CONTENTS
Fizz Ed
T. Rex vs. the Shark
Yeti Alert!
Yack Buster Deluxe 6XM
Chopzilla
Ballerina Butt Boy
Karate Canine
Yellow Belt Yeti
Thmackdown!
Crackdown!
Smackdown!
Thwackdown!
Stink stared at the stack of super-secret sealed envelopes on Mrs. D.’s desk. He could hardly wait.
Report Card Day!
Report Card Day was the best day ever in the whole entire school year. Right after Crazy Hat Day and Pajama Day, that is.
At last it was time. Mrs. D. handed him an envelope. A brand-spanking-new envelope with a shiny little window that said: TO THE PARENTS OF JAMES E. MOODY.
Stink took a sniff. Stink took a whiff. He could almost smell the perfect ink used to write down all the good grades he was about to get.
“Remember,” said Mrs. D., “no opening until you have a parent present.”
Just then, the bell rang. Stink put the envelope in his Wednesday folder. He put the folder in his backpack. He rushed out the door.
On the bus, Stink could not stand it one more minute. He took out the super-secret sealed envelope.
“You better not open it,” said his best friend Webster.
“You better not open it,” said his other best friend, Sophie of the Elves.
“I’m just looking,” said Stink.
“Stink, put that away,” said his sister, Judy. “You’re not allowed to open it till we get home.”
Stink held the envelope to the light. He pressed it against the bus window.
“O, O, O, O, O,” said Stink. “I see a lot of Os for Outstanding!”
“Zeros,” said Judy, cracking up. “You got all zeros.”
“Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.
Stink had ants in his pants all the way home. Bees in his knees. Flies in his eyes. Stink felt like a hopping popcorn kernel just about to p-o-p!
Stink raced into the house.
He took out his Wednesday folder and handed the envelope to Mom. “Open it, open it, open it.”
“Let’s wait for Dad.”
“But the sooner you open it,” said Stink, “the sooner we can hang it on the fridge in the Moody Hall of Fame. I know I got all O’s”
“O is for oh, brother,” Judy said.
Report card time!
Dad peered over Mom’s shoulder. They smiled proud smiles for all the big fat cheery O’s on his report card.
“Good for you, honey,” said Mom, putting an arm around him.
“Lots of Outstandings. You should be proud of yourself, Stink,” said Dad.
“Aren’t you going to hang it on the fridge now?” Stink asked. “In the Moody Hall of Fame? Above Judy’s?”
Mom and Dad didn’t answer. Mom and Dad stared at the report card. Mom and Dad read the comments at the bottom.
All of a sudden, their smiles turned into straight lines. The straight lines turned into upside-down smiles. Mom and Dad were frowning!
“What’s this?” asked Dad, pointing to the bottom of the report card.
“Seems to be a U,” said Mom.
U! U was for Ucky! U was for U stink! U was for . . . Unless You’re an O, What Are You Doing on My Report Card?
“Stink got a U?” Judy asked. “U is for UN-satisfactory! U is for U flunked!”
“In Phys Ed,” said Dad.
“Fizz Ed?” Stink asked. “Who’s Ed?”
“Phys Ed,” said Mom. “Physical Education.”
“Gym,” said Judy. “You know, like sports.”
“Sports? I like sports,” said Stink.
“Driving your race-car bed is not a sport,” said Judy.
“I like basketball.”
“Which you play in your room while sitting on your UN-sports race-car bed.”
“I like baseball, too. And football.”
“You like collecting baseball cards and watching the Steelers on TV with Dad. Waving the Terrible Towel around? Also not a sport.”
“Can I help it if I’m short and can’t reach the basket? Can I help it if the bat’s bigger than me? Can I help it if I get crushed in football? Do you want a brother who’s flat as a pancake?”
“Silver-dollar or blueberry?” Judy asked.
“Mom and I would still like you to take up a sport,” said Dad.
“Just because of one puny U, I have to get crushed like a pancake?”
“There are plenty of sports you can play. I was short like you, but I was the fastest kid on the Roanoke Racerbacks.”
“All kids need exercise. And fresh air,” said Mom. “It’ll be fun.”
“What about Judy? Doesn’t she have to play a sport?”
“Hello! I play soccer. And softball. And swim team in the summer.”
“Playing a sport will really help you bring this grade up,” said Dad.
Stink’s lip quivered like wiggly spaghetti.
“In sports, you get to wear a cool uniform,” said Judy. “And bring home a shiny trophy. And go to a pizza party at the end of the season.”
Stink looked at Mom and Dad. Stink looked at Judy. But instead of eyes, all he could see were U’s.
The next day, Stink went looking for a sport.
Webster liked bike-riding and basketball. Sophie of the Elves liked ballet, gymnastics, and African dance. Skunk liked skateboarding.
But Stink’s bike had a flat tire. He had two left feet. And the only skateboard he owned was the one without wheels hanging on his wall.
Then Stink checked out the sports channels. He watched slow-pitch softball (BOR-ing), golf (WAY-boring), badminton (Stink was no-way, NOT going to hit a bird), and stuff where guys called each other goofy names like Steve-a-rino and Pa Jammy.
Stink watched ditch-snorkeling (too muddy!), tuna-throwing (Mom did NOT like him to throw stuff), Tootsie-Roll spitting (Mom did NOT like him to spit stuff, either), cheese-chasing (huh?), and wife-carrying (Hel-lo! Stink did NOT have a wife!).
Stink was just about to give up when he heard the words “most fun classic sport ever.” Then he heard, “Play it at home! In the car! At school! Free! No equipment necessary!”
Stink was glued to the screen. “Hey, sports fans! Have we got the sport for you! It’s fab. It’s free. It’s fun-tastic! Strength. Stamina. Strategy. Two thumbs up for the sport that’s sweeping the nation — thumb-wrestling!”
Thumb-wrestling was uber-cool. Thumb-wrestling was F-U-N! Thumb- wrestling was thumb-tastic!
Stink watched three thumb-wrestling matches in a row. He learned the rules. Easy peasy! He practiced on himself. Best of all, he learned tricky moves with funny names like Snake in the Grass and Santa’s Little Helper.
All he needed now was someone to thumb-wrestle. . . . Webster!
“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!”
Stink wrinkled his forehead. Stink stuck out his tongue. Stink made funny faces. Stink and Webster’s thumbs were locked in a bitter battle.
Webster tried to pin Stink’s thumb down one, two, three times, but Stink escaped in the nick of time.
Webster waited. Webster barely blinked. Webster looked sneaky. “Gotcha!” Webster chortled with glee, smashing his thumb down over Stink’s and trapping it for three seconds.
“You win,” said Stink. “Again.”
“Yes!” Webster pumped his fist in the air. “I’m mucho macho!”
“No fair. Your thumb’s longer than mine,” said Stink.
“Is not,” said Webster. They held up their thumbs side-by-side. “See? They’re almos
t the same.”
“I’m left-handed,” said Stink. “Try again. This time we do it lefty.”
They went at it again, left-handed. Left-thumbed, that is. Stink tried to trick Webster. But it was no use. Even left-handed, Webster chewed him up and spit him out like yesterday’s breakfast cereal.
“Stink, you’re all thumbs today.” Webster cracked up.
“Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.
“I’m the best luchador this side of Chuckamuck Creek.”
“The best what?” Stink asked.
“Luchador. It means wrestler in Spanish. My dad was a wrestler in high school, and my two uncles.”
They played again. And again. Webster beat Stink every time. “I stink at thumb-wrestling,” said Stink.
“So? You don’t stink at catching toads. And you don’t stink at rescuing guinea pigs and saving Pluto. And smelling.”
“Great. I smell. Told you I stink.”
Webster hee-hawed. “But you never played before. Stick with it.”
“Hold the phone!” said Stink. “Let’s make masks, for our thumbs. Like they wear on smackdown wrestling. We can give them scary faces, so they look bad. Real bad.”
“The baddest,” said Webster.
Stink got out scissors, felt, glue, markers, and a bag of googly eyes. “Mine’s gonna be green, with a black Batman mask for eyes and red flames on top,” said Webster.
“Mine’s gonna be silver with pointy red teeth and a black shark fin on top.”
“We SO don’t stink at this,” said Webster, grinning.
Done. Webster and Stink slipped the masks over their thumbs.
“Cool,” said Webster.
“Bad,” said Stink.
“Dweebs,” said Stink’s sister, Judy, coming into the room. “Why are you guys making finger puppets? Finger puppets are for babies.”
“They’re not finger puppets,” said Stink.
“They’re luchadores,” said Webster. “Like pro wrestlers from Mexico. Now we have to think up names for them.”
“How about El Terrible and El Even Worso?” Judy cracked herself up.
Stink ignored her. “Tweedle Thumb and Tweedle Dumb?” Judy suggested.
Webster held up his thumb mask. “Meet . . . T. Rex Wasabi.”
“Presenting . . . Shark Hammersmash,” said Stink. “T. Rex Wasabi and Shark Hammersmash are warming up for the big event: the Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Thmackdown.”
Webster didn’t miss a beat. “T. Rex Wasabi is favored to win 7–1. But underdog Shark Hammersmash could come from behind with a sneak attack. You might say he’s a Snake in the Grass. A little Bug in the Ear.”
“You might say he’s a little Pain in the Rear,” said Judy, grinning.
“Please?” Stink begged. “Pretty please with Screamin’ Mimi’s ice cream on top?”
“Forget it. I’m not going to thumb-wrestle. Mom and Dad said you have to play a sport.”
“Thumb-wrestling is on the sports channel. Thumb-wrestling has all three S’s: Strength, stamina, and strategy.”
“Do you even know what that means?” Judy asked.
“Hel-lo! I read the S encyclopedia.”
“Trust me, Stink. Mom and Dad are not going to go for thumb-wrestling.”
“That’s why I have to wow them with my amazing skill. For serious. If I practice a bunch, I can win the Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Thmackdown.”
“Thorry,” Judy teased. “I have homework.” She bounced a bouncy ball off the wall.
“Homework? You’re just bouncing a ball.”
“I’m counting how many times I can bounce it off the wall — 107, 108, 109 — without dropping it. Like a science experiment.”
“Your science experiment could be to see how many times you can beat your little brother at thumb-wrestling.”
“Stink. You’re wrecking my concentration.”
Stink did not stop talking. “Did you know that thumb-wrestling goes way-way-way back to the time of the Romans?”
“Uh-huh. 110, 111, 112, 113.”
“Back then, they thumb-wrestled in a big stadium. Bazillions of people came to watch.”
“Uh-huh.” 114, 115, 116
“And they thumb-wrestled to the death.”
Judy stopped bouncing the ball. “That is SO not true. People don’t die from thumb-wrestling.”
“They wrestled to the death . . . of the thumb. You were the loser when your thumbnail turned all black and gross and fell off. Then the winner took the gross thumbnail and ran around the arena with it. The crowds went wild and yelled, ‘All hail the thumbnail.’”
“Stink, you lie like a guy with a booger in his eye.”
“Nah-uh. I swear.” He held up his left thumb. “Thumb-wrestler’s honor. Now that you know how cool and gross it is, will you thumb-wrestle me?”
“Still no.”
“Not even if I give you my Liberty Bell postcard and my Ocean Breeze Water Park squished penny?”
“You’ve got to come up with something better than that, Stink.”
“I promise not to put my smelly feet on you for one whole entire week.”
“Tempting,” said Judy. She flung the ball against the wall extra hard.
“Never mind. I’m stronger anyway.”
“Are not,” said Judy.
“Am too,” said Stink.
“Are not.”
“Prove it,” said Stink. “Prove it like Nancy Drew.”
“Okay, I give. But remember, I’m up to 128.” Judy set the ball down.
Stink put on Shark Hammersmash. Judy drew a way-moody mood face on her thumbnail. “Shark Hammersmash, meet Manta Ray Moody.”
Judy and Stink locked fingers. “May the best thumb win,” said Judy.
“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!” In two seconds flat, Judy crushed Stink’s thumb with her index finger. “I win!” she shouted.
“No fair! Fingers are against the law. The first Rule of Thumb is no snakes, bugs, trapdoors, or sidekicks. And definitely NO Santa’s Little Helper.”
“Huh?”
“No sneak attacks from fingers. Just thumbs.”
“Fine. But you’re goin’ down, Shark Hammersmash. You’re goin’ down so far, your undies will be dragging in the dirt.”
Stink ducked his thumb.
“The Manta Ray is gonna crush you like ice, Shark. You’re a snow cone.”
“I am not a snow cone. Stop saying stuff.”
Judy pointed out the window. “Look! Halley’s Comet!”
“You just want me to look away so you can body slam me.”
“Busted,” said Judy. “But there IS a giant jawbreaker on the bookcase. No, wait. It’s a moon rock! You gotta see it, Stink.”
“Later.” He dipped his thumb one, two, three times.
“Yeti alert! Behind you. Very big, very hairy yeti! No lie.”
Yeti? Stink turned to look.
“Gotcha!” said Judy. “One, two, three. Smackdown! I pinned you for three counts. I win. Take that, Shark Hammersmash.”
“But you made me look.”
“So? It’s not my fault that you fell for the old Yeti trick. Manta Ray Moody rules! Shark Hammersmash is mincemeat. Shark Hammersmash is chopped liver.”
“Shark Hammersmash is ripped! Look what you did. He lost one eye.”
“Told you. Never tangle with the Moodinator.”
Judy drew stitches like a Frankenstein scar on Stink’s mask. Then she wrapped a pirate Band-Aid around its head. And she gave him a black eye where his googly eye used to be. “Now he looks way tougher. He’s been knocked out a few times, but he has cool scars to show for it.”
“Frankenshark Hammersmash,” said Stink, grinning from ear to ear.
On the bus, Shark Hammersmash thumb-wrestled Rocky and Frank. In the boys’ room, Shark Hammersmash thumb-wrestled Skunk. The Shark went down one, two, three times.
At morning recess, at lunch, and on the playground, Shark Hammersmash thumb-wrestled Riley Rottenberg
er (still rotten), Heather Strong (who really was strong), and some first-grader named Johnson Splink (no lie). The Shark took a beating every time.
In class, Mrs. D. was teaching about money. Dollars and cents. Quarters, dimes, and nickels. She passed out trays of fake paper money and plastic coins.
“Pair up with your partner and help each other make correct change. I’ll be in the hall hanging artwork. So I’m going to turn on the Yack Buster Deluxe.”
Not the Yack Buster Deluxe! The Yack Buster Deluxe 6XM was a stoplight in the corner of the room. When Class 2D kept their voices low, the light stayed green. If they started to get noisy, the light turned yellow. If they got way too noisy, the stoplight turned red. In the deluxe model, a siren even went off.
Stink Moody did NOT have a good track record with the Yack Buster Deluxe 6XM. Once he’d dropped his math book and the siren had gone off. Another time he fell off his chair and the siren went cuckoo. Woo-oo-woo!
Mrs. D. turned on the machine. The green light blinked. The red light was not lit up, but it stared at Stink like a black eye waiting to happen.
As soon as Mrs. D. left the room, Stink said to Sophie, “Let’s thumb-wrestle.”
“Thumb-wrestle? I don’t know how.”
Thunderation! The Shark had found his bait. Stink would beat the pants off Sophie in a mini smackdown. No problemo!
“I’ll show you,” said Stink.
“In the middle of math class?”
“It only takes two seconds.” Two seconds to crush you, Stink thought.
Stink taught Sophie how to lock hands. Stink taught Sophie the rules. Stink taught Sophie to say, “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!”
“I don’t like war games.”
“It’s not really war,” said Stink. “It’s wrestling. Think of it like a sport.”