Would you trust these guys to save the world?

While Willy and Peter are shopping for their sister's birthday present, they're captured by mad clowns, with a putrid plan to destroy civilization with Weapons of Mass Flatulation.

From flying camels to stormy seas, can the brothers out-fart the evil clowns? Can they save humanity from ex-stink-tion? And can they still get home in time for their sister's birthday party?

With hilarious pictures and easy-to-read action-packed text, even the most reluctant readers will howl out both ends. Ages 9-12.

Ebooks Available for US and UK


by M.D. Whalen

illustrated by Des Campbell

1 The Cryboy 1
2 Plane Full of Nuns 9
3 Lost at Sea 19
4 Balloon Dilemma 29
5 Stinky Beasts 33
6 Unfunny Farts 45
7 Booby's Tale 55
8 The Labs 67
9 Fart ABC 81
10 Fart D 91
11 The Wee Wee Plot 101
12 Phew-nited Nations 113
13 The Butt Scratcher 125
14 Celebration 133
15 POOPIE's Last Stand 141
16 Farts in High Places 151
17 A Gross End 163
Bonus: Farty Facts 169


The Crybaby

Meet Willy. He likes to lie around eating chips and nose goo. He also cries at TV commercials.

“No, I don’t,” Willy said.

Sure he does. When the girl in the shampoo commercial woke up with hair as tangled as a puked-up cat hairball, making her embarrassed to go to school, it was the saddest thing he had ever seen.

Willy’s eyes welled up.

“I will not cry,” he said. “I...will...not...”

Oh no! Here comes the girl’s mother!

Tears spilled down Willy’s cheeks and onto the sofa. He wiped snot from his nose, then sucked it off his fingers. It was stretchy, with lumpy, chewable bits, which cheered him up a little.

The girl’s mother held up a shampoo bottle and smiled. No mother smiled like that in real life! Willy couldn’t bear to watch. Get out, girl! Run!

The front door banged open. It was Willy’s big brother Peter.

“Hey, guess what? I just farted up a school bus full of Girl Scouts!”

Peter pointed his butt at Willy. “First I gave ’em a Stealth Stinker, like this.”


A smile struggled to break through Willy’s trembling lips.

“Some were still standing, so I let out a Drone Attacker.”


“When the driver pulled over to grab me, I gave him a full Foghorn Blast right in the face and escaped.”

Peter sure knew how to cheer up a guy. Willy turned over on the sofa and farted a loud one straight at his brother. Then they both tumbled onto the floor, kicking their feet and laughing so hard that Willy choked on the last mucus dribbling over his lip. Who cared anymore about a stupid shampoo girl?

But speaking of girls...

Their little sister Skyler skipped into the living room, hugging a doll and a blankie.

“Ew! I heard you guys. You’re gross!”

“Oh yeah?” Peter said. “You haven’t seen gross.”


He let out a green, greasy cloud that stunk like prehistoric rotten eggs.

Skyler snuffled. Her face went red. She squeezed her fists at her sides. A major tantrum was about to erupt. Which meant Willy and Peter were in deep trouble.

Last time Skyler threw a tantrum, they’d had to do laundry duty and not only touch their sister’s undies, but put them away in her icky-girlie underwear drawer!

Willy made a funny face, just in time. Skyler relaxed and said, “So what 6 are you getting me for my birthday on Monday?”

Willy and Peter looked at each other. They’d forgotten their sister’s birthday, just three days from now.

Just then a news bulletin came on TV:

“Breaking news! The Yummy Tummy Onion Dip Factory, world’s largest maker of onion dip, has been destroyed in a huge explosion. Panic buying has emptied store shelves of onion dip, causing a world-wide shortage. The Wize Krakker Evil Clown Corps is claiming responsibility for the attack.”

“Aah! That’s the worst news ever!” Peter said.

“What? Some dumb dip factory?” Skyler said.

“No. I mean your birthday coming up.” Peter tooted out a little fart and laughed.

“Gross!! You’re the worst brothers in the whole wide world!”

Skyler ran crying out of the room.

“Now you did it, dummy,” Willy said.

“Now we have to get her a real present or we’re dead meat, folding undies forever... or worse: girls’ pajama bottoms.”

“Shh! Look!” Peter said.

Another TV commercial came on.

“Whoopee! It’s the Death Breeze 3000, the most futuristic whoopee cushion ever made, brought to you by the Roadapple Corporation.”

“Cutting edge—get it? Cutting?—new Flatulatronics technology lets you make the grossest, spewiest, splatteringest, stomachturning, ear-twisting noises such as the world has never heard before.

“But that’s not all! Our unique, patented i-Stink mode transmits eighteen different stinky stenches, smellable up to half a mile away.

“Get down to your local toy store today! Be first to own the smelly new—PFLLLLKATHWORPPP!—Oops! Har har!—Death Breeze 3000!”

Peter sprang up. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Will said.

Peter grabbed Willy and dragged him out the door, while humming a birthday song.