The World's Loudest Armpit Fart

The World's Loudest Armpit Fart by Steve Hartley Page A

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Authors: Steve Hartley
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the doctor.

    Unwisely for someone who had such an accident-prone life, in 1984 Elmer volunteered to put his head in a lion’s mouth to raise money for charity. This, of course, was a big mistake, and when the lion sneezed . . .

    Recordologists cannot agree if his death should be included in the total, as he was seen by a doctor to pronounce him dead. I think it should, so I have.

    Good luck with your first game back, Danny. I hope you manage to keep a clean sheet and break another record. I’ll be keeping my fingers, toes, ears, legs and eyes crossed!

    Best wished
    Eric Bibby
    Keeper of the Records

    Danny and his best friend, Matthew Mason, arrived at Walchester United for the first home game of the new season. The ground was full to bursting. The crowd had been waiting all summer for this, and excitement fizzed around the stands. Danny manoeuvred his plaster cast with some difficulty along the row of seats and sat down next to Matthew. The boys joined in the singing and chanting:

    ‘Walchester United are the best team in the world!
    After Barcelona, Real Madrid, AC Milan, Juventus, Man United and Chelsea!
    Oh, and Bayern Munich, Ajax and all the teams in Brazil!
    And Accrington Stanley, who beat us in the Cup two years ago!
    Apart from that we’re the best team in the world!’

    The shrill blare of trumpets echoed through the stadium and the singing turned into a mighty roar. Danny and Matthew looked towards the tunnel, just below where they sat, and saw two men scurry on to the pitch carrying a large circular sign emblazoned with the words, ‘Wibberley Wobberley – the Jellies from Mobberley’.

    Suddenly a huge red jelly burst through the sign and wibbled and wobbled out to the centre circle, kicking a football and waving to the crowd.
    ‘Let’s give a big Walchester United welcome to our new sponsors, Wibberley Wobberley Jellies,’ announced a voice over the loud speaker. ‘And say “Hello” to our new mascot, Wibbles the Dribbling Jelly!’
    Wibbles wore a red peaked cap, and the see-through red plastic jelly costume ballooned out from around his neck like a horrible bell-shaped dress. His red hands stuck out from the side and his skinny red legs from the bottom.
    ‘I don’t believe it,’ groaned Danny.
    ‘It’s worse than Wally the Wall!’ said Matthew.
    ‘It’s even worse than Gogo La Gamba, Real Marisco’s pink prawn mascot. It doesn’t even look like a jelly and you can see the man inside.’
    Matthew peered closer. ‘Isn’t that Jack Dawkins’s big brother? I thought he was training to be an astronaut.’
    ‘Looks like he became a jelly instead!’
    Just then another sound cut through the cheers of the crowd.
    ‘Daaaaaaaannnnnnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!’
    The boys stared at each other in disbelief.
    ‘It’s not . . .’
    ‘It can’t be . . .’
    ‘Hiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’
    ‘It is!’
    Five rows behind them, wearing a red Walchester United shirt, her bright-red hair twisted into two long pigtails and tied on the ends with ruby-red ribbons, was Sally Butterworth.

    Danny cringed as he remembered his and Matthew’s first meeting with Sally, in Spain just a few months before. Not only had she scored a goal against him in a game of beach-football, she had tricked him into winning his most embarrassing record of all: 18 minutes and 47 seconds of Budgie-costumed Perched-in-a-tree Kissing! Even worse, she had made him fall out with Matthew.
    Sally waved furiously, then rolled her tongue and squinted. She edged along the row of seats and skipped down the stand towards them. Danny realized with horror that there was an empty seat beside him.
    ‘Hiya!’ beamed Sally. ‘Remember me?’
    ‘No, who are you?’ replied Matthew.
    Sally laughed, but her smile instantly turned to a look of concern as she noticed Danny’s leg. ‘What have you done?’ she asked, sitting down in the vacant seat.
    ‘Slipped on a cheese,’ explained Danny.
    ‘Is it broken?’
    ‘What, my foot

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