8 The Golden Clothespin Award

The Golden Clothespin Award

In the middle of the park stood a big red-and- white-striped circus tent with a banner that said: "Dad and I will wander around and meet you kids back here later," said Mom. Stink opened the flaps and stepped through the tent door. Phew! A great wall of smell almost knocked him over. It was like standing smack-dab in the middle of a cloud— a giant, invisible, cumulonimbus stink cloud. Worse than thirty dead

elephants. Worse than sixty corpse flowers. Worse than ninety-nine bottles of toilet water. Lined up on tables all around the tent were dozens of putrid sneakers. Each pair had a number, so nobody would know who owned which sneakers. Stink took his smelly shoes out of the bag and set them on the table.

"You'll be number twenty-seven," said a lady behind the table. "Stink!" said Judy. "You can't enter your own shoes in the contest."

"Why not?" Stink asked. "Don't you get it? You're a judge now. Judges can't win the contest. That's like voting for yourself for president." "So?" "Stink, would you think it was fair if I were a judge, and I picked my own sneakers to win?" "Not really," said Stink. "See? Picking your own sneakers makes you a cheater head." "A cheese head?" asked Stink. "No, a big fat Cheater Head," Judy said. Just then, Mrs. D. motioned for Stink to come over to the important table up front, where the judges sat. Red and blue ribbons were set out on a fancy tablecloth, alongside the shiny Golden Clothespin trophy. "What's with the fancy clothespin?" whispered Judy. "That's the award," said Stink, pinching his nose shut, like with a clothespin, and making a

P.U. face. "Here's your new judge," Mrs. D. told the other two judges. "Meet James Moody. Believe it or not, he goes by the name Stink." The other two judges laughed. "Well, your name alone qualifies you to be a judge," said the woman from Odor-Munchers. "Thanks, Stink. You really saved the day." "Glad to meet you. I'm Mr. Moore. Call me Steve," said the other judge. "You sure are tall," said Stink, shaking his hand. "Stink," said Mrs. D., "this is the man I wanted you to meet. Mr. Moore— I mean, Steve— is a