Tommy Puke and the World's Grossest Grown-Up
Also by Robert T. Jeschonek
Tommy Puke and the Boy With the Golden Barf
*****
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © 2012 by Robert T. Jeschonek
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*****
Tommy Puke and the World's Grossest Grown-Up
By
Robert T. Jeschonek
Chapter 1
My best friend, Tommy Puke, slams down his half-eaten slice of extra-anchovies pizza and springs up out of his chair. "'Scuse me, Josh," he says. "I gotta go puke on somebody's parade."
Turning, I see what he's talking about. On the other side of the mall food court, some older girls are picking on a younger girl. It's three against one--bad odds for the one getting picked on, for sure.
But the odds are even worse for the ones doing the picking. Because once Tommy Puke gets involved, they don't stand a chance.
Not that I won't back him up anyway. That's what best friends are for, after all. "What can I do, Tommy?" I ask the question as I get up out of my chair to follow him.
"Keep your head down once the loogie storm starts." Tommy swats one of the flies that are always buzzing around him. "Then be ready to pull the girl out of the line of fire before I break out the heavy artillery."
I'm not sure what he means by "heavy artillery," but I know it'll be powerful...and disgusting. Tommy's a master of gross fighting techniques. I've already seen him take out a gang of bullies with nothing but his loogies. Not to mention the time he fought off a pack of wild dogs with just his bad breath.
I never met anyone like Tommy before. When he gets done with those girl bullies, they'll be screaming their lungs out and squirming on the floor, begging for Mall security to come save them.
They have no idea what's about to happen to them. As Tommy and I march over, they just keep tormenting the younger girl by spitting on her salad, smacking her upside the head, and calling her filthy names.
Little do they know that a master of good, clean filth is about to teach them the lesson of a lifetime.
At least, that's the plan. Tommy digs some kind of yellow goop out of his ears as he walks, getting ready to make his move. He makes a low gurgling noise in his throat, the kind of noise he always makes when he's working up a serious loogie.
But then, when we're just twenty feet away, someone else enters the picture.
An old guy leaps in front of us, coming face to face with the bullies. He's wearing bright red long johns with the left leg pushed up to the knee. The most remarkable thing about him is his silver hair, which is pulled up into two foot-tall horns on top of his head.
As the guy cuts us off, Tommy stops in his tracks. Stopping behind him, I catch a major whiff of his rank body odor, which I swear is the worst it's ever been. (Somewhere between rotten eggs in a blender and skunk fumes, I'd say.)
"Who's that?" I gasp at his B.O. as I say it.
"Rhino Man!" Tommy's voice is a stunned whisper. "One of the craziest people in town!"
I've never seen Rhino Man before, but he sure does seem crazy. The two hair horns on top of his head quiver as he cries out and claws at the air.
I whisper back to Tommy. "Why 'Rhino Man?' He's got two horns, not one."
"Because he used to have one," says Tommy. "Nobody knows why he added the second one."