I am still not a Loser. Jim Smith

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I am still not a Loser - Jim  Smith The Barry Loser Series

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      Barry

      Loser

      the keelness that is me

      Anton

      Mildew

      and his invisible friend, ‘Invis’

      Bunky

      my annoying best friend

      Benjamin

      Bottle

      works at Mogden Museum, has biggest nose in world

      Future

      Ratboy

      and Not Bird

      Three

      Thumb

      Rita

      owns the swee shop

      Gordon

      Smugly

      smug + ugly = smugly

      My mum

      (my mum)

      Darren

      Darrenofski

      horrible but quite funny

      First published in Great Britain 2013 by Jelly Pie, an imprint of Egmont UK Ltd The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2013 The moral rights of the author-illustrator have been asserted.

      ISBN 978 1 4052 6032 9

      eISBN 978 1 7803 1383 2

      www.egmont.co.uk barryloser.com

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

      Please note: Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont cannot take responsibility for any third party content or advertising. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

      EGMONT LUCKY COIN

      Our story began over a century ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street.

      He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment.

      The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

      Praise for my first book

      Hover­

      poos

      You know when someone’s horrible to you in a dream and you wake up really annoyed with them? That’s what happened to me with my best friend Bunky.

      In the dream I was my favourite TV character, Future Ratboy, and Bunky was his annoying sidekick Not Bird.

      We were in the mayor’s office, which looked exactly like my granny’s house.

      ‘You’re the only ones who can save us from the hoverpoos!’ said the mayor, who was played by my teacher, Mr Hodgepodge.

      Hoverpoos were the invention of Professor Smugly, who in the dream was Gordon Smugly from our class at school.

      Gordon Smugly has the most perfect name for himself ever in the history of having a name, because he looks like a Gordon and is smug and ugly.

      Professor Smugly had given all the dogs in town his hoverpoo potion so that now, instead of their poos landing splat on the ground, they hovered ten centimetres above it.

      ‘They’re everywhere!’ said the mayor, screaming as a hoverpoo floated up and bumped into his sock.

      It was about the same size as Not Bird (Bunky) and the same colour (brown) and also floated (like birds can).

      ‘Don’t worry, Mayor Hodgepodge, we’ll stop Professor Smugly!’ I said, and I looked at his face to see if he was impressed, but he was too busy screaming and kicking at the hoverpoo to notice.

      Because it was a dream, all of a sudden we were in Professor Smugly’s laboratory and I’d turned myself into a fly, and was sitting on Not Bird’s beak.

      ‘What’s all this craziness about?’ said Professor Smugly, holding a test tube with brown bubbling potion in it.

      ‘Ooh, can I have a sip?’ said Not Bird, flying over to the test tube.

      He perched on the edge and dipped his beak in. ‘Ahhhhhhh,’ he said, and he turned straight into a hoverpoo.

      ‘Hmmm . . . a talking hoverpoo. That could be useful,’ said Professor Smugly, flicking me off Not Bird’s head.

      ‘Not Bird, how do you fancy being my right-hand man?’ he said. ‘Or should I say right-hand poo?’

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