Barry Loser and the Holiday of Doom. Jim Smith
so it was weird when he suddenly started fancying a cat one day.
It was about eight million weeks ago and me and Bunky were walking home from school past a Feeko’s Supermarket.
Summer was coming up, and the whole window was filled with swimming trunks and other holidayish things like that.
‘You should buy those for Sharonella!’ giggled Bunky, pointing at a bunch of fake plastic sunflowers.
Bunky’s been saying Sharonella from our class fancies me ever since she said I had a nice nose once.
‘Shut up, Bunky!’ I said, looking down at my nose and trying to work out what was so good about it. ‘How can someone like someone else’s nose?’ I mumbled, twitching it to see if that made it any better. ‘It’s just a nose for smelling stuff with.’
I tried to think of someone who fancied Bunky’s nose, but all I could come up with was my other best friend Nancy Verkenwerken, who’s sort of like my pet cat.
‘YOU SHOULD BUY THAT FOR NANCY!’ I shouted, pointing at a pink frilly bikini.
I was shouting because a plane had started flying over, by the way. Bunky’s whole face turned the same colour as the bikini, but less frilly. ‘I DON’T FANCY NANCY!’ he shouted, fiddling with a bit of old bubblegum someone had stuck on the wall.
I looked at Bunky. Something about the way he’d said it made me wonder if he actually DID fancy her. He’d definitely been smiling a lot at Nancy recently, but then Bunky smiles at everyone. That’s what sort-of pet dogs do.
And that’s when I noticed something. The whole time we’d been standing there, Bunky had been busy squidging the bubblegum into the shape of a heart.
‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF UNKEELNESS?!’ I gasped, which is what my favourite TV star Future Ratboy says when he can’t believe his eyes.
‘Huh?’ said Bunky, gazing through the window at a pair of sunglasses the same shape as Nancy’s specs.
I looked at my half-dog, half-bestfriend and imagined him bounding through a field of fake plastic sunflowers, his dog lead being held by Nancy Verkenwerken instead of me. All of a sudden I felt a bit queasy.
‘I’M GOING TO BE SICK,’ I shouted, even though the plane had completely flown off.
When I got home my mum and dad were standing in the kitchen, smiling like it was Christmas morning.
‘What is it?’ I said, hoping they’d finally bought me a puppy. I’d been asking for a real-life pet dog for nine trillion years now, and I STILL didn’t have one.
‘Barry, you know how we’re going on our caravan holiday to Plonkton this weekend?’ said my mum.
She had a tea towel on her shoulder, and my dad was standing right behind her, leaning his head on it like a cabbage.
‘Ye-ah?’ I said, splitting my yeah into two bits because of how keel Plonkton is.
‘Well your mum and me were thinking maybe you’d like to invite a couple of your little pals along?’ said my dad’s cabbage head.
The words swam down my earholes and into my legs, making them go wobbly.
I leaned against the washing machine, which had been busy washing our best clothes for Plonkton all week.
‘What, like Bunky and Nancy?’ I said all shakily, probably because the washing machine was wobbling around like some kind of giant metal jelly cube.
‘Yes, like Bunky and Nancy!’ chuckled my mum, and I gave her a cuddle, imagining how disgusting it’d be if she was Sharonella from my class.
I picked up the phone to tell Bunky and Nancy, then changed my mind, deciding it’d be keeler to see their excited little dog and cat faces face-to-face. After that I played nineteen games of Future Ratboy on my Feeko’s Gamoid to celebrate.
Then I brushed my teeth with my Future Ratboy toothbrush, got into my Future Ratboy pyjamas and snuggled up underneath my Future Ratboy duvet to go to sleep.
‘Wait till Bunky and Nancy hear!’ I whispered to my cuddly Future Ratboy, and I squeezed his fat little belly and waited for him to speak.
‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF UNKEELNESS?!’ he screeched, and I remembered me saying the exact same words to Bunky outside Feeko’s that afternoon.
‘What if Bunky DOES fancy Nancy?’ I yawned, and I squeezed his belly again.
‘PUKESVILLE-O-RAMA!’ he screeched, as I nodded off to sleepypoos.
It was the next morning and I was sitting on my own in our classroom at school. I usually meet Bunky at the end of my road and skateboard to school with him, but for some reason today I’d com-per-lee-ter-ly missed him.
‘Morning, Barold!’ said Darren Darrenofski, wobbling through the door slurping on a can of Fronkle. He took his jacket off and hung it on my nose.
‘Be a loser and look after that,’ he burped, just as I spotted a sticker of a kangaroo doing a thumbs up stuck on to his jumper.
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