrabbled towards the cat flap at Future-Ratboy-speed and slithered through it, into Sharonella’s garden.
‘Wait for me, Barry Warry!’ boomed Terry, throwing the Feeko’s carrier bag full of pressies through the flap, and it landed in the trolley.
‘Let’s get the smell out of ’ere!’ he giggled, sticking his nose through the flap, then his head, then his big fat belly, then one of his legs. ‘Waaahhh!!! She’s got me ankle!’ he screamed, dragging Sharonella through the cat flap on the end of his other leg, and he limped towards me with Shazza hanging off him like an old sock.
I jumped in the trolley and pulled the handle and it floated off the ground, hovering a metre above Sharonella’s patio. ‘Give me your hand!’ I shouted to Terry, and he gave me his massive hand, which was attached to his arm, which was attached to the whole rest of him.
‘NOW let’s get the smell out of here!’ I giggled as the trolley floated up, Terry waggling his legs like a turkey.
‘Come back here with my pressies!’ screamed Sharonella as she lost her grip of Terry’s ankle and dropped to the ground, landing on her bummypoos.
‘Not if I see you first!’ I shouted back, even though it didn’t really make sense.
‘’Aving fun,
Barry Warry?’ grinned Terry as we headed towards a familiar looking house, and I nodded, feeling all Future Ratboyish.
‘That roof . . . I know it from somewhere,’ I said. It was covered in snow, and a line of footprints led all the way to the chimney.
‘Looks like Santa’s already been!’ giggled Terry, and he jumped on to the roof. ‘Follow me!’ echoed his voice as he squidged himself down the chimney.
‘Hey, this is Bunky’s house!’ I cried, as I shot out of the fireplace and landed next to a ginormerous pile of pressies.
Terry was bent over, his big fat bum waggling like a smelly jelly. ‘First fings first, let’s find you that Future Ratboy costume,’ he mumbled, tearing through the pressies. ‘Ah, ’ere we go!’ he said, ripping the corner off one and grinning.
