Stinky and Successful
Mary Amato
Hey, Noah Albion, this one is for you and your mom!
M. A.
I’m not sure who to dedicate this book to, but if you happen to be stinky AND successful, you’re lucky and this book is for you.
E. L.
Text copyright © 2007, 2017 by Mary Amato
Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Ethan Long
All Rights Reserved
HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
www.holidayhouse.com
ISBN 978-0-8234-3947-8 (ebook)w
ISBN 978-0-8234-3948-5 (ebook)r
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Amato, Mary.
Stinky and successful : the Riot brothers never stop / by Mary Amato ; illustrated by Ethan Long. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-8234-2100-8 (hardcover)
[1. Brothers—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. School principals—Fiction. 4. Humorous stories.] I. Long, Ethan, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.A49165St 2007
[Fic]—dc22
2007013366
ISBN 978-0-8234-3867-9
CONTENTS
Book One
THE RIOT BROTHERS RESCUE A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
ONE
Be Nice to Your Socks!
TWO
May We Helpeth You?
THREE
Hark! What Is That Brilliant Song I Hear?
FOUR
Why Would You Want Hair on Your Toes?
FIVE
Muddy Shoulders Are a Small Price to Pay
SIX
Stop Sniffling!
Book Two
THE RIOT BROTHERS FOOL THEIR MOM
ONE
I Forget What This Chapter Is Called
TWO
A Sprinkle of Sugar?
THREE
Let the Cool Air In!
FOUR
Slobber and Frank
FIVE
Read This Title Now (Ha ha! I control you!)
SIX
Slobbery Sleep
Book Three
THE RIOT BROTHERS BECOME MAD SCIENTISTS
ONE
Winkin’ and Blinkin’
TWO
The Good Thing About Getting a Tomato Thrown in Your Face
THREE
What’s Growing in Your Backyard?
FOUR
Let Those Dishes Get Stinky
FIVE
Meet Mr. Huffy and Mr. Spitter
SIX
Rumpus Bumpus
BONUS!
Riot Brother Games
Knot-a-Sock
Sock Me a Story
Swat-a-Lot
Eyeballs Are Falling
Insult Me Game
Additional Riot Brother Rules
Riot Brother Sayings
The Riot Brother Guide to Knightly Talk
Bonus Songs
Flare, Flare, Flare Your Nostrils
Our Pants Go Marching
Air Conditioning
ONE
Be Nice to Your Socks!
I know what you’re thinking. You just read the title of this new Riot Brother adventure and you’re thinking: Rescue a damsel? Oh crud! The Riot Brothers are going to get all lovey-dovey. Well, it’s not true. There’s plenty of funny stuff in this story, so keep reading. Besides, if you stop reading, you’ll never find out how to play a game called Knot-a-Sock and the rest of your days will be filled with sadness and despair. Knot-a-Sock is just one of the many games that I, Wilbur Riot, like to play with my socks. Just last night, I suggested to my brother, Orville, that we play it.
“Do I like that game, Wilbur?” he asked.
“Yes, of course you do,” I said.
Orville is very lucky to have me for a brother because sometimes he forgets the answers to the important questions of life, such as: 1) Do I like that game? and 2) Has an elephant ever gotten a peanut stuck up his or her trunk nostril?
But Wilbur, I can hear you saying! Has an elephant ever gotten a peanut stuck up his or her trunk nostril, and how do you play Knot-a-Sock? Good questions. I’ll answer, but first I have a question for you. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be a sock? I think about being a sock. I close my eyes and imagine that I have no bones. I’m just a tube of stretchy soft stuff lying in a dark drawer. It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of the dark. It would be horrible to be afraid of the dark if you were a sock. All you would be doing all day and night is thinking, please, someone open this drawer and let some light in!
Last night, I suggested the Knot-a-Sock game because Orville and I needed a break. We were having a hard time trying to decide what our mission for tomorrow would be. (Riot Brother Rule #1: Make something exciting happen every day.)
We sat down, facing each other. “On your mark, get set, knot!”
We lunged for each other’s feet. I grabbed one of O-bro’s socks and pulled on the toe part just right. You can’t pull the sock off, you just have to pull until the toe part is hanging off the front of the other person’s foot like a little elephant trunk. It’s hard to do this just right because the other person is usually screaming and thrashing. Orville was screaming and thrashing and grabbing the toe part of my sock. But I kept my cool. Quickly I twisted the toe of his sock into a knot before he could do mine. You have to knot both of the other person’s socks in order to win.
“YI-I-I-I-I-I!” He screamed, then started laughing. Trust me. There is something about having your sock tied in a knot while it’s still on your foot that feels very funny. Orville was doomed. I mean, once you start to laugh it’s hard to get control. So, I grabbed his other foot and tied that sock into a knot, which made him laugh so hard that he started snorting. He stuck his feet in the air, and we both howled. His feet looked like they were wearing odd little crowns.
“I won!” I laughed triumphantly and stuck my feet in the air. Orville jumped up and wrestled my right sock into a knot.
Our mom walked in. “What now?” she groaned.
Orville smiled sweetly. “If you were a sock, wouldn’t you want someone to play a game with you now and then?”
Mom laughed. “Well, it’s time for you and your socks to go to bed.”
“But we haven’t chosen our secret mission for tomorrow,” he argued.
“Well, that will have to wait. It’s not my fault you decided to knot each other up.”
“Yes, Orville,” I said. “Stop being so knotty.”
“Very pun-ny,” Mom said.
“I don’t get it, Wilbur,” Orville said.
“Knotty. Naughty,” I said.
“Do you guys get it?” Orville asked his socks. They didn’t answer. Which reminds me. You asked a question that I haven’t answered yet. Has a peanut ever gotten stuck up the trunk nostril of an elephant? I have no idea. Tell me when you find out! Now, go to bed!
TWO
May We Helpeth You?
Did you go to bed? I had to. And I must have fallen asleep because I was sleeping peacefully when a voice shattered the morning silence.
“Wake up, you slumbering clod!”
I opened my eyes.
Orville was standing on my bed, bellowing at me. “Wake up, I say! Time is wasting!”
Usually I like it when Orville wakes me up. But getting yelled at was a little much. I rubbed my eyes. “Did you just call me a clod?”
Orville took a deep breath and struck a pose. “I, Orville the Riot, have chosen our mission for the day.” He pretended to blow a trumpet. “Hear ye! Hear ye! On this day, the Brothers Riot shall rescue a damsel in distress!” He waited for my reaction.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Kidding I am not.”
“That’s a
lame mission, Orville.”
“’Tis not! ’Tis noble, Wilbur.”
“I think you’ve been reading too many of those King Arthur stories, Orville. Why would you want to rescue a damsel in distress?”
“Because that’s how you become a knight, and I’ve always wanted to be a knight.”
He obviously didn’t understand the whole situation. “Do you realize that what a knight usually gets is a damsel’s hand in marriage?” I asked.
Orville looked suitably horrified. “Why would I want another hand? I’ve got two of my own right here.”
My point exactly.
“Let’s pick another topic,” I suggested.
“We can’t. I already wrote it down.”
“What?”
He showed me the Secret Riot Brother Mission Book where we write down our missions. We had a new rule.
Riot Brother Rule #16:
You have to write down
your mission of the day.
We made it up because we were getting into arguments and changing our minds and Riot Brother Rule #5 is Don’t change your mission in the middle of the day.
“Guess it’s too late,” Orville said.
I sighed deeply. “We must go forward with this mission. We cannot change that rule. But we’ll make up a new rule. Riot Brother Rule Number Seventeen: If you rescue a damsel in distress, you do not have to marry her.”
Orville looked suitably relieved.
I went on. “Now, as you know, Rule Number Two states that we cannot tell anyone our true mission, so we cannot tell a damsel that we are rescuing her from distress. We just have to do it.”
“But how will we know if she is in distress?”
“I guess we can ask her if she’s distressed. But then we have to zip our lips and just undistress her.”
“Bingo bongo, Wilbur!”
We went down to breakfast.
Mom was just finishing her tea and toast.
“What about her?” Orville whispered. “Since we don’t have to marry her, she could count as a damsel, couldn’t she?”
“There’s only one problem,” I whispered back.
“She’s too old?”
“No. She doesn’t look distressed.”
“Uh-oh. I hear whispering,” Mom said. “That usually means trouble.”
“How are you this morning, Mom?” Orville asked. “Are you distressed?”
“I’m just dandy,” Mom said, turning a page of her newspaper.
“Rats,” Orville said.
“Sorry to disappoint you, kiddo.”
“Should we whisper some more, Wilbur?” Orville whispered. “That seemed to distress her a little.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to distress the You-Know-Who first. I think we’re supposed to find her already distressed,” I whispered back.
“Right,” Orville nodded. “Call if any distress pops up, okay, Mom?”
Mom laughed. “Deal.”
We went to school early, of course, and sat outside on the bench, looking for damsels in possible distress.
Margaret Lew arrived, carrying her trombone case.
Seeing a real live girl made me wonder about this whole damsel-in-distress idea. First of all, the girls I know can rescue themselves. Second of all, what if girls thought we wanted to help them because we were in love with them? That would be terrible. Then we would be distressed. And who would rescue us?
A little voice inside me said, “Retreat! Retreat!” But then a louder voice that was even deeper inside me said, “You are a Riot Brother, and it is your duty to follow the Riot Brother Rules.” Then another voice added, “Just go with the flow, dude.” It’s kind of crowded in my head.
While I was listening to my inner voices, Orville’s inner knight came charging out.
“Lady Margaret, that looks distressingly heavy!” Orville jumped up and grabbed the trombone case out of her hand . . . and then he dropped it on her foot.
“YOW!” she screamed. For a damsel, Margaret can really let one loose.
“Sorry,” Orville said.
“Oh, by the way, Margaret,” I called out as she began limping in. “We’re all going on that field trip, remember? So you didn’t have to bring your trombone.”
“Urggh,” she said, which I guess is what you say when you’re angry at yourself for lugging in a trombone case for nothing.
Ms. Geary, the art teacher, arrived next with her arms full of supplies.
“Wow,” I said. “Here comes a definite damsel in distress!”
She must have heard it because she laughed. “I can’t say I’ve ever been called that before. Will you boys help me with the door?”
“We shall and we will, fair lady!” Orville cried.
What happened next was really a good thing if you think about it in a certain way. See, if we had succeeded in helping Ms. Geary, then our mission would have been over and there wouldn’t be any story; and if there weren’t any story, you wouldn’t have funny stuff to read; and if you didn’t have funny stuff to read, you would flunk out of school and your parents would be distressed; and if your parents were distressed, they would lose their jobs and cry; and if everyone cried, the dirt would turn to mud, which would make all the worms come out; and then the birds would eat so many worms, they’d be too fat to fly; and then the cats would eat so many birds, they’d be too fat to chase after the mice; and so the mice would take over the world, which would be great if you were a mouse, but not so great if you were, say, a piece of cheese.
So, really, it was a good thing for cheese that Orville and I both jumped to get the door. But I’m not so sure Ms. Geary would say that it was a good thing that I accidentally tripped her just as Orville was swinging open the door because the door kind of smashed into her and she got splattered with a little purple paint.
Okay, it wasn’t a little paint. Her glasses were purple. Her dress was purple. Even her shoes were purple. It was a lot of paint.
“Isn’t purple your favorite color?” Orville asked hopefully.
“It used to be,” she said, pushing a strand of purple hair off her purple face.
After we apologized and helped her clean up, Orville asked if the cleanup would count as a rescue from distress.
“No, Orville,” she said.
We could not try to rescue any more damsels because the bell rang.
“Orville,” I said as I wiped the last of the paint off the door. “I have to admit, I’m kind of glad to hear that old bell ring. This rescuing business is a lot of work.”
Orville sighed. “I knoweth what you mean, O goodly Wilbur.”
He looked so sad, I thought I would try to cheer him up. “Well, if they made kids into knights just for talking like one, thou would most certainly win, O goodly brother. For a third grader, thou art not too shabby.”
“Your words are liketh chocolate to my ears!” Orville said.
“I think you mean that my words are to your ears like chocolate is to your tummy.”
“Do you have any chocolate?” Orville asked.
Sadly, I had to shake my head.
“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t put it in my ears,” Orville added. “Why are we talking about chocolate anyway?”
“You brought it up!”
“I did?” He sighed. “Well, I have goodly taste.” He bowed. “Farewell, O Wilbur, until we meet again!”
THREE
Hark! What Is That Brilliant Song I Hear?
Have you ever wondered why field trips are called field trips? Have you ever wondered who invented them? Was the first field trip to a field and is that why they are called field trips? Or perhaps a smart and fun-loving teacher named Mr. or Ms. Field invented the field trip and named it after him- or herself? Some people might think you have a big head if you call it a field trip because that’s your name, but I think it’s completely understandable. Orville and I have named many things after ourselves, and we don’t have big heads. Actually we do have big heads, but it’s not because we
’re conceited. It’s because our brains are HUMONGOUS! You’d think that with heads as big as ours, we’d have sore necks, but it’s the poor kids who sit behind us in class who have the sore necks. They have to keep looking around us to see the teacher!
The good news is that everybody loves our big heads because our brains are always full of great ideas. Don’t take my word for it. For example, what were Margaret, Jonathan, Selena, and Alan doing on the field-trip bus on the way to the Botanic Garden? They were all singing one of the famous Riot Brother Songs.
Someday soon Orville and I plan to publish The Riot Brother Songbook. Once it hits the streets, everyone will want to sing the songs and the world will become a happy place with people laughing instead of crying and then cheese will be really safe. Orville and I may even win an award for saving the world with our music.
I’m getting so excited just thinking about it that I can’t wait for the book to come out. I’m going to give you a sneak preview. For maximum enjoyment, act out this song while singing it.
(Special Warning: Our mom read this and said that we should remind you that bus drivers work very hard for your safety and that you must NOT give them a hard time. If you are riding a bus, you must remain seated AT ALL TIMES. So that means you must wiggle your rear while remaining seated, which is totally possible. If you don’t believe me, try wiggling your rear right now. Ha-ha! Made you do it!)
Okay, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, That nostril song is a masterpiece! Since you liked it, I’ll teach you one more. (Special Warning: Do NOT act this one out by taking off your pants! Ha-ha.)
This is a great one to sing in a crowd, even if nobody takes off any pants, because it’s always funny to sing about underwear.
Orville and I have made up lots of funny songs over the years. And on the way to the Botanic Garden, we sang them all to the delight of our bus driver, I’m sure. After we came to a complete stop in the parking lot, I stood up and said, “Wait! I feel a saying coming on.”
