Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

R.L. Stine has more than 350 million English language books in print, plus international editions in 32 languages, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written other series, including Fear Street, Rotten School, Mostly Ghostly, The Nightmare Room, and Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and his Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Minnie. Visit him online at rlstine.com.

Trip Park grew up in Ithaca, New York, and went to college at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where he was first drawn to advertising. He then moved to Chicago, later New York, where he joined advertising agencies and worked on kids’ favorites including Cap’n Crunch, Gatorade, Kellogg’s, and Ronald McDonald. His children’s commercials have won numerous awards. But advertising also brought something equally as rewarding. There he got to work with some of his favorite illustrators. Watching these artists create their pieces inspired Trip Park to try his hand at illustrating himself.

Trip Park has illustrated a number of children's books including Gopher Up Your Sleeve, written by Tony Johnston, Trout, Trout, Trout! (A Fish Chant) and Ant, Ant, Ant! (An Insect Chant), both written by April Pulley Sayre. He has also developed characters and helped animate commercials for Nickelodeon, The California State Fair, Lego, and many others. When Rotten School came along, the opportunity to translate to the drawing board R.L. Stine’s cast of kids was a wonderful chance to combine his love for children’s illustration with this group of rotten students. His work can be seen at www.tripparkproductions.com.

Trip lives in Charlotte, NC with his wife, Laura and four children.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

Buffalo wings of steel!

Just how stupid is Stupid Chicken? Bernie Bridges thinks the superfowl cartoon character is a dumb cluck! And the same goes for his chirpy sidekick, Little Cluck-Cluck.

But why not make a buck from a cluck? Bernie tries to sell Stupid Chicken T-shirts to his pals.

One problem—half the school hates Stupid Chicken. Their hero is Drastic Duck, the Caped Quacker.

Now Bernie finds himself caught in the middle of the battle between the Clucks and the Quacks!

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Rotten School #16: Dumb Clucks

By R.L. Stine

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2008 R.L. Stine
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780061232787

Chapter One

Me're Not Mmmminto Mmmmadpoles

Seven o'clock at night is homework hour in Rotten House, our dorm. So I knew where to find all my friends: downstairs in the Commons Room—our living room—watching TV.

We don't do our homework at night. We do it in the five minutes before class starts in the morning. That way, it's still fresh in our minds.

That leaves more time for important things like watching TV, playing video games, and snapping your fingers in your friends' faces to make them flinch.

You probably do your homework at home. But we don't go home, because Rotten School is a boarding school. That means we live here.

I'm Bernie Bridges. I bet you know me because I'm in the Fourth Grader Hall of Fame.

I know. I know. There is no Fourth Grader Hall of Fame.

But if there was, I'd be in it.

I don't like to brag, but I'm the dude who knows how to get the most out of fourth grade.

The most money, that is.

Tonight I was planning a special sale of awesome T-shirts. I piled the shirts up on a cart and wheeled them into the Commons Room.

I knew my buddies would be fighting over them, begging me to let them each buy four or five shirts.

"All right. Line up, dudes!" I shouted. I wheeled my cart in front of the TV.

All my Rotten House pals were there. Feenman, Crench, Belzer, Chipmunk, Beast, Nosebleed . . .

I rubbed my hands together. I was already counting my money.

"Listen up, guys," I said. "Did you know it's a holiday? It's Lucky T-Shirt Day. And every shirt I have on this cart is a lucky shirt!"

"Bernie, you're blocking the TV," Crench said.

"You can't watch TV while I'm having this special sale," I said. "Half off every T-shirt! Get up, dudes. Check 'em out!"

"Bernie, you're blocking the TV," Feenman said.

"Guys, you don't understand," I said. "I've got your favorites here. Look! Tweenage Mutant Ninja Tadpoles shirts. Only five dollars!"

I grabbed Crench by the shoulders and tried to hoist him out of his chair. But he plopped right back down. "Bernie, I can't see the TV."

"Up. Up! Everyone up!" I shouted, clapping my hands. "I've got the Tadpoles, dudes! I know you're totally into Tweenage Mutant Ninja Tadpoles."

They stared at the screen.

My friend Beast opened his mouth wide and let out a deafening burp. It lasted about two minutes. Big chunks of food flew from his mouth and sprayed the room.

Normally, a burp that good would make my pals laugh for hours.

Tonight they stared at the TV screen. No one even blinked.

"Okay, okay," I said. "You drive a hard bargain. You can have the shirts for four-fifty each!"

I held up a T-shirt."Look, dudes. You can wear your favorite Tadpole. Hey—who wants Herman? I've got Herman shirts. Who wants Murray? Sidney? Melvin? Melvin is your hero—right, Feenman?"

Feenman stared at the TV.

"Here's a winner," I said, pulling a shirt from the bottom of the pile. "This shirt has all twenty-four Tadpoles on it! Even Myron, the Shy Tadpole. Check it out!"

Silence.

Then . . . more silence.

Finally my friend Nosebleed spoke up. "Mernie, me're not mmmminto mmmmadpoles," he said.

"Huh? Nosebleed, what language are you speaking?" I asked.

"MmmmI'm mmmeaking English," he said. "I mmmave ummmph tissues stuffed in mmmmy nose. I mmmmhave a nosebleed."

Poor guy. Everything gives him a nosebleed. Tying his shoes gives him a nosebleed! When the sun sets, it gives him a nosebleed!

"Bernie, Nosebleed was trying to tell you something," Feenman said. "We're not into the Tadpoles anymore. Too babyish! We're into a new show."

"Hel-lo?" I cried. "A new show? You, traitors! I've got three dozen shirts with these slimy Tadpoles on them!"

Feenman shrugged. "Babyish."

"Okay, tell me," I said through gritted teeth. "What show are you traitors watching now?"

"We'll give you a hint," Crench said.

And they all chimed in at once, singing . . .

Bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck bluck.

Continues...

Excerpted from Rotten School #16: Dumb Clucksby R.L. Stine Copyright © 2008 by R.L. Stine. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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