But I said what I said, and it's out there now. All I can do is wait and hope for the best. Hope he doesn't kill me on the spot with a deluge of vomit. Hope Tommy's still alive over there in the sewage where he landed.
Another moment passes. I wonder if I should say something else...or maybe I should just run. Take my chances in the darkness and hope I don't bash my brains out on the sewer wall.
Suddenly, Chonganda speaks. "You are trespassing, Mighty Jiggles." I don't think he's making fun of me anymore. He sounds more angry than amused. "I have every right to destroy you for intruding on my territory."
I take a deep breath and snap right back at him. "How would you like it if I shatter your territory to pieces? What if I shake the ground so hard, it tumbles down and becomes your eternal tomb?"
"And what if I vomit up horrors you can't imagine," snarls Chonganda, "and turn them loose on you and that mortal excrement you call a friend?"
Reaching deep, I dredge up every last bit of courage I can find. It's time to put everything on the line. "Go ahead and try!" I lunge forward, shouting into his putrid presence. "I'll show you what a god is made of!"
Chonganda swoops closer, his reeking breath oozing over my face. "You think you're better than me, Mighty Jiggles?"
That's when I get the idea. I think of a way to turn this around. "I do think I'm better than you...but my friend doesn't." I wave in what I think is Tommy's general direction. "Some friend!"
"What are you talking about?" Chonganda sounds more puzzled than furious.
I think I might have him on the hook. Now to start reeling him in. "Tommy worships you. I thought I was his favorite god, but I don't even come close to you."
"Impossible!" roars Chonganda. "I have no worshippers anymore!"
"Well, you do now." I shake my head like I'm irritated. "And don't think I haven't tried converting him. But he's devoted to you."
Chonganda falls silent for a moment. Again, the fear rises inside me, the urge to get away. What if he figures out I'm lying about being a god? What will he do to us?
But I stand my ground. It seems to me our only chance is to see this through.
And maybe, just maybe, it will work. When Chonganda speaks up, he hardly sounds angry at all. "You mean he really doesn't want to steal the golden barf?"
I fold my arms over my chest and nod. "He adores you. He made me bring him here just so he could meet you."
"And offer up a sacrifice?" says Chonganda.
"Love to." Tommy's voice is shaky when it pipes up from across the sewer. "I'm the world's biggest Chonganda fan. I'd do anything for you."
"But, I...I thought you were..." Chonganda's voice falters. "I thought you were like everyone else. I thought you only wanted to get something out of me."
"No way." Tommy splashes around a little; it sounds like he's getting to his feet. "The only thing we want is to tell you how much we appreciate you. Maybe get to know you, too."
The next time Chonganda speaks, his voice comes from across the sewer, over by Tommy. "Do you really mean that?"
"Ask the Mighty Jiggles," says Tommy. "Would a fellow god ever lie to you?"
"He means it." As I say it, I realize I'm not nervous anymore. It feels like the danger has passed.
That, of course, is when the whole place goes crazy.
*****
Chapter 20
"Come with me!" says Chonganda. "I will bless you with a visit to my godly realm!"
All at once, the darkness gives way to blazing light, and I shield my eyes with the back of my arm. The smell of the sewer fades, too...
...and is replaced by a thousand more putrid aromas. The sound of dripping sewage also fades, replaced by a twisted symphony of spraying, wheezing, whistling, splattering...
...and farting.
Dropping my arm, I blink back the light, straining to open my eyes. As they slowly adjust to the brightness, I look around, squinting, and take it all in.
Nearby, a river of vomit winds between hills of glistening poop. Writhing orange trees covered in festering boils dot the landscape, pumping out gas through puckered blowholes. Bright green clouds float by overhead, dribbling showers of yellow slime.
Bizarre creatures scamper among mounds of steaming sludge, coughing out screaming pink loogies. A thing like a blue kangaroo bounces from one stagnant puddle to the next, spewing streams of purple goop from the pocket on its belly. Schools of little brown snot-fish wriggle past in midair, propelled by gooey black tails.
All around us, everything is in constant motion, pushing and squirting and oozing. The creatures, trees, clouds and ground alike never stop squeezing out, throwing up, or belching out solid, liquid, and gaseous waste.
It's gross beyond belief. The sights, sounds, and smells are sickening. But it is also, in its own bizarre way, something more.
It's like a twisted masterpiece.
*****
Chapter 21
"Have you ever seen anything so wonderful?" Tommy Puke, of course, is in paradise, running from one messy marvel to the next. "It's like the most beautiful dream I've ever had!"
"I'm glad you like it," booms Chonganda. "It's my personal realm, Effluvium." His voice changes in mid-sentence, shifting from thunderous to childlike. "It's the heart of my power."
Turning toward the voice, I see a black-haired boy standing behind me, wearing a black tunic with a golden cord around the waist. He looks about my age, maybe twelve or thirteen, and he's kind of chubby. I'm surprised that a god with all that power would choose to appear to us as a chubby little kid.
But maybe, I think, that's how he feels inside.
"I can't thank you enough for bringing us here!" Tommy runs over and gives Chonganda a hug. "This is the happiest day of my life!" There are tears on his face, tears of joy.
Chonganda looks surprised when Tommy hugs him...then he looks happy. "It's been too long," he says, "since I've had friends over."
"Any time." Tommy breaks the hug and looks around eagerly. "So what do you want to do now, Chonganda?"
Chonganda shrugs. "What do you suggest?"
"We could play something," says Tommy. "There must be a zillion cool things we can play in a place like this."
"You would play with a god like me?" Chonganda sounds a little choked up. "After the way I treated you in the sewer?"
I walk over and squeeze his shoulder. "As a fellow god, I hereby give you the god squad seal of approval."
"You do?" Chonganda smiles. "That means a lot to me, Mighty Jiggles. It really does." He looks down and kicks the spongy, slimy ground. "Other gods don't treat me this nice. They make fun of me a lot for who I am. For being the god of vomit."
I don't let go of his shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that." Who knew I'd have so much in common with a vomit god? "I know what it's like to be picked on."
"Even my father, Bumba, left me," says Chonganda. "So did my brothers, Nyonye-Ngana and Chedi-Bumba. My own family doesn't want anything to do with me."
"Well, guess what?" Tommy puts his arm around Chonganda's shoulders. "You've got a new family. Mighty Jiggles and I are your new brothers."
Just then, Tommy lets a massive fart blow out of him--BLORRRARRRT--and we all crack up at once.
"I think I'm going to like this new family," says Chonganda.
"Glad to hear it," says Tommy as a follow-up fart squeals out of him.
"How can I ever thank you?" Chonganda looks from Tommy to me and back to Tommy.
"Just have fun with us," says Tommy. "That's thanks enough."
"I know." Chonganda closes his eyes and glows with blue light. Crackling sparks shoot from his fingertips and leap inside our chests.
"Ow!" My chest stings and tingles from the shock. "What did you do to us?"
"Gave you a gift," says Chonganda. "It will come in handy if anyone makes fun of you again."
Tommy rubs the spot on his chest where the sparks entered. "What kind of gift?"
"A secret filth." Chonganda narrows his eyes.
"More powerful than all the seven deadly emanations put together: vomit, poop, farts, phlegm, sweat, pus, and pee. It is the eighth emanation, a bodily flow given over only to the gods."
I frown, because my chest is still tingling. "But I am a god, remember?"
"Then this will intensify what you already have," says Chonganda. "Trust me, the eighth emanation of the god of vomit is greater than that of any being in all creation!"
I'm not sure I like the idea that he's done something to me, but I decide to let it roll. "Thank you, Chonganda." It probably wouldn't be smart to risk offending the god of vomit in the heart of his own realm.
"Happy to help a friend and colleague, Mighty Jiggles." Chonganda pats me on the back. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like some golden vomit to take back to the world?"
My eyes meet Tommy's, and I know what he's thinking. Like he said before, a little solid gold could make me pretty popular back home. Maybe, if I was rich enough, I'd never be picked on again. Maybe I could buy all the friends I'd ever need.
If that's what I want.
But guess what? I've got all the friends I want right here. And everyone knows that the friends you have to buy aren't really true friends at all.
So I shake my head and tell Chonganda no thanks. No golden barf for me, even though it was the object of this whole crazy quest.
Because it turns out the treasure we were tracking, from the first labor of Tommy Puke, back when he saved me from the bullies, to the fourth labor, when I saved him from Chonganda in the sewer, had nothing to do with the golden barf.
It was this, right here.
"Okay, guys," says Chonganda. "What do you want to play first?"
"Fart wars?" says Tommy. "Poop ball? Hide-and-go-puke?"
"I'll race you! From here to that fountain of slime!" I start running as hard as I can. "Last one there is a rotten egg!"
It was friendship.
*****
Chapter 22
The next day, things get back to normal...for a while, at least. The only obvious change, as I wake up and go to school, is that I'm waaaay more tired than usual. Blame it on Tommy and Chonganda, for keeping me in Effluvium past my bedtime. Blame it on me, too, I guess, for having so much fun, I didn't want to leave.
By the time I crossed back over to the real world, walked home, apologized up and down to Mom and Dad for disappearing off the face of the Earth (literally!), and got in bed, it was past midnight.
So I'm dragging all day, even dozing off in math class. People talk to me, and I don't hear them. I feel like I'm in a constant daze, asleep with my eyes open.
But you better believe I snap out of it when it's time to ride the bus home. Because I'm pretty sure I know what's going to happen next. In fact, I'm counting on it.
Sure enough, the three bullies are on the bus like always, staring daggers at me from the back seats. I must look like easy pickings to them, without Tommy by my side. Sweet revenge is so close, I'll bet they're drooling just thinking about it.
As expected, they get off the bus at my stop. That's okay, because I've got a surprise waiting for them.
They've got a surprise waiting for me, too, though. As I start down the sidewalk, three other guys step out from behind a tall hedge and block the way. They're all musclebound giants in red and black letterman's jackets that scream "football players." I don't know them, but I can tell they're high-schoolers--sophomores or juniors, at least. They crack their knuckles and flash their nastiest sneers at me, letting me know their brutal plans without saying a word.
I stop in my tracks and stare back at them. Normally, I'd be shaking like a vibrating phone in an earthquake, but I don't even shiver a little. These goons don't scare me a bit, not anymore. They're the ones who should be worried, not me.
Because I'm the one with the gift from Chonganda.
But they don't know that yet. Brendan, the leader of the eighth-grade bully squad, is talking like a winner when he sidles up behind me. "What's the matter, Jiggles? Don't you want to meet my brother, Duke?"
The biggest high-schooler, the one in the middle, points an index finger at me. "So you're that Jiggles kid, huh? Brendan's told me so much about you."
"Hey, Jigs." This time, it's Red speaking behind me. "Say hello to my brother, Bomber."
One of the high-schoolers has fiery red hair. It figures he's related to Red. "I heard what you did to my bro yesterday, cripple. That's some radical moves, man."
"Hey, Bomber," says Duke. "That Jiggles kid isn't a cripple."
"Not yet, he isn't." When Bomber says that, everyone laughs.
Except me. I just stand there and bide my time, letting them have their fun, waiting for my moment.
Now who's the one drooling at the thought of revenge?
The third high-schooler is the next to chime in. He's a little skinnier than the other two, and his posture is awful. "Did you know Crick has an older brother, too? Name's Shane." He's so stooped-over, he looks like a vulture choking down a marmot when he talks. "I'll bet you wouldn't've been so quick to take a shot at my boy if you'd known he had a hard-core bro like me, huh?"
"You know they came after me first, don't you? But I'm willing to let bygones be bygones." I already know what the answer to my next question will be, but hey: can't say I don't give them a chance to back off. "Why don't we just call it even and walk away?"
That makes them all laugh even harder than they did at the cripple joke. Bomber actually doubles over and shakes his head, it's so hilarious.
"You're a funny kid, Jiggles." Duke pounds his fist in the palm of his hand and starts toward me. "Let's see what other funny jokes you come up with while we're puttin' you through the wood-chipper."
That's everyone's cue to move. The other high-schoolers come with him, and I hear the eighth-graders stomping up behind me.
As for me, I just turn so I can see both packs of hyenas. My heart's pounding, my blood's pumping, my moment has arrived.
*****
Chapter 23
I raise my arms, extending them out from my sides. I smile as I close my eyes.
And then I do what Chonganda told me to do. I reach deep inside and switch on the power, simple as that. I will it to surge up out of me, focused on the three goons closing in on either side. I feel it rush out of me in a searing, shuddering wave.
So what does the secret filth look like? What does the eighth emanation do? I don't know; Chonganda never said, and this is the first time I've tried it.
What do I expect? Something extreme, for sure. Sprays of multicolored acid sweat exploding from my pores. Pulsating beams of radiation that burn away hair and melt bones into syrup. Rampaging toe jamb virals sporting pincers and fangs and suckers. Some kind of fourth-dimensional brain-poop that exists beyond time and space and drives the human mind into a state of permanent, shrieking insanity.
But it's nothing like that at all. I open my eyes as the emanation flows out of me, and all I see is a glittering mist rippling out from my body. The bullies storm through it and grab me without slowing down.
At first, I'm more disappointed in the lack of spectacular special effects than I'm worried about taking a beating. After all the buildup from Chonganda about how great the Eighth Emanation is, I'm in major let-down mode.
But then, suddenly, I realize there is an impact. It was just delayed a little.
Without a word, the six bullies stop hassling me. They start coughing and gagging and groaning and clutching their stomachs and mouths. Their bellies rumble ominously, and burps escape between their fingers. Farts squeak and hiss out of them, paving the way for what comes next.
Then, they become a team of roaring gushers. Every one of their bodily openings flushes at once.
Vomit blasts from every mouth in retching harmony. At the same time, every butt explodes with diarrhea, and every bladder shoots out fountains of pee. Streams of green mucus ooze from every nostril, just as rivers of yellow sweat gush out of armpits. Globs of ear wax curdles o
ut of every ear, mixing with blizzards of flaky dandruff rolling out of every haircut.
And it just keeps coming. It should stop, it really should, because people shouldn't have that much gunk in them...but it doesn't.
Which is totally fine with me. However long the putrid outpouring lasts, these six had it coming.
"Thanks, Chonganda." I say it as I walk away, leaving the six bullies puking, pooping, peeing, spewing, sweating, and oozing behind me. Something tells me this is the end of our not-so-beautiful non-friendship. I don't think they'll be abusing me anymore.
And I owe it all to Chonganda...and someone else, of course. Someone who came to my rescue once, took me on the adventure of a lifetime, and helped me find the courage to stop shaking and stand up for myself and my friends. Which is why, as I walk down the street, I say one more thank-you, though I don't really think I have to. I'm pretty sure he already knows how I feel.
But I say it anyway, because he deserves it.
"Thank you, Tommy Puke."
*****
If you liked Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf,
you'll love LUMP!
Meet a kid so bad, he gets a lump of coal every year...and likes it! Neighborhood bully Buzz Scanlan takes pride in his annual lump, which he sees as a black badge of badness. But this year, when the coal doesn't come, the ten-year-old holy terror becomes a bad boy on a mission. He roams from one victim of his wicked mischief to the next, digging for dirt on the one nice thing he must have done to deserve no coal. When everyone agrees he's been nothing but naughty, he nearly gives up the hunt...until he stumbles onto the shocking truth behind his lumps of coal, an incredible secret that just might change his life forever. Will Buzz get his lump after all, sealing his fate as the ultimate bully? Or will solving the mystery lead to a fate worse than death for the naughtiest boy, an unexpected good deed that breaks his not-nice record?
Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf Page 5
