Stink and the World's Worst Super-Stinky Sneakers - Megan Mcdonald [7]
Stink nodded like a bobble-head doll on a dashboard. “I sniffed a whole stinky museum,” Stink told him.
“And of course you have to pass a test. Every few months, I have to take the ten-bottle test.”
“I made ten bottles of my own stinky toilet water!” said Stink. “Just ask my sister.”
“I sniff scents in a bottle and I have to guess if it’s popcorn or wet-paint smell,” said Steve. “Then I rate it on a Sniff Scale from zero to four. Anything over a 2.4 on the Sniff Scale fails the test. Kind of like what we’re going to do today.”
“And I passed my sister’s Way-Official Moody Stink-a-Thon,” Stink told him.
“Good for you,” said Steve. “Sounds like you’re already on your way to becoming a Master Sniffer.”
“Someday I really want to smell a corpse flower.”
“Oh, those corpse flowers sure are humdingers,” said Steve. “I flew all the way to England once, just to smell one at the Royal Botanic Gardens.”
“Whoa. No way!” Stink wanted to hear more, but it was time for the contest to begin.
Stink rushed over to smelly sneakers Number Twenty-seven. He hated to admit that Judy was right. But entering his own sneakers was no fair. He, Stink Moody, did not want to be the UN-proud winner of the All-Time, World’s Worst, Super-Stinky Cheater Contest.
Stink gave the number back to the lady. “I’m not in the contest anymore,” he told her. “I’m a judge now!”
No way did Stink want to cheat. He was an official Junior Sniffer now. A Junior Sniffer could not be a big fat cheesy, cheese-head, cheater head.
“Let the sniffing begin!” said the head judge lady. She handed Stink a clipboard. He took his sniffing very seriously. He walked up and down the rows and rows of torn sneakers, worn sneakers, yucky blucky sneakers. He walked in front of the sneakers and behind the sneakers. Here a sniff, there a sniff, everywhere a sniff, sniff.
Stink rated each pair on a smelly scale of zero to four. He wrote down notes like “smells like a swamp” and “worse than a dead skunk” and “triple P.U.” All the while, he couldn’t help wondering which pair was Sophie’s.
“Hey, I’ll give you a tip.” Steve the Smeller handed Stink a tissue. “Take a whiff of a pair of sneakers, then hold the tissue up to your nose in between sniffs. That way, your sense of smell won’t get so tired.”
“Thanks!” said Stink. Wow-ee! A professional tip from Professor Smells-a-Lot himself. Stink puffed up with pride. He sniffed the next pair.
“What do you smell?” Steve asked.
“Feet,” said Stink. He did the tissue trick, then smelled the sneakers again.
“What else?” asked Steve.
“Dirt. Old carpet smell. Maybe even moldy cheese.”
“Good for you,” said Steve. “Moldy cheese. That’s exactly what I thought.”
Stink sniffed some more sneakers. He couldn’t help thinking that his were still the smelliest. He couldn’t help thinking that he could have won the Golden Clothespin Award. Until he came to Smelly Sneaker Pair Number Thirteen, that is.
Stink leaned over and took another whiff. Phew! His eyes crossed; his nose wrinkled; his tongue curled.
Number Thirteen smelled worse than a barn full of bats. Worse than a basement full of rats. Number Thirteen smelled stinkier than the litter boxes of ten hundred cats!
He sniffed Number Thirteen. He sniffed the clean tissue from Steve the Smeller. Then he sniffed pair Number Thirteen again. All the toilet water in the world could not have made his shoes as smelly as these sneakers.
Stink E. Moody, Judge and Junior Sniffer, had found a real winner. A way-official, want-to-barf, gag-me-with-a-spoon winner.
“Geez, Louise,” said the lady judge when she came to Number Thirteen. “Jump back, Jack. I think I’m going to pass out.”
“This one’s a Humpty of a Dumpty,” Professor Smeller agreed.
“Rotten eggs,” said the lady judge.
“Burnt hair,” said Steve.
“Cat pee,” said Stink. “And dead worms.”
“He’s got the nose, all right,” said the professor. “Not many noses would pick up on that dead worm smell.”
“Worse than rancid roadkill,” said the lady.
“Worse than C4H9SeH!” said Steve.
“What’s that?” asked Stink.