Читать книгу I am still not a Loser - Jim Smith - Страница 7

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?’

‘But Bunky’s MY right-hand poo!’ I screamed, but because I was a fly it came out as a whisper.

‘Barrrrr-yyyyy, you’ll be late for schooo-oooll!’ my mum shouted up the stairs, and I woke up, not a fly any more, and late for school.