Battle of the Dum Diddys (6 page)

The next afternoon in my room, I listened to Feenman, Crench, and Belzer across the hall. Of course, they were playing Wungo Warriors. What else?

I could hear horses galloping and knights and monsters screaming from their laptop speakers. Feenman and Crench were screaming, too.

“You idiot!” Feenman shouted. “How could you do that?”

“It was an accident!” Crench replied.

“Now we're gonna lose the battle,” Belzer moaned.

“How
could
you?” Feenman cried. “How could you spend all our bubus on
shaving cream
?”

“I thought it was armor and battle-axes!” Crench said. “I didn't know it was shaving cream!”

“We're broke,” Feenman wailed. “And we have twenty barrels of shaving cream. You total moron!”

I heard the thud of bodies. Grunts and groans. I hurried across the hall to see Feenman and Crench wrestling on the floor again.

Shaking his head, Belzer turned to me. “Bernie, aren't you gonna break up the fight before they kill each other?”

 

GRUNT! GRUNT!

GROAN! GROAN!

THUD! THUD! THUD!

 

Feenman was banging Crench's head against the floor. “Shaving cream!” he screamed. “All our bubus on shaving cream!”

“
No way
I'm going to break this up,” I said. “I'm gonna help them fight.”

I hurried back to my room to set my plan into motion.

I dropped onto my knees in front of the big, wooden trunk. I popped the latches and pushed the lid up.

“Yes! Yes!” I cried happily.

Costumes for Mrs. Twinkler's pageant. There would never be a pageant. But the costumes wouldn't go to waste!

 

THUD! THUD!

GROAN! GROAN!

GRUNT!

 

I could hear Feenman and Crench wrestling across the hall.

I pulled an armor helmet over my head. I grabbed a shield and a sword from the trunk—and went running back to their room.

They both stopped fighting and stared up at me from the floor. “Bernie, what's up with the armor and the sword?” Feenman asked.

“I'm not Bernie!” I shouted through the mask. “I'm Prince Awesome Dude of the Doo-Wah Dum Dum Diddys!” I waved the sword.

Their eyes bulged. “Cool,” Belzer muttered. “Is that a real sword?”

“Close enough,” I said. “Dudes, why play the game on that tiny laptop screen when you can play it in
real life
?”

“Awesome!” Feenman said.

“Sweet!” Crench agreed.

I dragged the three of them into my room. I started pulling costumes out of the trunk. “Feenman, take the blue cape. It goes with your eyes. Belzer, careful with that dagger. You know you're not good with pointy things!”

They pulled iron masks over their heads. “Doo-Wah-Diddys rule!” Crench shouted.

“Only five dollars a costume,” I said. “Come on, dudes. Cash only. Pay up. Pay up. And NO bubus. I only take American dollars!”

They each forked over the five bucks. I looked up to see more guys in my doorway. “Nosebleed, Chipmunk—get in here!” I pulled out more costumes.

“Five dollars. Pay up. Gimme five!” I shouted, handing out the armor and swords. “Now you dudes can play Wungo Warriors in 3-D!”

Their happy cries rang out:

“Sweet!”

“Awesomely awesome!”

“Totally gnarly!”

“Nighty-night to all Knighty Knight Knights!”

“Owwwww! You poked my eye out!”

“Beast, get in here!” I shouted. “Hey—who else is left? Don't shove—I've got plenty of costumes! One size fits all! Hurry. Get your money out.”

I had a big wad of cash in my hand. The line of Rotten House guys waiting for costumes stretched down the stairs. Even Angel Goodeboy forked over five bucks for a cape and wooden sword.

After a few minutes the Doo-Wah-Diddys all stood there in their armor, holding their plastic shields, waving their swords, singing the Doo-Wah-Diddy Dragons anthem.

Belzer had his visor on sideways. He kept walking into walls. I grabbed the visor and spun it around. I heard Belzer's neck crack. Maybe I spun it too hard!

“Now what do we do, Big B?” Belzer asked.

“ATTACK! DESTROY! WIN!” Angel shouted.

“YEAH!” Beast let out a roar.

He and Angel ran down the stairs and out of the dorm.

“Yo—wait!” I cried. Too late. The Dum Diddys all ran after them, screaming and waving their wooden swords.

I had no choice. I had to follow them. I shoved the big wad of fives into my pants pocket and took off.

Out on the grass, I could see where Beast and Angel were heading—right to Sherman Oaks and his Knighty Knight Knights at Nyce House.

What had I
done
?

The Rotten House Doo-Wah-Diddy Dragons burst into Nyce House, roaring, chanting, waving their swords.

“Whoa—wait! Pause! PAUSE the game!” I shouted. But I was too late.

Beast raised his sword and started slashing away at the curtains. Angel swung hard and shattered a lamp. Crench stabbed a couch and a chair. Feenman was painting the floor red. (That guy just didn't give up with the red paint!)

“Don't wrinkle your costumes!” I shouted. “No
stains! No stains! I have to return them!”

There was no way they could hear me over their screams of attack.

 

CLANG! CLANG!

 

Chipmunk and Nosebleed had their helmet-visors down and were head-butting each other. Paintings crashed to the floor.

 

“ATTACK! ATTACK!”

 

Belzer screamed. And he stabbed himself in the foot!

It was out of control. I offered one hundred bubus to anyone who would put down his sword and stop fighting. But helmets clanged, and swords slashed and hacked.

And we burst in on Sherman Oaks, Wes Updood, and a bunch of Nyce House dudes in their Commons Room. They didn't hear us coming. They were perched in front of a widescreen TV, clicking away, playing Wungo Warriors.

 

“SURRENDER, OR ELSE!”

 

Angel shrieked. The Dum Diddys leaped into the room.

Sherman, the great Wungo Wango, jumped to his feet. His eyes bulged. “Hey—what's up with
this
?” he shouted.

I had to stop it before it got ugly. Or before my costumes ripped.

I grabbed Belzer's sword and ran to the middle of the room. “I claim this dorm in the name of Prince Awesome Dude of the Doo-Wah-Diddy Dum Dibbly Dabbly Doo-dah Dragons!” I shouted. “The Knighty Knight Knights are defeated!”

“Not fair!” Sherman screamed. “Not fair! You can't do this! You don't have access codes from the Wungo Wango. You can't come in here without access codes!”

“We don't need access codes!” Chipmunk shouted. “We've got SWORDS!”

“Not fair!” Sherman wailed. “Not fair!”

Beast swung his sword and hacked the arm off a couch. Angel lowered his helmet-visor and ran headfirst into the TV screen.

“Wait! Stop! Pause the game!” I shouted.
“Sherman is right. It's gotta be a fair battle. I've got plenty of costumes for you guys, too—if you've got the cash!”

I spun Belzer around by the visor. “Belzer, quick—go bring the trunk. We all want a fair battle, right? Get your money out, dudes. Five dollars a costume! Belzer, hurry. We don't want the swords to get cold!”

Belzer took off back to our dorm.

Crench stepped up to me, shaking his head. “Bernie, what are you
doing
? You're gonna rent costumes to the
enemy
?”

I winked at him. “Do you have to ask?”

“But, Bernie—”

“My middle name is
Fairness
,” I said. “You know me. I only care about
fairness
. Get your money out, dudes. Five dollars. Come on. No wrinkled bills. I don't have time to iron 'em!”

A few minutes later Belzer returned, groaning, sweating, and lugging the heavy trunk. I heaved the lid open and started handing out capes, helmets, shields, swords, and daggers.

The Nyce House Knighty Knight Knights
grabbed everything I had left. My pockets were bulging with cash.

I slammed the trunk lid shut. It was a signal for the battle to begin.

“It's Dum Dum Doomsday for all Dum Diddys!” Sherman cried. He and his pals charged, screaming and waving their swords.

My Rotten House buddies fought back. Wooden swords clacked. Helmets clanged. Rubber daggers daggered. Belzer stabbed himself in the
other
foot!

Thanks to Bernie B., the Wungo Warriors game came to life. The two sides battled out the front door and onto the grass. The dudes were having an
awesome
time.

It was like a party! Especially for me. I unrolled the wadded-up fives and started to count. “Looks like Prince Awesome Dude is the big winner tonight!” I exclaimed.

But then I looked up from my huge pile of cash. I gasped—and let out a scream of horror.

 

“NOOOO! NOOOOOO!”

Why did I scream?

Because I saw where the battle was heading. To Pooper's Pond!

“Get away!” I went chasing after them, shouting. “Get away from the pond!”

You can barely call it a pond. It's more like a scummy, smelly, muddy ditch. If they fought in Pooper's Pond, the costumes would be caked in its putrid mud.

And who was responsible for the costumes? Bernie B.! I'd have to pay big-time to have them cleaned.

 

“Get away! Get AWAY!”

 

Too late.

Beast took a running jump into the pond. Angel followed him in—and everyone else followed Angel.

Swords clacked. Kids screamed and roared. The mud flew.

They rolled in the mud and came up fighting. Knighty Knight Knights and Dum Diddys dove into the muck. Thick gobs of mud oozed down their faces, their capes, their armor.

In seconds, the great battle turned into a disgusting mud bath.

“Not good,” I muttered. “Not good at all.”

I started to figure what this would cost me. I didn't realize that the horror was just beginning.

Then I turned—and started to choke.

Headmaster Upchuck stood behind me, his eyes goggling out of his head as he stared at the mud fight. Next to him stood five horrified people in gray suits.

The inspectors!

Upchuck pointed a trembling finger at me. “Bernie—I know you're responsible for this!” he cried.

“I—I—I—” It never happened to me before. I was
speechless
!

The shocked inspectors all started talking at once:

“This is an
outrage
!”

“Unspeakable!”

“The students are out of control!”

“They're berserk! Totally berserk!”

“This school must be CLOSED—
tonight
!”