Diary Of A Wimpy Kid: Original Book!

*November*

(Thursday)

On the bus ride into school today, we passed by

Grandma's house. It got rolled with toilet paper

last night, which I guess was no big surprise.

I do feel a little bad because it looked like it was

going to take a long time to clean up. But on the

bright side, Grandma is retired, so she probably

didn't have anything planned for today anyway.

(Wednesday)

In the third period, Mr. Underwood, our Phys Ed

teacher, announced that the boys will be doing a

wrestling unit for the next six weeks.

If there's one thing most boys in my school are

into, it's professional wrestling. So Mr.

Underwood might as well have set off a bomb.

Lunch comes right after Phys Ed, and the cafeteria was a complete madhouse.

I don't know what the school is thinking about having

a wrestling unit.

But I decided if I don't want to get twisted

into a pretzel for the next month and a half, I'd

better do my homework on this wrestling business.

So I rented a couple of video games to learn

some moves. And you know what? After a while,

I was really starting to get the hang of it.

In fact, the other kids in my class had better

look out, because if I keep this up, I could be a

real threat.

Then again, I better make sure I don't do

too good. This kid named Preston Mudd got

named Athlete of the Month for being the best player in the basketball unit,

so they put his

picture up in the hallway.

It took people about five seconds to realize how

"P. Mudd" sounded when you said it out loud,

and after that, it was all over for Preston.

(Thursday)

Well, I found out today that the kind of wrestling

Mr. Underwood is teaching is completely

different from the kind they do on tv.

First of all, we have to wear these things called

"singlets," which look like those bathing suits

they used to wear in the 1800s.

And second of all, there are no pile drivers or

hitting people over the heads with chairs or

anything like that.

There's not even a ring with ropes around it.

It's just basically a sweaty mat that smells like

it's never been washed before.

Mr. Underwood started asking for volunteers so

he could demonstrate some wrestling holds, but

there was no way I was going to raise my hand.

I and Rowley tried to hide out in the back of

the gym near the curtain, but that's where the

girls were doing their gymnastics unit.

We got out of there in a hurry, and we went

back to where the rest of the guys were.

Mr. Underwood singled me out, probably because

I'm the lightest kid in the class, and he could

toss me around without straining himself. He

showed everybody how to do all these things

called a "half nelson" and a "reversal" and a

"takedown" and stuff like that.

When he was doing this one move called the

"fireman's carry," I felt a breeze down below,

and I could tell my singlet wasn't doing a good

job keeping me covered up.

That's when I thanked my lucky stars the

girls were on the other side of the gym.

Mr. Underwood divided us up into weight groups.

I was pretty happy about that at first,

because it meant I wasn't going to have to

wrestle kids like Benny Wells, who can bench-press

250 pounds.

But then I found out who I did have to wrestle,

and I would have traded for Benny Wells in a

heartbeat.

Fregley was the only kid light enough to be in my

weight class. And apparently, Fregley was paying

attention when Mr. Underwood was giving

instructions because he pinned me every which way

you could imagine. I spent my seventh-period

getting way more familiar with Fregley than I

ever wanted to be.

(Tuesday)

Thiswrestlingunit has totally turned our school

upside down. Now kids are wrestling in the hallways,

in the classrooms, you name it. But the fifteen

minutes after lunch where they let us outside is

the worst.

You can't walk five feet without tripping over a

couple of kids going at it. I just try to keep

my distance. And mark my words, one of these

fools is going to roll right onto the Cheese and

start the Cheese Touch all over again.

My other big problem is that I have to wrestle

Fregley every single day. But this morning I

realized something. If I can move out of

Fregley's weight class, I won't have to wrestle

him anymore.

So today, I stuffed my clothes with a bunch of

socks and shirts to get me into the next

weight class.

But I was still too light to move up.

I realized I was gonna have to gain weight for

real. At first, I thought I should just start

loading up on junk food, but then I had a much

better idea.

I decided to gain my weight in muscle, not fat.

I've never been all that interested in getting in

shape before, but this wrestling unit has made me

rethink things.

I figure if I bulk up now, it could actually come

in handy down the road.

The football unit is coming in the spring, and

they split the teams up into shirts and skins.

And I always get put on skins.

I think they do that to make all the out-of-shape

kids feel ashamed of themselves.

If I can pack on some muscle now, it'll be a

whole different story next April.

Tonight, after dinner, I got Mom and Dad

together and told them my plan. I told them I

was going to need some serious exercise equipment,

and some weight-gain powder, too.

I showed them some muscle magazines I got at

the store so they could see how ripped I was

going to be.

Mom didn't really say anything at first, but Dad

was pretty enthusiastic. I think he was just

glad I had a change of heart from how I used

to be when I was a kid—

But Mom said if I wanted a weight set, I was

going to have to prove that I could stick with

an exercise regimen. She said I could do that by

doing sit-ups and jumping jacks for two weeks.

I had to explain that the only way to get

totally bulked up is to get the kind of high-tech

machines they have at the gym, but Mom didn't

want to hear it.

Then Dad said if I wanted a bench press, I

should keep my fingers crossed for Christmas.

But Christmas is a month and a half away. And

if I get pinned by Fregley one more time, I'm

gonna have a nervous breakdown.

So it looks like Mom and Dad aren't going to be

any help. And that means I'm going to have to

take matters into my own hands, as usual.