JEREMY STRONG once worked in a bakery, putting the jam into three thousand doughnuts every night. Now he puts the jam in stories instead, which he finds much more exciting. At the age of three, he fell out of a first-floor bedroom window and landed on his head. His mother says that this damaged him for the rest of his life and refuses to take any responsibility. He loves writing stories because he says it is ‘the only time you alone have complete control and can make anything happen’. His ambition is to make you laugh (or at least snuffle). Jeremy Strong lives near Bath with his wife, Gillie, four cats and a flying cow.
ARE YOU FEELING SILLY ENOUGH TO READ MORE?
THE BATTLE FOR CHRISTMAS (A COSMIC PYJAMAS ADVENTURE)
THE BEAK SPEAKS
BEWARE! KILLER TOMATOES
CARTOON KID
CHICKEN SCHOOL
CHRISTMAS CHAOS FOR THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
DINOSAUR POX
DOCTOR BONKERS! (A COSMIC PYJAMAS ADVENTURE)
GIANT JIM AND THE HURRICANE
THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
KRANKENSTEIN’S CRAZY HOUSE OF HORROR
(A COSMIC PYJAMAS ADVENTURE)
KRAZY COW SAVES THE WORLD – WELL, ALMOST
LOST! THE HUNDRED-MILE-AN-HOUR DOG
MY BROTHER’S FAMOUS BOTTOM
MY BROTHER’S HOT CROSS BOTTOM
THERE’S A PHARAOH IN OUR BATH!
JEREMY STRONG’S LAUGH-YOUR-SOCKS-OFF JOKE BOOK
JEREMY STRONG’S LAUGH-YOUR-SOCKS-OFF EVEN MORE JOKE BOOK
JEREMY STRONG’S LAUGH-YOUR-SOCKS-OFF CLASSROOM CHAOS JOKE BOOK
ILLUSTRATED BY
STEVE MAY
PUFFIN
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
puffinbooks.com
First published 2011
Text copyright © Jeremy Strong, 2011
Illustrations copyright © Steve May, 2011
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-14-196658-8
For my mother, with love and thanks for everything.
Well, almost everything, but not he stewed oxtail, the liver or the spit-wet face-cleaning service.
CONTENTS
FOOTBALL ATTACK
ARE THOSE WEDDING BELLS?
ACHOO!
That’s the noise Masher McNee makes when he’s angry. It probably means he’s plotting something terrible, like How To Destroy The School, or quite possibly the WHOLE PLANET.
Masher McNee spells BIG TROUBLE, I can tell you. (Well, OBVIOUSLY, ‘Masher McNee’ spells ‘Masher McNee’ and ‘big trouble’ spells ‘big trouble’, but you know what I mean. You’re NOT MR STUPIDO, like Masher, are you?!)
And why was Masher so cross? I will tell you. Because my class had just won THE ETHEL SNUFFLEBOTTOM COMPETITION FOR THE BEST CLASS IN THE WHOLE SCHOOL.
That was some competition! Masher McNee and his Monster Mob tried to cheat really, REALLY hard, but we got the better of them, even though they are BIGGER and OLDER than us.
We won because we are SUPERHEROES! Mr Butternut, our teacher, told us that.
As for me, I’m Casper the Cartoon Kid. I’m called that because I’m always doodling and drawing, as you can see. Then there’s Pete, my best friend, also known as Big Feet Pete (for obvious reasons!).
Now Masher McNee is out for REVENGE. He’s not a superhero – just a big bully. Basically he wants to mash Pete and me into little bits. Not to mention my classmates, like Cameron and Mia. (Mia is Pete’s GIRLFRIEND and she’s got more curls than a poodle in a Best Curly Poodle Competition. That’s why we call her Curly-Wurly-Girly.)
We are all in Mr Butternut’s class and it’s the best class to be in because he’s brilliant (except when he’s being Mr Horrible Hairy Face, which he is sometimes because he’s a teacher and that’s what they do. You know what they’re like.)
I don’t know what Masher is planning so it makes me a bit twitchy. But hey, LIFE GOES ON! That’s what Mr Butternut says when we get upset.
It’s all very well for Mr Butternut to say that – he’s big and his beard makes him look TOUGH, like a Viking. Anyhow, it’s fine for Mr Butternut to say ‘Put it behind you’, but I certainly wouldn’t like to put Masher McNee behind me! I would need eyes in the back of my head.
Masher has been cruising the playground, making threatening noises every time he passes us.
Anyhow, we got to the end of the school day and Masher hadn’t turned us into ketchup, so that was OK. As we left the classroom Mr Butternut stood at the door and gave us all some homework.
‘Tomorrow I would like you to bring something old to school. Something old that you treasure.’
Pete and I looked at Mr Butternut as if he was mad. Well, he probably is, but in a nice way. Teachers are sometimes, aren’t they? Mad.
‘Something old and treasured?’ I repeated. ‘I don’t keep old things. I throw them away because they’re – because they’re – OLD!’
‘Me too,’ Pete agreed gloomily.
Sarah Sitterbout didn’t have a problem with the homework at all. But then Sarah Sitterbout’s brain is as big as a whole LIBRARY of encyclopaedias.
She knows EVERYTHING – except what colour my pants are – ha ha!
‘They’re blue, Casper,’ Sarah announced flatly. ‘I’m going to bring my fluffy toy rabbit, Cuggles. He’s as old as me, just about.’
And she went walking off, wearing a big grin.
I was gobsmacked!
‘How did she know that?’ I asked Pete.
‘Because she has X-ray eyes, my little ginger twiglet pal! Uh-oh, watch out,’ he warned. ‘Snotbox alert.’
Hartley Tartly-Green went strutting past with his nose in the air. ‘I’m going to show everyone my new model train. It’s a steam train called The Mallard. It used to hold the record for the fastest train in the world. My grandfather rode on it once.’
Pete snorted loudly. ‘Your grandfather must be incredibly small if he rode on a toy train. How did he open the door and get in?’
Hartley stopped and stared at Pete.
‘Well, my steam train is brand new and it’s better than anything you’ll bring. So there back to you and murrgh-murrgh-murrgh on top. Twice.’ No wonder we call him Snotbox.
By the time we reached home Pete and I still hadn’t thought of anything old or treasured to take
into school. I went up to my bedroom and hunted around. I was hoping to find something amazing, but all I could see was Colin, my pet chameleon.
I did wonder about taking him into school, but he’s only two. That means he’s not even ready for nursery yet, and he’s not exactly a treasure, either.
Then Pete came round. He said he was looking for his hamster, Betty. She’s always trying to escape, but I certainly hadn’t seen her. Then he started going on about how boring his mum’s boyfriend is. He’s called Derek, but Pete calls him Uncle Boring because that’s what he is – boring. Anyway, talking about Uncle Boring gave me an idea and it was a pretty good one.
‘Pete! I know what to do. I shall take my great-gran into school tomorrow!’
‘What?! Gee-Gee? The one in the Care Home?’
‘Exactly.’ I answered.
Gee-Gee is my dad’s granny, so that makes her my great-gran. She is amazing. For a start, she is EIGHTY-NINE, and that’s REALLY old – it’s almost prehistoric. I mean, Gee-Gee probably fought dinosaurs and stuff.
If you think she’s got a funny name, that’s her fault. She told us to call her that.
Gee-Gee is amazing. She used to live in Darkest Africa when she was a child. She’s always telling me eye-boggling stories about lions jumping on her tent at night and things like that.
I told Mum my plan. ‘Gee-Gee is old and she’s treasured. I’m going to take her into school tomorrow morning.’
Do you know what my mum did? She burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think Mr Butternut meant you to bring in your great-gran,’ she chuckled. ‘He meant something like a photograph album or an old toy. That sort of thing. Silly boy!’
Huh. You can imagine what I was thinking when she suggested an old toy. I was thinking of Hartley Tartly-Green and his steam train. And I was also thinking of tying Hartley to the railway track and his train chuffing towards him.
‘Anyhow,’ Mum shrugged. ‘You can’t take Great-Gran into school tomorrow because the doctor is coming to see her.’
My spirits sank all the way down to my ankles.
‘She’s seeing the doctor? What’s wrong with her?
‘She’s eighty-nine,’ Mum explained.
What kind of answer was THAT? Since when has eighty-nine been an illness? I stomped back upstairs and gave Pete the news. We sat on my bed in silence with our knees hunched up to our chests.
Pete suddenly sat up straight. ‘Bouncing bananas!’ he cried. ‘Your great-gran keeps a wheelchair here, doesn’t she?’ He grinned and slapped me on the back. ‘Do not worry, knobbly-kneed mini-person. All will be well.’ He leaned closer and whispered his plan into my left ear.
The next morning I set off for school as usual. Although it wasn’t quite as usual because first of all I nipped round the back of the house, nicked Great-Gran’s spare wheelchair and whizzed it up the road.
As I passed Pete’s house he came hurrying out, his school bag bulging. ‘I’ve got everything!’ Pete cried triumphantly.
I clapped him on the back..‘Fantastic! We are Team Numero Uno!’
We hid round the corner while Pete got changed. Yep – you’ve got it! Pete was going to be my great-gran! He’d pinched an old, old dress of his mum’s, a walking stick and dark glasses. The final touch was a baseball cap pulled down low to hide his face.
I’m not sure the baseball cap looked right, but it was the best way to hide the fact that Pete is nine, not eighty-nine.
Our class was already filing into the classroom. There was Sarah Sitterbout with Cuggles. There was Hartley Tartly-Green with his snazzy train. There was Mia with a photo of her mum as a little girl in Italy. There was Cameron with a ginormous pumpkin. What?!
I like Cameron. We call him the BFC, or Big Friendly Cameron, because he is SO tall and friendly. He’s even friendly with trees and likes hugging them.
Mr Butternut was mightily surprised when I pushed Great-Gran up to the door. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.
‘My great-gran. She’s eighty-nine,’ I declared hopefully. ‘Which makes her VERY old – AND she’s a treasure.’
Pete waved a hand, but didn’t look up. ‘You may call me madam,’ he said in a low, shaky voice. He was trying to be like Gee-Gee, but sounded more like a frog stuck in a spin dryer.
Mr Butternut gave a little bow. He did! ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, madam,’ he said. And he took Pete’s hand and kissed it! HE DID! HE KISSED PETE’S HAND! I nearly died.
Pete snatched his hand away and wiped it on his dress. ‘Stop slobbering all over me,’ he began in his own voice and then quickly changed to the frog in a spin dryer. ‘I’m a married woman. At least I was until my husband died.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mr Butternut.
‘So you should be, young man. A pie killed him. He was only forty-two.’ Pete gave a loud sniff and dabbed at his nose with one sleeve.
Mr Butternut frowned. ‘It must have been a very large pie.’
‘Not at all.’ Pete charged on, getting himself into an even deeper mess. ‘It wasn’t large, but it was very heavy. There was a horseshoe in it.’
Mr Butternut clapped a hand to his forehead.
‘The pie had a horseshoe in it? How did that get there?’
I hurriedly pushed Great-Granny Pete forward. ‘Excuse me, Mr Butternut, I think Great-Gran’s a bit tired.’
Mr Butternut moved aside and I wheeled Pete into class, bending forward over his shoulder.
‘What do you think you’re doing, fuzz-brain? Pies with horseshoes in them?’
‘It’s not my fault. She’s your great-granny! What am I supposed to say?’ Pete complained. ‘Old people always talk rubbish like that, don’t they?’
‘No, they don’t, Pete. Just keep your mouth shut and behave yourself. Pretend you’re asleep or something.’
Pete managed to keep quiet after that, even when Hartley Fartly wandered past and muttered that my great-gran was weird. A claw flashed out from the wheelchair and seized Hartley’s wrist.
‘I heard that, you horrible, weedy weasel. How dare you! I’m eighty-nine and I still have all my own teeth.’
‘Sorry! Sorry! So sorry!’ squeaked Hartley, absolutely terrified. He raced back to his seat and sat down. He didn’t stop trembling for ten minutes. Pete’s shoulders heaved with laughter.
Breaktime came and we went out to the playground. I parked Great-Gran Pete at one side. AND THAT was when Masher McNee came strolling up with his Mob.
‘I heard you’ve got your great-gran with you today,’ sneered Masher. ‘Still need someone to look after you, babyface?’
‘Go and get lost,’ I said, rather bravely, I thought. I reckoned Masher wouldn’t do anything while I had Great-Gran nearby.
Masher just laughed. ‘Thought you and your friends might like a game of footer with me and my friends,’ he suggested innocently. ‘You know, friendly, like.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Cameron, who thinks everyone should be friends, especially with trees.
‘I’m up for it,’ declared Mia. She’s a football fanatic.
‘That’s good,’ smirked Masher. ‘Meet the rest of my team.’ Do you know who it was? Only Gory and Tory, THE VAMPIRE TWINS!
‘We’re on!’ shouted Masher. ‘Let’s go! Our goal is over there,’ he added, pointing to the far end of the playground. ‘Yours is HERE,’ he announced, dropping the ball and kicking it straight in. ‘GOAL!’ he yelled. ‘One–nil to us!’
I was boiling with anger. I grabbed the ball and took kick-off, but Masher tripped me even before my foot touched it. He dribbled straight up to our end where the goal was wide open. It was a disaster in the making.
And then Great-Gran leaped out of her wheelchair and got on the ball. Masher’s team were so astonished they just stood and watched. Pete had a clear run, slammed the ball into their goal, wandered back to the wheelchair and sat down.
I picked myself out of the dust and grinned at Masher. ‘One-all, I think.’
‘Hey!’ yelle
d Masher. ‘Your granny can’t be on your team!’
‘Why not?’ I countered. ‘You’ve got Gory and Tory.’
Masher was lost for words. He took the ball and went for kick-off. After that things began to get really dirty. Masher’s team were fouling all the time, kicking our legs from under us and all sorts.
This was how he was getting his revenge over the best class trophy. This was his way of mashing us into little bits.
However, they didn’t dare attack Great-Gran because they thought she was an old lady. Ha ha ha! Pete scored two more goals, from the wheelchair! He’s pretty good at footer, which is hardly surprising considering the size of his feet.
AND THEN –
MUCHO PROBLEMO!!
‘Casper! I’ve brought Gee-Gee for you!’ Mum called to me.
‘The doctor cancelled his visit.’
She suddenly noticed the other Great-Gran whizzing up and down and playing football.
‘What’s going on?’ Mum demanded. ‘Who’s that old lady with the baseball cap?’
‘Is that your great-gran?’ asked Masher, looking across to Gee-Gee and then back towards Pete, still cruising the playground.
Supercharged! Page 1
