by Susan Berran
Ok, so there was a little bit of stuff we had to do before we got rich. It shouldn’t take too long.
The moment we got to our hide-out that afternoon, Jared and I got to work. We figured a week, two tops, and we’d be ready to sell our multi-million-dollar idea.
All we had to do was make a few different “flavors,” test them out on someone, and hey presto, we’re gazillionaires, easy!
We spent the next few days and nights using popsicle sticks to twirl and spin the mold ready for use. It was kind of like making a moldy cotton candy. Then we boiled and pounded and grated and froze a part of each toe-jam sample. Once ready, we started to mix a few different “toe jams” together to see what “flavors” we could find. Skidmark Mark’s toe-jam with a hamster’s, the pigeon’s with Ratty Harry, the cockatoo’s with Toffee Thomas’s, and so on. Each combination was carefully mixed in a jar until it was a nice sort of paste. And just like peanut butter, there was “chunky” and “smooth.” But it didn’t matter which ones we mixed, they all looked pretty much like cat spew.
Of course there was absolutely, positively no way that me or Jared were going to taste test them. So we decided to simply sniff each “jam” and add sugar until it didn’t smell like cat pee anymore . . . and then lemon if we went too far with the sugar.
Lastly, we nicked food coloring from the cupboard at home and turned each “jam” into a nice, bright color. Red, orange, purple, blue, we just chucked in anything we grabbed . . . which is how we accidentally tossed some ear medicine into a few of them . . . hopefully it’s not deadly. Anyway, with our rainbow of jams ready for taste testing, now all we needed was a “volunteer” to taste each one.
We figured that we had three choices: one, we could spend day after day asking every single person that we knew if they wanted to try our “toe-jam jam”; or two, we could spend heaps and heaps of money to pay people to test our jams; or three, we could just let “our friends” be taste-testers without even knowing they were taste-testers.
Which one do you reckon we’d do?
Yep, now we just had to figure out who was going to be our secret suicide taste-tester. Hmmm, maybe we should just call them our secret taste-tester.
Ok, so we went through all the guys in school. Who wouldn’t notice the smell? Who wouldn’t spit out the first tiny bit that touches his tongue? Who eats absolutely anything and everything sooo fast that he would eat it, swallow it, keep it down, and then either fart mold gas or chuck it up if it was reeeally bad? Or smile and take another bite? There was only one person . . . Booger Boris. Yep, Booger Boris is the size of Mount Everest—well, Mount St. Helens, anyway; he’s really huge. And he’ll eat his own leg if he’s hungry enough. Seriously, we’ve seen him chewing on it! This guy shovels food down his throat like a T-rex at a Brontosaurus buffet. His mom doesn’t push a shopping trolley around the supermarket, she drives a mini truck around the aisles. And we figured that with his cast iron gut, there was a good chance our jam wouldn’t kill him . . . maybe.
We copied, pasted, and photoshopped a few jam labels and printed them out to stick on our jam jars. They had to look like the real deal so that we could slip them into his mom’s shopping. We pretty much just used copies of other labels, then Jared got some great pictures of these weird-looking fruits that no one’s ever heard of. Then we added a few extra words like . . . “better than chocolate” and “a taste that explodes in your mouth” and stuff like that to get our jam noticed.
The next day, we wandered past Booger’s place (we’d actually been hiding in the bushes waiting) just as his mom got home with her normal ten bags of shopping.
“We’ll help you inside with the bags,” I offered. Booger’s mom happily handed us both a few bags and we took them inside. The moment she turned away, we swapped four of our jams for the jam she’d bought. All we had to do then was wait.
The moment that she shut the door Jared and I dove back into our hideaway in the bushes by the kitchen window. We had snacks, water, binoculars, and our very awesome, “totally makes us invisible” camouflage head masks, and began to take turns keeping watch on the kitchen.
Wow, it was the busiest room in the house. His mom was running in and out every five minutes to get Booger more food. She should have just stayed in the kitchen and fired food directly into his mouth with some sort of food bazooka—note to self . . . invent food bazooka for Booger’s mom. And not once did we see him go the toilet. Man that kid must have a stomach the size of a small moon! I wonder if he ever gets full?
Finally, it happened! It was around midnight when I whispered, “Jared, wake up,” smacking his shoulder. “He’s gonna have toast!”
Yes, finally Booger was in the kitchen. He took out the toaster, grabbed a knife, a spoon, and one loaf of bread . . . it was just a small snack. Then . . . “He’s looking in the cupboard, searching for his usual jam, it’s not there so he’s picking up other jars. Pickles, no, sun-dried tomatoes, yuck, still looking. He’s picking up one of our jars, turning it, reading it, yes! He put it down next to the toaster! He’s going back into the cupboard, looking at another one, yes, and another. Excellent!” I whispered to Jared. Our suicide taste-tester . . . I mean, our secret taste-tester was about to go to work.
We watched on as Booger tried to shove bread that was too thick to slide down easily into the toaster. So he just shoved and poked and stuffed them in there. Of course that meant that it would be too thick to get out as well. A few minutes later there was smoke pouring out of the toaster because the bread was stuck and couldn’t pop up! Booger was desperately yanking at the lever trying to force it upward but the toast kept crushing and jamming against the top edge. The smoke quickly became blacker and blacker as his toast started to burn; any second now we expected to see flames. Awesome! He was swearing and smacking the sides which were getting really hot, so then he was swearing even more for burning his hands! He grabbed something from a drawer that looked like a small hammer—I think it’s used to mash meat. Then he gave the lever one decent whammm! Most of the blackened crispy toast crumbled away as it popped up. Ewww! Booger blew on the black broken piece still sitting in the toaster to cool it down, which sent black dust wafting across the table, covering everything with the fine crumbs. We guessed those bits were going in the bin . . . wrong! Booger grabbed the broken black bits and slathered on so much butter that now the toast was yellow. Then he grabbed a teaspoon, shoved it into a jar of our toe-jam, and blobbed a heap on top of the burnt scrap of toast . . . four times! Yeah, he didn’t spread the jam, he just blobbed four heaps on top! Maybe we should go back to calling him the suicide taste-tester after all. Jared was just about puking from watching! Booger picked up the gross, burnt, buttered barf toast and flicked it down his throat like it was a smartie. Man, his stomach must be a machine!
This was it! Would he cough, would he spit, possibly chuck, maybe pass out . . . or drop dead? Hey, it’s not our fault Booger uses spoonfuls of jam instead of a thin spread.
It was hard to tell from his face whether he liked it or not. Maybe the burnt taste was all he could taste. He started to reach for another piece of bread, when . . . uh-oh. Booger’s eyes widened, he held his stomach with one hand and a corner of the table with the other, then bamm! He fell to his knees and instantly dropped out of sight! “Arghhh! We’ve killed him!” Jared screamed right in my ear! “We’ll go to jail! OMG! We have to run away! I’m not going to jail!” Slappp! I slapped Jared while pointing in the window, where Booger was struggling back to his feet with another small broken piece of the toast. He plucked off some cat hair and tossed it down his gob and went right back to getting more bread. Ewww!
So at least now we knew that our jam didn’t kill people . . . well, not straight away anyway.
He grabbed out another couple of slices and went to shove them in the toaster again, then he stopped, slapped them on the table, grabbed a frying pan, and whack whack whack! He belted them a few times to flatten them out a bit more, then slipped them into the toaster
.
We watched for the next twenty minutes or so as Booger did this over and over again, devouring the loaf of bread like it was nothing. Flattening his pieces of bread, toasting them, smothering them in a blanket of butter, dolloping with spoonful after spoonful of each of our toe-jams, and then tossing them down his throat. It was amazing. He’s like some sort of man-beast, eating machine.
And just when we thought it couldn’t get any better . . . Booger picked-up each toe-jam jar in turn, stuck in a finger, and wiped around the inside trying to get every single tiny last little drop of jam out of each one.
It was a hit! It must be awesome! It must be the best jam ever!
We were going to be mega-rich! We’d never have to go to school ever again! We were going to be multi-gazillionaires! We were going to . . .
Bluuuuurrrrrrrrr!!!
We looked up to see chunks of toast and other slime-covered bits of food sliding down the inside of Booger’s kitchen window. Splashes of disgusting gut contents were now all over the wall and fridge.
Bluuuuurrrrrrrrr!!!
Hmmm, it didn’t look like Booger was going to stop throwing up anytime soon.
Bluuuuurrrrrrrrr!!!
Yeah, toe-jam jam . . . maybe not. Bugger!
Hmmm, let’s see now. A zit is a pimple. A pimple is an upside down cone shape that pushes up from the skin and is full of disgusting, thick goop called pus. Inside the zit, the pressure of the pus builds up and up and up until it can’t be held back any longer, then kaboom! Disgustingly gross pus bursts through the top of the zit and spews out all over everything and everyone within about a two foot radius, spraying them with the thick, green, oozy gunk that makes you want to barf chunks.
A volcano is an upside down cone shape that pushes up from the landscape and is full of disgusting thick goop called lava. Inside the volcano, the pressure of the lava builds up and up and up until it can’t be held back any longer, then kaboom! Incredibly hot lava bursts through the top of the volcano and spews out all over everything and everyone within about a two hundred mile radius, smashing them with the thick, orange, fiery gunk that makes you disintegrate into ash.
So is a zit just a tiny human volcano? Ummm! Don’t know, don’t care!
But I reckon if I was one of those teeny, tiny, microscopic, little bed bugs then I’d definitely care a whole lot more.
Bed bugs are these totally cool bugs that can sneak into places and usually hide in your bed. And they feed on . . . you! Yep, when you go to bed at night and you’re fast asleep, bed bugs start creeping around and then . . . chomp suck suck suck! They only eat human blood! Cool, huh? So I reckon that bed bugs must get sooo peeved off when a pimple gets in their way.
That would be sooo funny! Imagine a bed bug happily wandering about, chomping and sucking on your blood, when all of a sudden chomp suck pfffttt boofff! He chomps into a zit, takes one suck, and instantly pus shoots into his body, filling it like a balloon until boofff, he explodes, sending pus and guts into the air raining down all over the other bed bugs.
With a tidal wave of pus still flowing from the top of the pimple, all the other bed bugs would be racing around, grabbing their surfboards, chucking on their board shorts, and riding the slime waves. Woo hoo!
Have you ever noticed how when a baby farts everyone giggles and goos and gaas? “Oooh that’s sooo cute.” “That’s so funny.” Ewwwww yukkk! That’s sooo gross! Don’t they realize that babies have the most disgusting butts in the world!? Those cute little farts aren’t just a little puff of rose-scented wind escaping from their backside, you know. Nah! It’s actually the toxic gases that have been building up inside their chubby little guts, bubbling and boiling away, stewing up all of those carrots and corn and pea mush that they’ve been force-fed.
Then it’s all mushed together in the gastric juices of the the annoying little pain-in-the-butt’s stomach. Suddenly their face starts to scrunch-up, twisting and twitching, beginning to turn all shades of red and purple as one eye scrunches into a tiny wrinkly ball and the other one widens as it tries to pop right out of their head. Finally, you’ll see the snotty little poopy babies clench their fists tightly and bear down . . . pfffffttt! A massive, disgusting fart escapes their backside, creeps out of their diaper, and invades everyone’s nose within a two mile radius. That’s when you should run. Because it’s a trap!!
How dumb are adults?! Don’t they realize it’s all an ingenious plot to take over the world?! The “cute” gurgling, the weird face turning all the colors of the rainbow. It’s all done to suck in as many adults around them as possible. So while everyone that’s in the room or close by comes running to take part in the circle of burbling, mindless, baby-talking adults that all start making spazoid googly eyes and babbling on that it’s sooo cute . . . that’s when the baby strikes!
The empty heads of the adults are all huddled in together nice and close to the little snot bag. Then when they least expect it . . . BOOMMM!!! The atomic explosion of butts! The nuclear detonation of backsides! The enormous blow up of bottoms! The humongous burst of tooshie! The really, really, really, really, really big . . . well you get what I mean.
In a split second, a truckload of poop is ejected at the speed of light like a raging rhinoceros from the butt of the baby into the diaper and bammm!! The adults hit the floor, out like a light!
It’s ingenious! The smell of their gross, putrid, poop-soup is enough to knock out a charging gorilla on steroids! And while you’re knocked-out, they strike! Hypnotizing you, putting commands into your brain, so that you’ll feed them whenever they cry, change them whenever they cry, buy them toys whenever they cry, do absolutely whatever they want you to do the moment they start to get watery eyes!
Yep, then babies get all the attention, while us kids get told to, “Just wait, I have to feed the baby,” “Wait a minute I’m just changing the baby,” or “You don’t want this toy any more, give it to the baby.”
Arggghhh!! It’s my toy and I still want it! Babies are sooo evil!
I saw my Aunty, Uncle, and Mom get hypnotized by their brand new baby. Mom and me went over to visit them just after the baby was born. Mom, Aunty Denise, and Uncle Leon were yakking away when we all heard this pfffttt from the cot. Right away I smelled the rotten egg gas and knew what would happen next. So I took off into the next room like a rocket! I peeked back around the corner only to see the three of them stupidly huddling closer and closer to the baby’s butt! They were doing the usual weird baby noises and poking their fingers at the baby’s belly. Aunty Denise slipped the diaper off the baby’s backside to check if she was still “clean” . . . that was her biggest and dumbest mistake. She lifted the baby’s legs into the air and right in the middle of Mom’s, “Ooooh I remember when Sam was a baby” and Uncle Leon’s “I can’t wait to have lots of babies” . . . brrrappppp!! The baby’s butt exploded! Erupting like a massive volcano! The whole house shook and trembled as her earth-shattering poop blast shot out of her backside like a cannon! Splooshhh! Smashing straight into the faces of Mom, Aunty Denise, and Uncle Leon.
Yellowy greeny brownish poop-goop spray-painted their face. It was awesome! They had poo sliding down their face, dripping off the edge of their lips. Their nostrils were totally clogged with the crap! It was everywhere! Uncle Leon had his tongue hanging out; it looked like he’d licked a puddle of mud! Aunty Denise kept pushing a finger against each nostril in turn and then blowing the chunks out of it, sending gross poop chunks flying across the room like machine-gun fire. Mom was using her fingernails to try and clean it out of her ears! Oh man it was bad, sooo bad. I disappeared out to the kitchen straight away so that they wouldn’t spot me. Otherwise I’d have to help clean up for sure.
It was about fifteen minutes before they finally all came down to the kitchen. They looked clean, but they smelled like the inside of road kill baking in a sewage farm. And yep, just as I expected . . . they’d been hypnotized! Because about two seconds later, the baby barely made a noise and Aunty Denise was off lik
e a cheetah! “I’ll see if she’s hungry.” Five minutes later, she burped and Uncle Leon took off, “I’ll pick her up.” He was back about four minutes before the baby yawned and mom was all, “I’ll see what she wants.” Geez, Mom! Hello, I’m right here! I make a noise and I get told to, “Be quiet, the baby’s sleeping.” I burp and get told “Don’t be a pig.” I yawn and does anyone ask me what I want? Nooooo! Everyone’s totally under the spell of little Miss Princess Poop-a-lot!
Parents are not smart!
Eeewwwww! This one scares the heck out of me and it should scare the heck out of you too! Why!? Because one day, when you least expect it, it will happen . . . to you!
Yeah, one day you’re wandering along, having a great time, looking in the store windows, buying some chips, yakking to your friends, when pffrappp!! What started down through your body and exited out your butt was the beginning of a fart but halfway through it changed to . . . yep, you guessed it! Ewwwww!
There was no warning; it was one of those normal everyday farts that you sneak out all the time so no one will notice. But you should’ve guessed this was coming. You’ve been having oatmeal for breakfast instead of Fruit Loops because the doctor says it’s good for your bowels. You have to eat prunes after every meal to stay “regular.” And you haven’t had a steak in years because your false teeth will break. Every meal is chucked into a blender and mixed until it’s moosh. So all the food you eat looks like the stuff they feed babies!
Then one day, as you’re watching TV, you feel gas starting to build up in your guts. You figure you’ll just wait until the next ad break to go to the bathroom but then suddenly . . . uh-oooh you have to go now! Right now! You leap up out of the chair and take off in the direction of the bathroom, desperately trying to tighten every single muscle in your backside. But the tighter you hold your butt, the harder it is to run. Your steps gets shorter and shorter as you hold your butt tighter and tighter, you’re nearly there . . . hold it, hold it, hold it, hold—brrrappp!!
