it taste like, Bunky?’ I warbled, leaning against Nancy so I didn’t fall over out of jealousy.
‘Alright I spose . . . Not as nice as Fronkle,’ he said, and he started waggling his legs around like the man in the Tears of Granny Laughter advert. ‘That reminds me, I haven’t weed it out yet . . .’ he giggled.
My ears couldn’t believe themselves. How could a drink made out of old grannies’ tears not be the tastiest thing in the whole wide world amen?
‘What are you, NUTS?’ I said, which is what Detective Manksniff says when his ears can’t believe THEMselves. ‘Tears of Granny Laughter is the keelest thing since Future Ratboy!’
Nancy rolled her eyes, picking up Bunky’s snapped-in-half straw and putting it in a bin.
‘A lot of people don’t like those adverts, you know,’ she said, as three real-life grannies doddered past just like Beryl, Irene and Gertrude, except without the special glasses.
‘Boo, naughty drink!’ shouted the first granny, waggling her walking stick at the poster, and the second one shook her fist in the air.
‘Ban Tears of Granny Laughter!’ croaked granny number three as they wobbled off at two centimetres per hour.
‘See!’ smiled Nancy, and a shiver went down my spine. What if they DID ban my favourite drink before I even got to taste it? Since Desmond Loser the Second had come along and stolen my mum and dad off me, slurping on a carton of Tears of Granny Laughter was the only thing I had to live for.
‘As if they’d ban the keelest drink since sliced keelness!’ I said, not realising what was about to happen next.
‘OUT OF THE WAY LOSEROIDS, THIS IS AN EMERGENCE-WEE!’ screamed Bunky as we got to the school gates, and he zoomed across the playground towards the toilets.
Nancy chuckled to herself and picked up a copy of The Daily Poo from the stack next to the gates. ‘Er, you might want to read this, Barry,’ she said, suddenly not chuckling at all, so I picked one up too.
‘TEARS OF GRANNY LAUGHTER BANNED!’ read my eyeballs, not believing themselves. ‘Th-this must be a joke . . .’ I stuttered, and I went to lean on Nancy, but she’d walked off so I fell on the floor instead.
‘Enjoy your trip, Barold?’ sneered Gordon Smugly from my class, who’s the sort of smug, ugly Gordon who’s only happy when someone else like me is UNhappy.
‘It wasn’t a trip, Gordon, it was a FALL,’ I cried, and he chuckled to himself like one of the baddies in an episode of Detective Manksniff, except less scary.
‘Yes, well, dreadful news about Tears of Granny Laughter, isn’t it?’ he drawled, and I squinted my eyes, wondering what he was up to. ‘Hope you get yourself a carton before they all sell out . . .’ he smiled, jangling a handful of coins inside his pocket.
From the sound of Gordon’s jangle, he could afford to buy every carton in Mogden. And that’s exackerly the sort of thing he’d do, just to ruin my life.
‘Better get down to Feeko’s sharpish after school, Barold!’ he snortled, gliding off on his tiptoes, and I looked around for someone a bit less Gordonish to talk to.
Anton Mildew was slumped on a bench, Tears of Anton Sadness zigzagging down his cheeks. ‘IT’S THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE!’ he wailed, and I crawled towards him, seeing as I was still lying on the floor from my fall-over from before, and getting up is BORING.
‘It’s all Mayor Plunkett’s fault!’ snuffled Anton, blowing his nose on his Daily Poo. ‘She said the Tears of Granny Laughter adverts were cruel to grannies and ordered Feeko’s to stop selling it immedikeely.’
‘Good riddance to it, that’s what I say!’ burped Darren Darrenofski, slurping on a can of Fronkle, which is his favourite drink since sliced Darren. ‘Tears of Granny Laughter is for losers!’ he chuckled.
Anton crumpled his Daily Poo into a ball and threw it at Darren’s head, just as Sharonella from our class stomped over, doing her angry face.
Sharonella’s been in a bad mood with Anton ever since he did a front page exclusive in The Daily Poo saying she might be the Phantom Air-Freshener Thief.
The Phantom Air-Freshener Thief is this mysterious person who’s been going round all the toilets in Mogden School stealing the plug-in air-fresheners.
‘Fanks a lot for saying I was the Phantom Air-Freshener Thief, Anton,’ screeched Sharonella. ‘As if I’d want to steal a stupid air-freshener!’ she scoffed, her perfume wafting up my nostrils. ‘I’ll get you back for this, Mildew!’ she screeched, stomping off again just as Bunky bounded over, zipping up his flies.
‘What in the unkeelness is going on here?’ he yapped, and I realised he hadn’t heard the news.
‘Get ready to not believe your ears,’ I said, and I started to tell him everything that had just happened, which was pret-ty boring for everyone else, seeing as they already knew.
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