My parents locked me in a cage until I crawled out, I didn't learn to read until I was 27, and I have an uncontrollable twitch every now and then--the perfect qualifications to become a writer! The following is the fourth disgusting, vile, POS scene that I could contrive for my Harry Potter parody entitled:
Hairy Pinga and How The Prisoner of My Anus Shoved The Sorcerer's Stones, A Goblin on Fire, and Half a Bloody Pint Up His Bunghole While in the Secret Chamber Passing Deadly Hollows with a Disorderly Phoenix
|Hairy Pinga||Harry Potter|
|Atari Bumbledork||Albus Dumbledore|
|Weaseldick Paisley||Ron Weasly|
|Gingercooch Paisley||Ginny Weasly|
|Prickley Paisley||Arthur Weasly|
Chapter 2: Paisleys
Atari Bumbledork poked his yogurt slinger. “Thank heavens, still in one piece. Hairy?” He noticed the passenger window ajar.
“Down here,” came a voice.
Bumbledork rolled down the window. “What are you doing down there, Pinga?”
“As we were falling, I had to take dump, so I pressed my bum against the window, and cracked it open. The tornado sucked me right out,” said Hairy.
“Are you out of your mind? You should have just shit your pants; that’s what I always do.” The old geezer shook his head. “Wait a minute, where did you stash it?”
“The nugget you squeezed out--you better not have left it in my ashtray!” He looked around, and then opened the door. “You’re in luck, I took out tornado insurance for this very occasion.” As his foot caught air, Bumbledork fell, rolling off the roof, and landing in a bed of mud. He stared up at the Corvette, dangling from the rooftop like a Christmas ornament.
“Are you all right?” Hairy stood over him.
Bumbledork held his head. “Damn you, Hairy. Why didn’t you tell me I was so high?”
“Really, you could not see?” Hairy exclaimed.
“Depth perception,” Bumbledork groaned, “has always been a challenge for me.”
A pig doddered over, sniffed the old prune, and began humping his face.
“Hey!” He pushed the pig aside.
Bumbledork wiped his face with his sleeve, and got to his feet. “Looks like you missed the Corvette entirely.” He peeled off his robe, and brushed himself off.
“I don’t know what happened. I just let it go, and the tornado sucked it right up.”
“The great toilet bowl in the sky,” Bumbledork chuckled. “It probably shot to the moon. Imagine the poor astronaut’s face as the wayward morsel splatters across his visor.”
“I’m sure he’ll return the favor,” Hairy giggled. “They are astronauts, after all.”
“That they are.” Bumbledork patted him on the shoulder.
The front door opened. A rail thin boy and girl stepped out with orange hair and a smattering of freckles. “Well, hello there!” the boy waved.
“Oh Christ, of all the places!” Bumbledork threw his robe to the ground. “Hairy, meet Weaseldick and Gingercooch Paisley.”
As Hairy offered his hand, the cantankerous old man slapped it away.
“Do not talk to him, he is a fucking loser. And don’t talk to her unless you want an unwashed flying cooch in the face.”
“I washed it this time.” Gingercooch smiled.
“Oh yeah? Did you use soap?” said Bumbledork.
Gingercooch blushed. “Oops.”
Weaseldick’s mouth dropped. “Ginger!”
“Trust me, Weaseldick, nimrods like you will eat many a dirty hair pie in your lifetime; just another reason why men have shorter lifespans than women.”
Hairy shook his hand anyways. “Pleased to meet you, Weaseldick.”
Bumbledork pulled him aside. “Hairy, what further proof do you need? Listen closely: Weaseldick, what’s your favorite movie?”
“My favorite movie in the whole world?” The freckles nearly jumped off his face.
The old man rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”
“Why, that would be Captain Ron, starring Kurt Russell.”
Bumbledork cringed. “See?”
“The name’s Hairy,” said Pinga.
Bumbledork smacked Hairy upside the head. “Do not talk to him, he’s imaginary. I could stick a pig up his ass, and slow roast it until it’s golden brown, and still nothing would happen. Why? Cause he’s fucking imaginary!”
“I am not.” Weaseldick cried.
“You are too,” said Bumbledork.
The blast of a shotgun ended the quarrel.
“Come on, fellas, stop fighting!” A man barreled out of the house with a mug in hand and potbelly poking out.
“Well, if it isn’t Prickley Paisley,” Bumbledork grinned.
“Atari Bumbledork!” He hobbled over, and slapped the old coot on the back. “Here son, hold this.”
Weaseldick grabbed the warm mug, and took a sip. “Ack!” He spit it out. “Daddy, did you pee in this mug?”
“Damn it, boy. I said hold it, not drink it!” He swiped it back. “I figured I would pour it over the beanstalk to help it grow faster.”
“They’re a bunch of stalkers,” Bumbledork whispered to Hairy.
“What?” said Prickley.
“Oh, nothing.” Bumbledork whistled.
“You should all do the same.” Prickley wagged his finger. “The more she gets, the faster she’ll grow.”
“But grow where?” Bumbledork’s eyes followed the stalk into the sky.
“What? Oh…uh…I don’t know.” Prickley shrugged.
“What if the stalk leads to a castle that is inhabited by a giant ogre, who sneaks down, and sodomizes you in your sleep?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Prickley brushed it off. “Anyways, could I ask a favor of you, old man?”
Bumbledork grimaced. “What, Paisley?”
“I’ll help you fish your car out of my roof if you’ll drop my children off at school. They’re late, and my truck’s out of gas,” said Prickley.
Bumbledork looked at the car, and then the slobbering fools picking the lice from their scalp. “Well…all right…”
“Thank you, Bumbledork.” He kissed the pompous twit. “Well kids, I guess it’s off to school for you.”
“Yay!” the children cheered.
As the harebrained fools chortled, Hairy’s long lost terd orbited back to earth. It thundered down in a brown blur, and exploded in Prickley’s filthy mug, dousing the unsuspecting morons in a warm blast.