I am so over being a Loser. Jim Smith
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‘OW!’ I said, even though it didn’t hurt. I looked down and saw a fly sitting on my trousers, eating a tomato ketchup stain. ‘Arrrgghh, a fly!’ I screamed, waggling my leg around like a sausage.
‘It’s more of a “sit” at the moment,’ said Nancy, wafting her stamp album at it, and the sit turned into a fly and flew off.
‘Thank,’ I said, because it was only worth one thank, but Nancy was too busy looking at the old falling-apart house at the end of my road to take any notice. I glanced up at its windows and imagined a ghost staring down at me.
‘Come on Bunky, let’s get the keelness out of here,’ I said, pretending I wasn’t scared, and we zoomed off, me with my helmet straps undone.
One of the bad things about skateboarding to school is that you get there really fast, which isn’t good when you’re famous for having a famous mum.
‘Here he comes, ladies and gentlemen!’ shouted Darren Darrenofski as me and Bunky glided through the school gates, and he ran up and poured Cherry Fronkle on the floor in front of me. ‘A red carpet for our unspecial guest!’ he said, doing a wink and wiggling his bum like my mum in her adverts.
I flipped my board up and tiptoed through the Fronkle, wondering if Snailypoos would like a cherry flavour puddle.
‘What do you think of the new craze sweeping the school?’ said Anton Mildew, holding a banana microphone up to my face.
Anton has been holding bananas up to people’s faces and asking annoying questions ever since he started his newspaper, The Daily Poo.
‘What craze?’ said Bunky, sticking his nose in and waggling it about.
‘The Mrs Loser Wiggle!’ said Anton, and he danced around with his bum wiggling, sticking his tongue out and winking all at the same time.
‘Yeah, give us a wink, Loser!’ said Gaspar Pink, who was standing behind Anton with his camera.
I watched them with my mouth shut and my eyes open and my bum completely still.
‘Nice helmet, Barold!’ said Gordon Smugly, walking past and bonking me on the head so hard my legs did a wobble and one of my helmet straps flicked me in the eye and made me blink.
‘Perfectamondo!’ smiled Gaspar, and his camera flashed in my face.
Anton and Gaspar were fiddling around on the computer in the corner of the classroom when I walked in with Bunky, playing it keel times a million.
‘Arrr! Good morning me hearties!’ shouted Miss Spivak, who’s been our teacher since Mr Hodgepodge went on a six-month cruise around the North Pole with my granny.
There was a parrot on her shoulder and she was carrying a sword and had an eyepatch on and one of her legs was a wooden stump.
‘What’s good about it?’ said the parrot, which was the only bit of Miss Spivak’s outfit that wasn’t weird, because he’s our class parrot that we adopted from Mogden Zoo when it closed down last year.
‘Well for starters it’s Show and Tell,’ said Miss Spivak, putting the sword down and pulling her leg out of the wooden stump. ‘I’ll go first. Can anyone tell me what this is? Yes, that’s right, it’s an eyepatch. Who knows why pirates used to wear them?’ she said, all in one go.
‘Me!’ shouted Darren.
‘Yes, Darren?’ said Miss Spivak.
‘I dunno,’ said Darren, and we all did a little snortle.
‘Was it for when they got a sword poked in their eyeball?’ said Tracy
Pilchard, jangling with jewellery like she was a pirate herself.
‘That’s right, Tracy. Mind-boggling, isn’t it!’ said Miss Spivak, poking the plastic sword into her eyepatch. It was one of those swords where the blade pushes into the handle, and everyone gasped.
‘Mind-boggling!’ screeched the parrot, whose name is Honk, and I thanked keelness the zoo closed down, otherwise we’d just have a hamster.
I’d forgotten it was Show and Tell, so I was rummaging around in my rucksack for something keel to talk about when I saw Anton’s and Gaspar’s stupid feet walking to the front of the classroom.
‘Hot off the press!’ said Anton, holding up a sheet of paper with ‘The Daily Poo’ typed out at the top.
Underneath was a photo of me. My bum was wiggling from where my legs had gone wobbly, and I was winking from the helmet strap that’d hit me in the eye.
‘Just like his mumsy!’ said Gordon from the back of the classroom, and everyone laughed, and I rolled my eyes to myself because I know for a fact he calls his mum ‘Mama’.
I was still rummaging around in my rucksack, which meant my nose was near my knee, and a waft of tomato ketchup went up my nostrils and gave me an amazekeel idea for how to stop them laughing.
There’s a bit in every Future Ratboy episode where he treads in a dog poo and waggles his foot in the air.
‘By the power of smelly shoe . . .’ he shouts, and his enemies run off screaming.
‘Get your OWN mumsy!’ I shouted, hopping up to the front of the classroom with my leg bobbing around in front of me.
‘By the power of smelly knee . . .’ I said, waving it in front of Anton’s and Gaspar’s noses.
‘Get a photo, Gaspar, he’s gone completely stark raving bonkers!’ said Anton, holding his Daily Poo up to protect himself from my knee.
I grabbed the newspaper and scrunched it into a snowball and aimed it at Gordon Smugly’s nose. The only problem is, I’m rubbish