Simon Duke and his Puddle of Puke

There was nothing very special about Simon Duke. He wasn’t a tall kid, but he wasn’t short either. He wasn’t a fat kid, but he wasn’t thin either. And he wasn’t a good student, but he wasn’t a bad student either. All in all Simon was pretty much the one kid in Year 4 at Wilson’s Heath Primary who was just like any other kid, except for one thing. He was something of an entrepreneur.

And in this he wasn’t alone. Since Goo-day, merchants in Wilson’s Heath had been doing great business from the bus loads of sightseers who arrived each day to witness first hand the scene of a situation that had first been described as a goo-fest, then a goo epidemic and finally a goo-tastrophe.

And since the creation of the world’s first stink-ench even more eco-disaster tourists had been arriving to view the scene of a situation that had first been described as stink-ench-orrific, then stink-ench-orrendous and finally stink-ench-anormous.

Mrs. DeGroote at the bakery was doing a roaring trade in goo cakes and goo pies, each one more gooier than the last. And up the road Mr. Nash the newsagent was selling more ‘I Was Gooed By Jimmy McGrue’ and ‘Tracy and Simon Dealt It - I Smelt It’ T-shirts than he was morning newspapers. While in Mr. Rhodes hardware store cans of SkunkSpray™ (Keep out of Reach of Children) were in huge demand

Simon Duke could not help noticing that others were making good from these events, and he wanted to get in on the action, so he came up with a plan.

First he ate a whole block of very smelly, very gooey, and horrible tasting blue cheese. Then he ate six bananas, each one more brown and soft than the last. Then he broke open six raw eggs, swallowing each one done in one big, huge, painful gulp. Then he tipped back his head, opened his mouth, pinched his nose with his fingers, and poured rancid week-old milk down his throat.

Then he waited. But he did not have to wait long. First he felt bubbles of gas forming in the depths of his belly. Then he felt his stomach muscles start to twitch involuntarily. Then he felt his throat start to spasm uncontrollably. And then, to put it simply, he puked!

Now if you had been watching all of this you might well have been surprised by what you were witnessing. But the biggest surprise would have been from what came next. Because when he finished puking Simon Duke did something that no one would have suspected. He smiled! And it was the smile of a boy who had just completed the first stage of a grand plan that would help make his fortune.

And that’s when he put up his sign.

A great idea you would have to agree.

The first to notice the sign was a bus full of tourists. The bus stopped and the visitors piled out anxious to experience a true Wilson’s Heath Primary School Mess first hand. But puddles of puke are not a sight sightseers should see when their stomachs are full of goo cakes and goo pies. And consequently the contents of said stomachs soon became part of the puddle.

At this point news helicopters appeared overhead, naturally anxious to capture live pictures of puke covered tourists fleeing from a situation that the media was already describing as a total puke-athon. But the sight and smell of the puddle too much for the normally iron-stomached news reporters and a hail of hurl subsequently descended on the unsuspecting tourists and other passersby.

Next to arrive was the police department. The police chief was most anxious to describe the situation as a puke-tacular but unfortunately the unpleasant odour of the ever expanding puddle hit his nostrils and those of his men, causing them to expose what they had recently eaten for lunch to a less than anxiously waiting world.

That’s when the fire department arrived. They at least had protective gas masks but regrettably the fire chief was inclined to stop and describe the situation as puke-rendous and as a result succumbed to the charms of the puddle in a vomitous explosion.

Arriving last but not least the town’s Mayor was fully prepared to declare that this was the worst puke related incident that he could remember but sadly he too was compelled to divest the contents of his belly into the puddle.

Realising that this was his opportunity to shine, the town’s Deputy Mayor stepped carefully out of the Mayor’s shadow, in order to avoid a particularly nasty patch of the puddle, and took charge.

“Who is responsible for this mess?” he demanded.

Regrettably the Deputy Mayor did not possess the excellent memory of the Mayor himself, otherwise he might have remembered that producing a puddle of puke of this size drains the body of all energy and enthusiasm.

So it was really no surprise that a hundred heads did not turn, and a hundred fingers did not point, and a hundred voices did not say the all too familiar words, “It was him.”

But in the silence a small voice did speak. And it said:

“It was me! I’m Simon Duke and this is my puddle of puke! And you all owe me twenty cents!”