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    Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf
    Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf
    Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf
    Ebook91 pages1 hour

    Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf

    By Robert Jeschonek

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    About this ebook

    Who's the grossest kid in the world?  Tommy Puke, that's who!  He fights off bullies with his mighty loogies...conquers jerks with his powerful farts...and sticks up for his pet skunk by driving off wild dogs with his blistering bad breath.  What happens when he takes his new friend, Josh, on an epic quest to find the fabled prince of vomit, who might just be Tommy's brother?  Action, laughs, and more disgusting gross-outs than you can shake a booger at!  Will Tommy and Josh find the prince, otherwise known as the Boy with the Golden Barf?  Will his golden barf make them rich?  Will he welcome Tommy Puke to the family?  Or will Tommy and Josh find themselves in over their heads in the sewer in a deadly battle with the only person more stomach-turning than Tommy?  One thing is for sure:  the puke, boogers, loogies, poop, and goop will fly!  And Josh must gain the power of the secret Eighth Emanation—a magic bodily fluid far grosser than any known to mankind—to stand a chance of surviving. Don't miss this hilarious and action-packed gross-out adventure from award-winner Robert Jeschonek, author of the young readers' fantasy My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, named a Top Ten First Novel for Youth by Booklist magazine.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Jeschonek
    Release dateDec 6, 2018
    ISBN9781458041463
    Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf

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      Book preview

      Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf - Robert Jeschonek

      CHAPTER 1

      Look! Tommy Puke, the most disgusting kid in town—and my only friend—points a filthy finger at a shadowy niche in the sewer wall. There it is!

      As I lean forward to look over his shoulder, my eyes cross from the stench of his body odor. I want to lean back to get away from the smell...but then I catch sight of what he's pointing at, gleaming in the flare of his flashlight.

      It looks like a golden blob, as if a bar of pure gold had melted into a puddle, then hardened again. The puddle is lumpy, as if the molten gold had oozed over a cluster of pebbles. Either that...

      ...or it's exactly what he said it was. The object of the crazy and stomach-churning quest he's taken me on. The legendary prize that's supposed to change my life forever.

      Solid gold vomit.

      You know what this means, don't you, Josh? Tommy scratches his head, and dandruff flakes shower down from his unwashed rat's nest of hair. "We're close now! This is his lair!"

      I look around nervously. Do you really think so?

      "We're about to find him! Tommy turns and grins. A bell clapper of glistening green goo hangs inside his left nostril. We're going to meet the son of the god of vomit! We're about to throw down with the Boy Who Barfs Gold!"

      Suddenly, a strange voice booms from the darkness ahead. "Don't you mean throw up?"

      CHAPTER 2

      How did a nice, neat kid like me get mixed up with a boy like Tommy Puke? He saved me with his loogies, that's how.

      The first time I met Tommy, three eighth-grade goons were kicking my butt. They'd gotten off the bus at my stop, then chased me up the block and caught me at the corner. They said it was Sixth-Grader Idol day, and if I passed the audition, they were going to beat me up every day after school.

      Lucky you! The biggest goon, Brendan, let me have it in the gut while his buddy Crick held my arms. You're a star!

      The other goon, wiry Red, shot video with his cell phone and laughed like a donkey. Smile for the camera, Jiggles!

      When I heard that nickname, it went through me like a lightning bolt. A kid in my class, Zach, had come up with it, and the name had stuck. All because I'd gotten nervous giving a speech. Could I help it if I got the shakes sometimes?

      My belly still ached from the first punch when Brendan hauled back his fist for the second. Don't keep it all inside, Baby Jiggles. Feel free to cry for your fans!

      Punch number two felt like a wrecking ball plowing into my stomach. The pain made me want to double over, but Crick wouldn't let me. Laughing, he jerked me straighter, setting me up for the next attack.

      Brendan grinned at the camera. How was that? He flexed his arm and gave his bicep a big kiss.

      Quit holding back! Red hustled closer, sticking the camera in my face. "Check it out! Jigs is laughing at you!"

      Brendan shoved Red out of the way and pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Jiggles, Jiggles, Jiggles. You think this is funny?"

      I shook my head. It wasn't the slightest bit funny to me.

      Hey, Crick. Brendan pinched my chin harder, twisting my head around. What did we do to that funny kid the other day?

      It was hilarious! Crick's breath hit the back of my head as he laughed. "Step one, strip him naked!"

      Red was also laughing. Step two, make him dance for the camera!

      Brendan let go of my chin and slapped me hard across the face. Step three, post it online. And step four...

      He never got to step four.

      Before Brendan could make another move, Red screamed at the top of his lungs. We all looked in his direction at once.

      Red had dropped the cell phone and was wiping some kind of yellow goop from his eyes. Wailing and scowling, he hopped from foot to foot as he swabbed at the slimy substance.

      What the hey? Brendan stared, then broke into a laugh. "Did a bird crap on you or something, Red?"

      Get it off me! Get it off! Red turned in circles, scrubbing harder at his goop-covered eyes. "It stinks! Oh please, it stinks so bad!" He coughed so hard, he gagged.

      Brendan laughed harder. Hold that pose! Jogging over, he bent down and grabbed Red's phone from the ground. Let me get a shot of that, dude!

      Just as Brendan raised the phone and started shooting video, Crick suddenly let go of me. Stumbling away, I turned and looked back. What I saw was this: Crick, bug-eyed, flailing his arms, as someone held a hand over his mouth.

      It was a filthy hand, covered in smudges of dirt, smears of grime, and streaks of blood. The nails on the fingers were chipped and cracked, with black crescents pushed up under them. A buzzing fly circled

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