Stink and The Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Smackdown (2 page)

The next day, Stink went looking for a sport.

Webster liked bike-riding and basketball. Sophie of the Elves liked ballet, gymnastics, and African dance. Skunk liked skateboarding.

But Stink’s bike had a flat tire. He had two left feet. And the only skateboard he owned was the one without wheels hanging on his wall.

Then Stink checked out the sports channels. He watched slow-pitch softball (BOR-ing), golf (WAY-boring), badminton (Stink was no-way, NOT going to hit a bird), and stuff where guys called each other goofy names like Steve-a-rino and Pa Jammy.

Stink watched ditch-snorkeling (too muddy!), tuna-throwing (Mom did NOT like him to throw stuff), Tootsie-Roll spitting (Mom did NOT like him to spit stuff, either), cheese-chasing (huh?), and wife-carrying (Hel-
lo!
Stink did NOT have a wife!).

Stink was just about to give up when he heard the words “most fun classic sport ever.” Then he heard, “Play it at home! In the car! At school! Free! No equipment necessary!”

Stink was glued to the screen. “Hey, sports fans! Have we got the sport for you! It’s fab. It’s free. It’s fun-tastic! Strength. Stamina. Strategy. Two thumbs up for the sport that’s sweeping the nation — thumb-wrestling!”

Thumb-wrestling was
uber
-cool. Thumb-wrestling was F-U-N! Thumb- wrestling was
thumb
-tastic!

Stink watched three thumb-wrestling matches in a row. He learned the rules. Easy peasy! He practiced on himself. Best of all, he learned tricky moves with funny names like Snake in the Grass and Santa’s Little Helper.

All he needed now was someone to thumb-wrestle. . . . Webster!

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!”

Stink wrinkled his forehead. Stink stuck out his tongue. Stink made funny faces. Stink and Webster’s thumbs were locked in a bitter battle.

Webster tried to pin Stink’s thumb down one, two, three times, but Stink escaped in the nick of time.

Webster waited. Webster barely blinked. Webster looked sneaky. “Gotcha!” Webster chortled with glee, smashing his thumb down over Stink’s and trapping it for three seconds.

“You win,” said Stink. “Again.”

“Yes!” Webster pumped his fist in the air. “I’m mucho macho!”

“No fair. Your thumb’s longer than mine,” said Stink.

“Is not,” said Webster. They held up their thumbs side-by-side. “See? They’re
almost
the same.”

“I’m left-handed,” said Stink. “Try again. This time we do it lefty.”

They went at it again, left-handed. Left-
thumbed,
that is. Stink tried to trick Webster. But it was no use. Even left-handed, Webster chewed him up and spit him out like yesterday’s breakfast cereal.

“Stink, you’re all thumbs today.” Webster cracked up.

“Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.

“I’m the best
luchador
this side of Chuckamuck Creek.”

“The best what?” Stink asked.

“Luchador.
It means
wrestler
in Spanish. My dad was a wrestler in high school, and my two uncles.”

They played again. And again. Webster beat Stink every time. “I stink at thumb-wrestling,” said Stink.

“So? You
don’t
stink at catching toads. And you don’t stink at rescuing guinea pigs and saving Pluto. And smelling.”

“Great. I smell. Told you I stink.”

Webster hee-hawed. “But you never played before. Stick with it.”

“Hold the phone!” said Stink. “Let’s make masks, for our thumbs. Like they wear on smackdown wrestling. We can give them scary faces, so they look bad. Real bad.”

“The baddest,” said Webster.

Stink got out scissors, felt, glue, markers, and a bag of googly eyes. “Mine’s gonna be green, with a black Batman mask for eyes and red flames on top,” said Webster.

“Mine’s gonna be silver with pointy red teeth and a black shark fin on top.”

“We SO don’t stink at this,” said Webster, grinning.

Done. Webster and Stink slipped the masks over their thumbs.

“Cool,” said Webster.

“Bad,” said Stink.

“Dweebs,” said Stink’s sister, Judy, coming into the room. “Why are you guys making finger puppets? Finger puppets are for babies.”

“They’re not finger puppets,” said Stink.

“They’re
luchadores,
” said Webster. “Like pro wrestlers from Mexico. Now we have to think up names for them.”

“How about El Terrible and El Even Worso?” Judy cracked herself up.

Stink ignored her. “Tweedle Thumb and Tweedle Dumb?” Judy suggested.

Webster held up his thumb mask. “Meet . . . T. Rex Wasabi.”

“Presenting . . . Shark Hammersmash,” said Stink. “T. Rex Wasabi and Shark Hammersmash are warming up for the big event: the Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling
Thmack
down.”

Webster didn’t miss a beat. “T. Rex Wasabi is favored to win 7–1. But underdog Shark Hammersmash could come from behind with a sneak attack. You might say he’s a Snake in the Grass. A little Bug in the Ear.”

“You might say he’s a little
Pain
in the
Rear,
” said Judy, grinning.

“Please?” Stink begged. “Pretty please with Screamin’ Mimi’s ice cream on top?”

“Forget it. I’m not going to thumb-wrestle. Mom and Dad said you have to play a
sport.
”

“Thumb-wrestling is on the sports channel. Thumb-wrestling has all three
S
’s: Strength, stamina, and strategy.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Judy asked.

“Hel-
lo!
I read the
S
encyclopedia.”

“Trust me, Stink. Mom and Dad are not going to go for thumb-wrestling.”

“That’s why I have to wow them with my amazing skill. For serious. If I practice a bunch, I can win the Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Thmackdown.”

“Thorry,” Judy teased. “I have homework.” She bounced a bouncy ball off the wall.

“Homework? You’re just bouncing a ball.”