Butt Blast Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Susan Berran

  First published in 2015 by Big Sky Publishing Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia

  First Racehorse for Young Readers Edition 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Racehorse for Young Readers, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  Racehorse for Young Readers books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Racehorse for Young Readers, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].

  Racehorse for Young Readers ™ is a pending trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyhorsepublishing.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design and typesetting by Think Productions

  Cover and interior illustrations by Pat Kan

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63158-336-0

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63158-339-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Mel & Andrena.

  For being there every step of the way.

  Contents

  The “Hair Fairies”?

  Does My Butt Smell?

  Making Candles from Earwax?

  Twisted Tale: Terror of the Deep

  Geez life sucks! It’s sooo unfair!

  I came home from school after a totally awesome day. I broke Jared’s record for landing the most dead blow-flies on Crabby Abbey’s head during math class—which, by the way, is now twenty-three—using our awesome, one-of-a-kind, fantasmagorical invention, the “single shot bug flinger.” But before I could even throw my schoolbag on the floor and grab a snack from the kitchen, Mom came stomping out of the bathroom and scared the absolute crap out of me!

  She looked like some weird zombie, wearing one of those “germ protection oxygen suits” like the ones they wear in lame, old horror movies. You know, those really dumb ones where some dimwit goes to the jungle to help save the monkeys. Dimwit gets scratched by a monkey. The monkey turns out to be sick. The sick monkey dies. The dimwit gets sick, so he hops on a plane and flies back home. He coughs all over everyone in the plane. The plane lands and the passengers sneeze all over everyone at the airport. The people at the airport jump on more planes and cough over more people, who cough over everyone at home, who sneeze over everyone at work, who spit-up all over their customers, and ta dah, the whole world is suddenly bleeding from the eyes with brains exploding all over the place and blah blah blah blah blah.

  Ok, so what was I writing about … oh yeah, I know.

  So Mom came out of the bathroom looking like someone had smooshed together Darth Vader and a surgeon from outer space. Her head was completely covered with a black shower cap, and messy, wiry bits of hair poked out all over the place. Another black mask covered the bottom half of her face, leaving just her eyes peeping out over the top.

  She was wearing long, pink rubber gloves that reached her elbows and the kitchen apron that I got her for Christmas—the one with a picture of a zombie on it that said “Eat More Brains!” And to complete the “escaped mental patient” look she was obviously going for, underneath the apron, Mom was wearing oversized, black sweatpants and an old black top that was at least four sizes too big.

  So “Doctor Darth Weirdo”—my Mom—started slowly stomping towards me, and all I could see was her unblinking, bloodshot eyes. The sound of her deep, slow breathing was escaping from underneath her mask. Hhhhh hhhhh hhhhh. It was freaky. Staring straight ahead with her arms outstretched towards me, I was looking for a monkey bite on her body and waiting for her to say “braaaiiins.” I kicked my schoolbag against the wall and steeled myself as she was obviously about to give me the hug from hell.

  Usually after school, Mom greeted me by yelling, “Have you got any homework? You’re doing your homework before Jared comes over! Don’t tell me you haven’t got any homework! Everyone else gets homework!” But now she was only two steps away with her arms still stretched out and there was no yelling. Something very weird was obviously going on.

  I took a few short, sharp breaths preparing myself for her incoming humongous hug. Then, as Mom zeroed in on me, I took one final enormous breath before I was completely smothered by her boobs. I knew I couldn’t win. Even if I did escape her suffocating hug, there was a worse fate awaiting me—the “sweaty hairy-pit hug.” I definitely did not want to breathe in any of Mom’s soggy armpit sweat! It was absolutely deadly!

  I learned my lesson when I nearly died last Christmas from Grandma’s sweaty hairy-pit hug. The memory was terrifying. Just like Mom, Grandma targeted me for the deadly “crusher cuddle”—her special one that she liked to give without her teeth in! Ewwwww! Why couldn’t she just kiss me on the cheek like normal people do? At least I could use the cheese grater afterwards to rip my cheek off and grow a new one. But nooooo I was just standing against the wall, minding my own business, when Grandma comes towards me ready for a hug. With her arms reaching forward it looked as if she had a massive bed sheet hanging from each arm, flapping about in the breeze. The skin-colored “sheets” were actually years and years of stretched, flabby skin. They swayed rhythmically from side to side, almost sending me into a trance. With all that dangly skin I thought Grandma could jump out of a plane, hold her hands above her head, and pop, she’d have her own built-in parachute. She could be stranded on a desert island, build a raft, and travel back home using her arm flab as a sail.

  So there I was, trapped with Grandma moving towards me as if she was herding cows and using her arms to create two brick walls. There was no way to escape. No way to make a run for it. No way to survive the hug of doom! Grandma took a final step toward me and then, like some mechanical terminator, her arms began to clamp around my shoulders and squeeze together to smother me!

  Her face was moving towards mine—lips puckering and spit flying everywhere, because she had no teeth to keep the saliva in her mouth. Her arm flab was flapping, and without thinking I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and ducked to try and slip beneath the flab and her arm-lock. But obviously, all Grandmas know this escape move and won’t give up their “hugs and kisses” that easily! She quickly turned her body to the side and shoved her leg across to block off my escape path and slipped her arms over my shoulders until they were locked on tightly around the very top of my head. With her arm flab acting as iron curtains, blinding and suffocating me all at the same time, my head was being squeezed like a giant upside-down pimple until it suddenly popped out from beneath Grandma’s clenched arms. I desperately sucked in another breath of air as I was buried face-first under Grandma’s sweaty, soggy, warm armpit! Grandma got her hug all right. But now I have nightmares and totally freak out whenever a hair touches my face. Eeewwwww!

  Now where was I? That’s right. My Darth Vader look-a-like Mom came racing towards me with her arms outstretched. There was about seven seconds till “death by hug.” I started taking deep, quick breaths. Six, five, four, three, two, one … here it comes. I froze waiting for Mom’s hands to clamp me. But then she stopped dead, right in front of me, and instead of her arms clutching around my shoulders, she raised them like a human forklift and stuck both hands straight into my hair! Then she started digging about with her fingers, as if she was searching for long-lost buried treasure. And in her deep, raspy, mask-covered voice she shouted, “Ok Mister, straight into the bathroo
m. I have to treat you for nits!”

  Nooooooooooooo!

  I was so annoyed and totally peeved. Why did I have to get “treated”? The nits were in little Miss Smelly Poopy-Pants Melly’s hair, not mine! But no. Mom said that we all would have to wash our hair with the special “nit-killer shampoo.” Awesome!

  My first day at daycare, I brought home a finger painting. Melly’s first day at daycare and she brought home nits!

  So now all three of us had to have this disgusting, gross, bright blue “lotion” smothered through our hair. Then it had to be completely covered with a shower cap before we sat around bored stiff for a couple of hours while it soaked through our hair, into our skull, and all the way into our brain. The smell was absolutely, positively disgusting! It’s like the worst smell in the entire universe! I reckon if we were ever invaded by space aliens, we would just have to shoot them with nit shampoo and that would stop them in their tracks!

  Then Mom got even stranger than her Doctor Darth Zombie dress-up. She started getting all nervous and worried because she didn’t want little Miss Melly Pong-Pants going to daycare the next day and running around singing, “Yay, I’ve got ni-its, I’ve got ni-its,” and then all the kids going home and asking, “Can I have nits too, please Mommy? Melly has nits. Pleeease can I get some nits?” Mom was totally freaking out that she’d get the blame for all the other kids at daycare getting nits! For the rest of the afternoon, Mom made me talk in her “secret nit code” so that little Miss Smelly wouldn’t understand.

  Great. So Mom, Melly, and I all had to sit in the bathroom wearing shower caps for three hours smelling like … like … oh I know, ear medicine mixed with Grandma’s toilet cleaner! And talking about “hair fairies.” Yep, you heard me—hair fairies! And of course, we had to have our little white dog, Fluff Butt, in there as well, to keep Melly happy. That’s fair—not! Did Mom ask me if I’d like a sabre-toothed tiger to keep me happy? Nooo!

  Oh, and because I was the last one home, I had to wear the only shower cap that was left. The one that Mom had used to soak Fluff Butt’s big, hairy butt in when she had butt blisters—these really big, red, pussy blisters all over her backside from scraping it along the worn-out carpet whenever it was itchy, leaving long, gross skidmarks across the carpet. Mom was pretty cranky with Fluff Butt. The vet gave Mom this liquid to soak her butt in—the dog’s butt, not Mom’s!

  Mom filled the shower cap with the dog’s butt medicine and then pulled it over Fluff’s backside and threw an elastic strap around it to hold it over her fluffy bottom. The boils then soaked in the liquid until they burst. So I knew the shower cap had been full of this gross, green, pussy butt-liquid. Mom said she cleaned the shower cap really well, but about a week later it was growing a garden of mold in it. Eewwwww!

  “Lucky I didn’t throw that shower cap out,” Mom said, happy with herself. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have had enough.” Yeah sure, I felt very lucky to be wearing that on my head—not!

  Meanwhile, little Miss Bulging-Butt Melly was wearing a cute, bright yellow “duck” shower cap. Actually, my bright yellow duck shower cap!

  Little Miss Yelly Melly Itchy-Head was wearing my duck shower cap! She was wearing my duck shower cap that I got for my birthday when I was two! Melly was wearing my duck shower cap without anyone asking me!

  Not that I cared … I didn’t even wear the stupid baby shower cap anymore! Well, maybe just when I’m trying not to get my hair wet … or in a hurry … or having a bath … or going for a swim … or having a shower. Hey, it’s my ducky shower cap and I’ll wear it whenever I want!!

  Please don’t tell anyone.

  I was so annoyed! “Why do I have to use the stupid nit, I mean ‘hair fairy,’ shampoo? I haven’t even got hair fairies!” I whined.

  “Because!” Mom shouted with laser beam daggers shooting from her sharp, squinty eyes. “Because the hair fairies like to play in the long grass fields on the mountain and send little ‘gifts’ by airmail for everyone else and their mountain, whenever the mountains are close together.”

  “What??” I said staring blankly at Mom as Melly sat in the bathtub splashing about—still with my ducky shower cap on.

  “You know … and they love to send lots of their family and friends to new mountains to set up their new homes and build towns and cities,” Mom hissed through gritted teeth.

  What the heck was she talking about?!

  “And now we’re having a very special surprise party to farewell the hair fairies so that they can go and visit some where else far, far away.”

  “What?! I just wanna know why I can’t go to Jared’s … Melly’s the one who has a zillion nits, not me!”

  “I’ve got ni-its! I’ve got ni-its! I’ve got ni-its!” little Miss Poopy-Pants Melly began singing loudly and proudly.

  Boy was Mom super cranky with me!

  “What did I do?!” I asked innocently.

  Well, it wasn’t much of a secret code anyway. Geez!

  Mom said that she’d explained the secret code we were meant to be using but I was so busy texting Jared that I obviously wasn’t paying attention!

  “Ah ha! So you admit it!” I said to Mom, obviously having caught her out. “You saw that I was texting Jared when you told me about the code! You knew I wasn’t listening! It was actually your fault, not mine!”

  Mom didn’t agree! She took my phone off me and now I had to sit there, without a phone, in the bathroom listening to little Miss Snot Nose singing “I’ve got ni-its! I’ve got ni-its! I love my nits!” while Mom desperately tried to convince her that they were secret hair fairies.

  I decided that if I wanted my phone back within the next ten years, I better start doing some emergency “Mom sucking-up.” So while Melly was splashing about in the bath, Mom took off Melly’s (my!) shower cap and began combing the tiny insects from her hair and rubbing them off onto a tissue. I said I would help by making sure they were totally squished dead.

  Actually, that did start to make the afternoon sort of fun.

  You see, nits are anywhere from the size of a pinhead to the size of a big ant. They are tough little bugs with a sort of see-through abdomen. The only way you can be sure that they’re dead is to cut them in half or “pop” them like a pimple! Awesome!

  So while Melly splashed and sang, Mom combed and wiped them onto the tissue and I had to take my thumbnail and use it like a giant guillotine. I sliced straight down through the center of each nit! It was excellent! I used a magnifying glass to watch and man did those things squirt! Teeny, tiny guts were sent spraying in every direction. Onto the mirror, across the sink, and into Mom’s open face cream. I wonder if Mom will notice that her cream is oilier and has legs when she smothers it all over her face before bed?

  Occasionally I got bored watching guts spray all over the place so I’d “pop” them instead. Their little nit-heads would fly across the room in all directions. One of the teeny, weeny little heads ricocheted across the room, off the door handle, up to the lightbulb, off the tap, and straight into Fluff Butt’s food bowl. Fluff was eating at the time and sucked it up deep into his nostril. I think the little nit-head was still alive and used his teeth to grab hold of a nostril hair to save himself from going down the dog’s throat, because Fluff started snorting and sneezing. Suddenly, he did this really weird snuffle, scrunched up his nose, and … arrr arrr arrchooooo! Melly was still singing when Fluff Butt sneezed and the nit-head flew back out of his nostril, ricocheted off the tap, up to the light, off the door handle, across the room, and landed in Melly’s mouth.

  Awesome! My day just got a whole lot better.

  So I guess nits, I mean “hair fairies,” are good for something.

  I just don’t get it! I’m innocently sitting around, minding my own business, when Mom suddenly appears in the living room doorway, casually wanders past me, and says … “Your butt smells!”

  Huh? What the? And she wasn’t kidding either. She was positively, absamativalutely serious! I totally did not k
now that!

  For some strange, weird, Mom reason, she decides to tell me this incredibly interesting, and educational information right in the middle of my favorite television show! Surely such an important fact deserved more explanation than that?!

  You see, up until then I’d always thought that your eyes “see,” your hands “feel,” your mouth “speaks,” your ears “listen,” and your nose “smells”!

  I know that, you know that, everyone knows that! Or so I thought.

  I just assumed that smell enters through the nostrils, slides upward, slips into your skull, and slithers around the outside of your brain until it figures out what kind of smell it is. Whether it’s so disgustingly gross that last night’s dinner starts gurgling back up your throat, ready to spew out everywhere, or not.

  But obviously, I’m wrong, you’re wrong, we’re all wrong! Because Mom decides to tell me the truth for the very first time in my entire life!

  That’s right, apparently my butt smells …

  Why hasn’t anyone ever told me this before? All my life I figured that whenever I smelled my little sister’s gross, overflowing, poopy diapers, or the dog’s massive, gut-chucking farts, the teacher’s moldy cheese and garlic B.O. stench, that I was smelling them all through the nostrils on my nose. Now I find out, according to Mom, I am actually smelling everything through my butt!

  That’s incredible!

  Hey, I wonder if it makes any difference what I’m wearing? Like if I’m wearing jeans or pants, will I be able to smell stuff as well as when I’m wearing loose shorts or sweatpants? Maybe I should be wearing boxers instead of my tight briefs to make sure I can smell better?

  I’m betting that babies can hardly smell anything at all for the first few years of their life. Wearing those really thick diapers on their teeny, tiny pink backsides would be like wearing a big, thick, fluffy nose-plug on your butt!

  Just as I sat pondering what to do with this new information, Mom wandered back into the room. She strolled past me again and casually said for the second time, “Your butt really does smell.” She gave a quick grimace in my direction as she said it.