Welcome to Smellville Read online

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-4361-0

  eISBN 978-1-68335-838-1

  Copyright © 2020 The Topps Company, Inc.

  ™ & © The Topps Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Garbage Pail Kids and GPK are registered trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc. and is officially licensed by The Topps Company, Inc.

  Background artwork credits: Dirty Surface: Shutterstock/garmoncheg; Notebook: Shutterstock/Pixfiction; Clipboard: Shutterstock/NWM

  By R.L. Stine

  Interior illustrations by Jeff Zapata

  Art assistance by Fred Wheaton

  Cover art by Joe Simko

  Book design by Brenda E. Angelilli

  Published in 2020 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below.

  Amulet Books® is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  ABRAMS The Art of Books

  195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007

  abramsbooks.com

  “We’re not bad kids. We just don’t know any better.”

  This book would have been left in the garbage pile if it weren’t for the dedication and enthusiasm of my friend from Topps, Ira Friedman. Ira’s Garbage Pail Kids expertise is at the top of the heap, and I couldn’t have done it without him.

  I’d also like to thank my thoughtful and caring editor, Charlie Kochman. Charlie scrupulously worked on this book as if he were editing Shakespeare (which it isn’t).

  A tip of the Unknown Sanitation Worker’s cap to you both.

  ONE

  Welcome to Smellville Middle School, everyone.

  I’m Adam Bomb and I’m about to e-x-p-l-o-d-e with excitement!

  I’m here at the science fair in the gym to cheer on my friend Rob Slob. I think Rob is about to win first prize with his “Strange Minerals” display.

  I had high hopes for my science project. It was a Rube Goldberg conveyor-belt machine for washing your cat.

  A few minutes ago, Mrs. Hooping-Koff, our teacher, walked up to my display. “Let’s see how it works.”

  “It’s simple,” I told her as I pulled a cat from a carton on the floor. “I attach the cat to this conveyor belt. The belt moves forward. Then soap and water pours out from this hose.”

  “Hey, that looks just like my cat!” Mrs. Hooping-Koff exclaimed.

  “It is your cat,” I said. “I don’t have a cat.”

  “You should have asked me if you wanted to borrow Fluffy,” she said.

  “I asked Fluffy,” I replied. “Fluffy seemed okay with it.”

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff did not seem okay with it.

  I tied the cat to the conveyor belt. “Now watch this!” I said and flipped the switch. The belt started to move. Fluffy slid forward. Soapy water squirted from the hose.

  “YAAAAAAAOWWWWWW!”

  I saw the problem: The spin cycle was stuck.

  “YAAAAAAAOWWWWWW!”

  I flipped the switch again—but nothing happened.

  “YAAAAAAAOWWWWWW!”

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff started screaming. “Somebody help! Heelllp!”

  It took three people to pull Fluffy out of the machine. She was okay, though. She still had a little fur on her body. Mostly on her legs.

  “At least she’s really clean!” I said.

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff grabbed the cat and scowled at me. “Adam, don’t ever speak to me again.”

  I knew she was joking. But I didn’t really get the joke.

  TWO

  Our friend Handy Sandy had a good project, too. Her science entry was called “The Effects of Dropping Water Balloons on Teachers’ Heads.”

  Sandy climbed up to the gym balcony and dropped colorful water balloons on our teachers.

  PLOP! PLOP! SPLASSSSH! PLOP!

  Ha ha! I never knew Sandy had such good aim!

  It was a fun science experiment. But the teachers weren’t impressed. Mrs. Hooping-Koff made Sandy get a towel and dry everyone off. She then had to sit in Principal Grunt’s office for the rest of the day.

  So . . . goodbye, Handy Sandy. She was out of the running.

  Now I’m waiting with Rob Slob. Mrs. Hooping-Koff will come to Rob soon. Right now she is across the aisle, judging the project by Peter and Patty Perfect.

  I can tell Rob Slob is nervous. He normally smells like garbage. But when he gets tense, he smells like garbage and a lot of other things you don’t want to think about.

  The poor guy can’t help it. He thinks he’ll take a bath sometime and maybe that will help.

  Of course, Peter and Patty, the Perfect twins, have a perfect project. Rob Slob and I listened in as they explained it to Mrs. Hooping-Koff.

  “We started out with an awesome idea,” Peter explained. “We wanted to do a life-size model of our solar system.”

  “But our living room isn’t big enough for that,” Patty said. “So we brought it down in size a bit.”

  I studied their project. It had eight different-colored objects dangling on strings.

  “This is the solar system,” Peter Perfect said, twirling one of the planets on their mobile. “It’s made entirely from fruit.”

  “And we used only organic fruit,” Patty Perfect added proudly.

  “This plum is the Earth,” Peter explained. “And that lemon is Venus.”

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff nodded and wrapped her hand around another piece of fruit. “And what is this grapefruit?” she asked, picking it up from the table. “Uranus?”

  “That’s not part of the display,” Patty replied. “We were saving it for lunch.”

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff scribbled some notes on her pad. “A wonderful project,” she told the twins.

  “We’re going to donate all of the fruit to poor people,” Peter said, grinning so that his perfect teeth gleamed in the gym lights.

  “Wonderful,” Mrs. Hooping-Koff muttered, and she scribbled some more on her pad.

  Then she turned to our table. “One more project to judge,” she said. “And then it’s time to award first place . . . to the Perfect twins.”

  THREE

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff walked up to Rob Slob’s display. She sniffed the air and made a disgusted face.

  People do that a lot when they get close to Rob. They can’t help it. He stinks.

  Our teacher gazed down at Rob’s glass display case. “Hmmm . . .” she murmured and read the description he had printed out. “Strange Minerals.”

  Rob burped. “I’ve been collecting them for a long time,” he told her.

  Mrs. Hooping-Koff ran her finger along the top of the case, studying the little mineral deposits. “Wow, I like the green ones,” she said. “And that purple one is quite unusual, too.”

  Rob grinned. “Thanks.”

  Our teacher wrapped her fingers around one and picked it up. She brought it close to her face, then sniffed. “And where does this brown mineral come from?”

  “From my nose,” Rob said. “I pulled them
all from my nose. They’re boogers.”

  The brown glob dropped from her hand, bounced on the table, and landed on the floor. Mrs. Hooping-Koff opened her mouth wide and a sound came out, something like “GAAAAAACK.”

  Then she covered her mouth and had the dry heaves.

  “Does this mean I win?” Rob asked.

  FOUR

  Well, the Perfect twins won first place for their organic-fruit solar system mobile.

  They win first place in everything because they’re perfect.

  I feel bad for Rob Slob. He worked hard on his science project. I’d seen him up late at night with a red, sore nose putting the finishing touches on his collection.

  The poor guy was so disappointed, he began to eat some of his minerals.

  Sad. But I couldn’t stick around to cheer him up.

  I am in a mad rush because my friends and I are in deep doo-doo right now. I mean, trouble spelled with a capital Y-I-K-E-S. And I have to get home and warn them before I explode.

  What’s wrong with ten kids living in a house all by ourselves? And who needs parents, anyway? Parents are total pains.

  Am I right? (Just nod your head.)

  Sure, we’re messy and loud and crazy and we scream a lot and laugh like baboons and fight and throw things and ride our scooters on the roof and make rude sounds and don’t smell great and paint things on people’s garages.

  But we’re not bad kids. We just don’t know any better.

  So today I heard a rumor in school that Mr. and Mrs. Perfect, Peter and Patty’s parents, are going to come to our house and check us out.

  And if they find out we don’t have parents . . . it could be a disaster. We could lose our house. We could lose our freedom. We could even lose our soft-serve swirl ice-cream dispenser!

  And where would we all go?

  BOOOOOOM!

  I told you, my name is Adam Bomb. And when I get tense and worried and angry, I burst apart and explode in all directions.

  And it gets a little messy.

  I leaped over a row of garbage cans and dodged the swarms of flies in our backyard. One of these months we’ll have to take the garbage out front to be picked up.

  A few hundred flies followed me into the house as I tossed my backpack to the floor and burst into the living room. I was out of breath and sweat poured down my face.

  Pooper, our big brown mutt, came running to greet me. He leaped up, put his paws on my shoulders, and licked the sweat off my face. He has a rough sandpaper tongue, and his licks burn.

  Why do dogs like to lick so much?

  “Good boy, Pooper. Good boy. Now get lost!”

  I wrestled Pooper away and gazed around the room. “Is everyone here?” I cried. “Listen up. We have to talk. This is an EMERGENCY!”

  FIVE

  My friends were scattered around the living room. No one looked up.

  Wacky Jackie, Rob Slob, and Junkfood John were staring at the TV watching their favorite superhero show, Jonny Pantsfalldown.

  It’s a pretty good show. I’ve watched it a few times. Although it always ends the same way: Jonny’s pants fall down.

  Jackie, Rob, and John laugh like lunatics at every episode. And they never guess the ending!

  Nervous Rex was sitting by himself in a corner reading a book called How to Calm Down in 30 Seconds. I don’t think it was working. The book was shaking in Rex’s hands.

  Brainy Janey sat on the edge of the couch staring into space. She’s such a serious brainiac. I knew she was thinking hard about something. Or maybe she was just pretending. How can you tell, when someone is as smart as Janey?

  Handy Sandy had a soccer ball in her lap. The ball had lost a lot of air. She was trying to repair it with a wrench. Sometimes Sandy isn’t as handy as she thinks she is.

  “Listen up!” I screamed. “Come on. Listen to me. We need to talk!”

  Wacky Jackie and Junkfood John giggled at the TV screen. John had a big snack bowl on his lap. His favorite snack is pretzel-covered pretzels. But John will snack on just about anything. I once saw him gobble up mouse droppings off the carpet. It’s really hard to unsee something like that.

  “PLEASE! LISTEN TO ME!” I screamed.

  A few heads turned toward me.

  “Shut your yap!” Cranky Frankie shouted. He was just being Cranky Frankie. That’s his favorite expression. He even says it when he wakes up in the morning.

  I realized we weren’t all here. “Where is Luke Puke?” I asked. “Anyone see Luke?”

  “He had a hurling match after school,” Handy Sandy said.

  Luke is a star of the hurling team. The team is in the citywide Competitive Puking League.

  Luke Puke has been puking since he was a little kid. Coach Swettypants says Luke could be an all-state champ in the 300-meter projectile event.

  Most hurlers warm up by sticking their finger down their throat. But give Luke a good punch in the stomach and he’s ready to compete. He’s a great athlete. I’ve even seen him hurl on an empty stomach!

  “Let me tell you what I heard,” I started. But before I could go any further, Babbling Brooke came bursting into the room.

  “I’ve got to get back to school,” she said. “I have cheerleader tryouts for the hurling team.”

  “Shut your yap,” Cranky Frankie muttered.

  “How can you be a hurling team cheerleader?” Brainy Janey asked. “They don’t allow anyone to watch the matches.”

  “Why?” Brooke demanded.

  “Because as soon as the team starts to puke, the audience joins in. They can’t help themselves.”

  “I don’t care,” Brooke said. “They need cheerleaders.”

  I took a deep breath. “Please, everyone—listen to me!” I repeated. “I have something important to tell you!”

  “Let me show you my team cheers,” Brooke said. “Everybody stand back. What do you think of this one? I wrote it myself.”

  She raised her hands above her head and began to jump and cheer:

  “SMELLVILLE, SMELLVILLE, WE’RE SO HOT!

  “GO AHEAD, HURLERS. GIVE ’EM ALL YOU GOT!”

  That cheer ended in a split. Brooke quickly picked herself up. Breathing hard, she leaped into the air and began a second cheer:

  “GO SMELLVILLE! GO SMELLVILLE!

  “OUR HURLERS ARE THE TOP!

  “WHEN WE LEAVE THE ROOM,

  “YOU’LL NEED MORE THAN ONE MOP!”

  Brooke wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of one hand. Then she grinned at me. “Adam, what do you think?”

  “I think we’re all in serious trouble,” I said. “Let me tell you what I heard in school today. I heard that Mr. and Mrs. Perfect are coming to our house. I think—”

  But that’s as far as I got.

  I stopped when I heard a loud, hard knock on the front door.

  “It’s the Perfects!” I cried. “We’re dead meat!”

  SIX

  Hi, I’m Brainy Janey. I’m going to pick up the story from here and tell you what happened.

  Earlier that day, Mrs. Hooping-Koff called on me in class to do my science demonstration. I was ready. I carried my brain to the front of the room and set it down on her desk.

  I had practiced my talk at home to Wacky Jackie the day before. She didn’t understand it at all. So I knew it was good.

  I took a deep breath and turned to the class. “My science project is about the human brain,” I said, and rubbed my hand over the top of the brain.

  Nervous Rex raised his hand. I could see he was shaking. “Th-that’s not a real brain—is it?” he stammered. He lowered his hand and chewed his fingernails.

  I shook my head. “No, it’s a life-size model I made.”

  “That’s not life-size for Cranky Frankie,” Luke Puke interrupted. “You need a magnifying glass to find his!”

  “You’re sitting on your brain!” Frankie shouted back.

  “Hey, everyone, could you let Janey give her report? I’m really interested in it,” Pet
er Perfect said.

  As we all know, Peter and his sister Patty are perfect in every way.

  That’s why everyone hates them.

  “Thank you, Peter,” Mrs. Hooping-Koff said, flashing him a warm smile. “Janey, I know we’re all looking forward to picking your brain on the subject.”

  “You don’t pick your brain. You pick your nose!” Rob Slob said.

  No one laughed.

  Nervous Rex raised his hand again. I noticed he’d chewed all ten of his fingernails. “Are you sure that brain isn’t r-real?”

  “I made it out of Play-Doh,” I said. “It’s just a model, Rex.”

  “Rex, do you need a time out?” Mrs. Hooping-Koff asked. “You’re shaking.”

  “N-n-n-no, I’m not,” he insisted. “The ceiling fan is shaking. Not me!”

  “Please continue, Janey,” Mrs. Hooping-Koff said. “Tell us what you learned about the brain.”

  I turned the brain around so everyone could see the ridges and valleys I had carved into it. “Let’s start here at the top,” I said. I rubbed my hand over the largest section. “The brain is divided into different sections. This is called the metamucil ablagabla.”

  “Those are interesting words,” Mrs. Hooping-Koff said, gazing at my brain.

  “I believe they are pig latin,” I said. “All the early scientists used pig latin to name things in the old days.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, but go on,” our teacher said. “I hope everyone is taking notes. There will be a quiz later.”

  I rubbed my finger down the jagged line I had carved into the side of my model. “This is where the hippocrampulus meets the abadaba,” I explained.

  “And where is the human memory located?” Patty Perfect asked. She always asks the most perfect questions.

  “Your memory cells are back here,” I said, turning the brain around. “They’re in the lollapalooza area. Your memories travel from all the way back here to your mouth.”

  “And where do headaches come from?” Patty Perfect asked.

  “You give me a headache!” Cranky Frankie exclaimed. “Why don’t you shut your yap?”