Yuck-Fart Club - Softcover

Matthew Morgan and David Sinden codeveloped and wrote the Yuck stories. They’re lifelong friends who met at school sports day in elementary school and grew up in Kent, England. Matt and Dave both worked in children’s publishing before turning to fulltime writing.

Yuck’s Fart Club and Yuck’s Sick Trick



YUCK’S FART CLUB


Polly Princess sniffed.

Mom sniffed.

Dad sniffed.

“Who’s farted?” Mom asked.

“It wasn’t me,” Polly said. “I never fart.”

“It wasn’t me,” Dad said. “I almost never fart.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” Mom said.

Mom, Dad, and Polly looked at Yuck.



Yuck scooped a spoonful of beans into his mouth.

“What?” he said.

“No farting, Yuck,” Mom told him.

Yuck chewed his beans.

PARP!

Tomato sauce dribbled down his chin.

BRRAAMP!

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have any more beans, Yuck,” Dad said.

Yuck scooped another spoonful of beans into his mouth.

He shifted in his seat.

RRRRRRIIIIIPPPPP!

“Yuck!” everyone yelled. “That’s disgusting!”



Polly covered her nose and mouth with her hands.

“Right, Yuck! That’s enough beans for you!” Mom said, grabbing his plate.

“But I like beans.”

Yuck decided that when he was EMPEROR OF EVERYTHING, he would have a swimming pool full of beans. Every morning he would dive into it, swimming and eating and farting, farting and eating and swimming.



“No more farting!” Mom said.

But Yuck had other ideas . . . .

That afternoon his friends were coming around to play.

Polly Princess stood outside Yuck’s bedroom door, spying through the keyhole.

Yuck, Fartin’ Martin, Tom Butts, and Little Eric were sitting in a circle around a big metal box.

Polly opened the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Mind your own business.”



“What’s in that box?”

“Go away, Polly,” Yuck said.

“Not until you tell me what’s in the box.”

“It’s a secret. This is a secret club. Go away.” And Yuck sat on the box so she couldn’t open it.

“It won’t be a secret for long,” Polly said.

She turned and stomped out of the room.

Yuck waited until he heard Polly’s bedroom door click shut, then he gave the signal, picked up the big metal box, and crept downstairs. Fartin’ Martin, Tom Butts, and Little Eric followed him through the kitchen and out the back door.

Polly watched from her bedroom window as Yuck and his friends ran down the yard to the tree house. They climbed up the rope ladder and hurried inside.

Yuck was carrying the big metal box.

He leaned out of the tree house, pulled the rope ladder up so no one could follow them, then closed the rickety door.

Polly went to fetch Dad’s binoculars.

Inside the tree house, Yuck, Fartin’ Martin, Tom Butts, and Little Eric sat around the big metal box.

“Is everyone ready?” Yuck asked.

Everyone nodded.



A spider scurried across the floor.

“Then welcome to Fart Club,” Yuck said.



He lifted the lid on the big metal box, and a golden-orange glow lit up the tree house. The box was filled to the brim with cold, wet, glistening beans.

Fartin’ Martin dipped his hand in.

“Not so fast,” Yuck said. “First we’ve all got to swear by the rules.”

“What rules?” Fartin’ Martin asked.

Yuck lowered his voice.

“Show me some skin,” he said.

He held out his hand.

Fartin’ Martin, Tom Butts, and Little Eric placed their hands on top of Yuck’s.

“The first rule of Fart Club is—you don’t talk about Fart Club,” Yuck said.

Everyone nodded.

Yuck continued. “The second rule of Fart Club is—there are no more rules! You can fart whenever and however you want. All agree?”

“We swear on our farts,” everyone said.

“Then let Fart Club begin.”



Yuck dipped his hand in the box, right up to his elbow, and scooped out a handful of beans. He stuffed them into his mouth. Fartin’ Martin, Tom Butts, and Little Eric did the same. They chomped and slurped, chewed and swallowed, handful after handful of beans.

Then they sat back and waited.

“In Fart Club, you can toot, poot, cut the cheese, break wind, drop a bomb, and let off as much as you like,” Yuck said. “Just make sure it’s big, loud, and smelly.”

Fartin’ Martin nodded.

Tom Butts nodded.

Little Eric nodded.

Yuck farted.

PARP!

Everyone sniffed. “Phwoarrr! What a STINKER!”

Fartin’ Martin farted.



His bottom jumped up and down on the wooden planks.

“I felt that,” Little Eric said.

“A BOUNCER!” Yuck said.

Tom Butts lifted his leg in the air and let out a long one.



Little Eric coughed.



Fartin’ Martin pinched his nose.



“A GAS PIPE!” Yuck said. “Brilliant!”

“Thanks,” Tom Butts replied. He lowered his leg to turn off the gas.

Everyone looked at Little Eric.

Little Eric scrunched his face. He was squeezing.

“I’m trying,” he said.

He held his breath and pushed. His face turned red as he squeezed and strained and . . .



“Did it!”

“What?” Tom Butts asked.

“My fart,” Little Eric said.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Me neither,” Yuck said.

Then they all sniffed.

“Phwoarrr!”

“SILENT BUT VIOLENT,” Little Eric said.

PARP! went Yuck.

THRUBADUBADUBADUBA! went Fartin’ Martin.

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! went Tom Butts.

–––––––! went Little Eric.

They did HONKERS and POPPERS, BLASTERS and SNEAKERS, CRACKERS and SQUIDGERS, but most of all . . . really smelly STINKERS!

And the more they farted the more they laughed. And the more they laughed the more they farted!

The tree house slowly filled with gas until they were sitting in a thick smelly cloud.