Chapter 1
The Boy Who Didn'tHA Ba die a most painful death
Mr. Durdy and Mrs. Durdy of Number 4615.6, Private Drive, were really fat and stupid. They didn't like any funny business. If they found any 'funny business', they would fire cannons at it, sit on it, or give it no happy meals.
Mr. Durdy was a director at a company called Grunnings, which made Gruns. He was 80 pounds and really thin and frail and had a really big mustache which stuck out everywhere. Mrs. Durdy was the size of a baby whale and would honk at the neighbors each time they opened their doors. The Durdys had a son named Dugalee and in their opinion there was no finer man anywhere.
The Durdys had everything they wanted, but they also had a terrible secret. Their greatest fear was that someone would discover it and write it on their foreheads in crayon. They couldn't bear it if anybody ever found out about the Dodders.
Mrs. Dodder was Mrs. Durdys sister, but they hadn't met for several years. In fact, Mrs. Durdy pretended that she didn't have a sister because her sister and her fancy and polite husband were as un-Durdyish as it was possible to be. Also it was convenient to pretend they didn't exist because they didn't have to buy them gifts during the holidays. The Durdys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Dodders came to visit one day. Probably something like, 'Wow. Those people sure are weird.' The Durdys shuddered at this thought. It haunted their nightmares and waking dreams. The Durdys knew that the Dodders had a young son too, around Dugalee's age, but they had never seen him. The son was another reason to keep the Dodders away, they didn't want Dugalee to create a demon contract with someone like that.
One day Mr. and Mrs. Durdy woke up on a dull gray Tuesday, like in one of those really boring documentaries. The mosquito and locust swarms hardly stirred, and the poison fog was incredibly thick. Mr. Durdy hummed "Baby" by Justin Bieber while Mrs. Durdy gossiped away boringly about how much she hated funny business and her inexplicable hatred of the word 'happy' in an ear-piercing voice that sounded like a whale song crossed with a loud engine grinding up various innocent creatures. Dugalee was screaming and spewing juice and blood all over the floor in an attempt to gain the favor of Cthulhu.
None of them noticed a large and smelly birb fly past the triangular spider entrance.
At 8:30 Mr. Durdy picked up his McMuffin, pecked Mrs. Durdy on the cheek and tried to kiss Dugalee but missed because Dugalee was getting frustrated with the ineffectuality of his dark magic and had started spewing oatmeal everywhere. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Durdy, his face dripping with oatmeal and bits of sacrificial offerings with cryptic symbols carved into them. He pranced out of the house, which was a big, three-story pyramid-shaped living cubicle with thousands of pictures of eyes taped to it. He got into his brightly painted ice cream truck and drove away, listening to Tanzanian indie synth pop.
It was on the corner of the dark, gloomy street, where the search lights were of the weakest intensity, that he noticed the first sign of 'funny business'. A cat reading a map. For a second Mr. Durdy didn't realize what he had seen. Then he whipped his head around at lightning speeds and readied his cannon. There was a tabby cat, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the mind sphere. Mr. Durdy lowered his cannon warily and stared at the cat. It stared back, looking like it thought he was very stupid. Mr. Durdy, thinking it was a horror monster, drove around and tried to run it over, but instead he fell into a ditch. The ditch was full of dead ponies and broken steering wheels. He screamed in agony as a bunch of glass pierced his face and blood flew everywhere and it was really violent. Then he and the truck fell through a wormhole and out of the world.
Around 1 minute later Mr. Durdy and his truck fell out of the sky. The car emitted almost 30 entire decibels of sound while Mr. Durdy's ugly face left a huge crater and a sonic boom. He casually got up and got in his car, having completely forgotten what happened in the past minute or so. He continued to drive towards town and thought of nothing but the large order of Gruns he would get that day.
But on the edge of town, Gruns were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual traffic jam, he couldn't help but notice there were an awful lot of people in hot dog costumes. As you know, Mr Durdy hated 'funny business', so he pressed a button on his dashboard which raised fifty cannons on the hood of the car and 130 on the top of the car, armed and prepared to fire. But he supposed this was some stupid new fashion and he put his cannons away, retracting them painfully into the interior of the car and squishing his basket of cat eggs. The abundance of hot dog cosplayers would probably die in a few months.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and he saw a huddle of weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. They weren't even young hipsters after all, they were old people. Why that man had to be older than Mr. Durdy and he was wearing an emerald-green hot dog costume. The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Durdy that it was probably just a herd of hot dog enthusiasts… yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later Mr. Durdy arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on Gruns.
Mr. Durdy always sat with his back to the window in his office on 72nd floor. If he hadn't he might have found it harder to concentrate on Gruns this morning. He didn't see the cats soaring by in broad daylight. Though people down on the street did. Most of them haven't even seen a cat even at nighttime. Mr. Durdy however had a perfectly normal, cat-free morning. He yelled at 5 people from the 72nd floor to the Ground, and of course, nobody heard him. Then he made several important telephone calls. He launched one of the phones out of a cannon and through the window because someone had said 'hot dog'. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he should stretch his legs and walk across the road to McDonalds and buy himself a diet Big Mac.
He'd forgotten about all of the people wearing hot dog costumes, until he saw a group of them prancing around McDonalds. He eyed them angrily and gripped his cannon as one of them pranced near him. He didn't know why, but they made him queasy. This bunch was squealing excitedly too, and there wasn't a hot dog (the food) in sight! It was when he passed them again on his way out of the store, clutching his Big Mac in a bag that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
"The Dodders, that's what I heard."
"Yes, and their son, Harry."
"I forgot to drink mah prune juice this mornin', eh?"
Mr. Durdy stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the hot dog enthusiast to say something, but thought better of it. He bounced across the road and went back up to the 72nd floor, bellowed at the secretary to go get him an espresso, snatched the telephone and had almost finished dialing his home telegram number when he changed his mind.
"Here is your espresso bunny," garbled the secretary, placing the espresso on his desk.
Mr. Durdy poured the espresso out the window on to someone's head.
He put the receiver back down and stroked his bum, thinking… no, he was being silly. Dodder wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people with the surname Dodder with a son named Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure he was called Harry. He has never seen him. His name might've been Harvey or JOHN CENA. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Durdy; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her, if he'd had a sister like that… but all the same those people in hot dog costumes…
He found it hard to concentrate on Gruns that afternoon and when he left the building at 5 o'clock, he was still so worried that he bumped into someone just outside his door.
"Sorry," he squealed, as the tiny old man stumbled and fell on his face. It was a few moments before he realized that the old man was wearing a violet hot dog costume. He didn't seem to be upset at being knocked to the ground and breaking his nose, covering himself and his violet hot dog costume with bright red blood. On the contrary, his face split (literally) into a wide smile and he said in a manly voice, "Don't be sorry, dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice! For You-Know-Who is gone at last! Even Bugles like you should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"
And the old man hugged Mr. Durdy smearing bright scarlet across his fancy jacket and walked off, his nose dripping with blood. The stranger then passed out in the road because of blood loss.
Mr. Durdy stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Bugle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, accidentally driving over the body of the dying stranger, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.
As he pulled into the driveway of 4615.6 of Private drive, the first thing he saw, was the tabby cat he saw that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the markings similar to nerd glasses.
"Shoo!" squealed Mr. Durdy loudly.
The cat didn't move, it just stared at him and proceeded to lick its chest. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Durdy wondered. Mr. Durdy beheaded the cat with his katana. Trying to pull himself together, he barged into the house. He was still not going to say anything to Mrs. Durdy.
Mrs. Durdy had a nice normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with red chairs and that Dugalee had learned a new word ("Anus!"). Mr. Durdy tried to act normal. When Dugalee had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:
"And finally, Cat watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's cats have been acting very unusually today. Although cats usually hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these cats flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why these cats have changed their sleeping patterns." The newscaster grinned "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McDonald with the weather. Going to be any more showers of cats, Jim?"
"Well, Ted" said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but its not only the cats that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain i promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of manure! But i can promise a wet night tonight."
Mr. Durdy sat frozen in his armchair. Manure all over Britain? Cats flying by daylight? Mysterious people wearing various colored hot dog costumes? And a whisper about the Dodders…
Mrs. Durdy came into the living room carrying two cups of good taste tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something. He cleared his nostrils. "Er… Patootie dear? You haven't heard from your sister recently have you?"
As he expected, Mrs. Durdy's face turned into something that looked like a angry walrus
"No," she said loudly "Why?"
"Funny business on the news" he mumbled "Cats…. Manure.. and there were a lot of people dressed in funny clothes"
"SO?" waffled Mrs. Durdy.
"Well i thought it would have been something to do with her crowd ya know eh?" he squealed.
Mrs. Durdy slurped her good taste tea, smacked her lips and placed the teacup on the table upside-down.
"Their son… he would be about Dugalee's age by now right?" squeakled Mr. Durdy
"I suppose so" Mrs. Durdy grunted.
"What's his name again? Haggar?"
"Harry" Mrs. Durdy grunted "Nasty common name if you ask me"
"Oh yes i quite agree" squeaked Mr. Durdy, his heart sinking.
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Durdy was in the bathroom, MR. Durdy crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Private drive as though it were waiting for something.
Was he imagining things? Could all of this have anything to do with the Dodders?
The Durdy got into bed. Mrs. Durdy fell asleep in 3.89 seconds but Mr. Durdy stayed awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought was that even if the Dodder were involved, there was no reason for it to affect them.
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Durdy might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat outside showed no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a lard statue, its eyes fixed on the corner of Private drive. It didn't even flinch went 2 cats soared a few feet ahead. In fact it was not until midnight when it moved.
A man ap Peared in the corner where the cat was watching, ap Pearing so suddenly and silently you would have thought he just ap Peared out of nowhere. The cats' tail lashed and its eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man have ever been seen on private drive. He was tall, thin and very old. Judging by his silver hair and beard, both long enough to wrap around his bare and run down the road. He was wearing a long bathrobe, a purple hot dog costume and high heels. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind non-existent glasses and his nose looked like it was broken at least 83 times. This old fart's name was Balbus Dumblydorf
Balbus Dumblydorf didn't seem to notice that he just arrived in a street from his name to his high heels were unwelcome. He was busy rummaging around his hot dog costume, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to frighten him. He squealed and spluttered "WARGH" and he fell backwards. Then he got back up and proceeded to rummage around in his hot dog costume.
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a soft cheese stick. He opened the package, held it up in the air, and waved it around. The nearest street lamp blew up. He waved it again, the next lamp blew up in a glorious explosion and the area around went black. Twelve times he waved the soft cheese stick, until the only lights left on the whole street were the cats eyes in the distance. If anyone looked outside, even Mrs. Durdy wouldn't be able to see anything going down on the sidewalk. Dumblydorf slipped the soft cheese stick into his hot dog costume and set off down the street toward number 4615.6, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professoress McGuffin"
He turned to smile at the tabby cat, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather strict looking woman who was wearing nerd glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a hot dog costume, an emerald one. Her gray hair was drawn into a tight bun.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked
"My dear Professoress, I've never seen a cat sit so stupidly."
"You'd be stupid if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day" said Professoress McGuffin
"All day? When you could have been celebrating at feasts and parties? i must have pass eighty-nine on my way here."
Professoress McGuffin sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes everybody is celebrating" she said impatiently
You'd think they'd be more careful but no, even the Bugles noticed something, it was on their news." She jerked her head towards to Durdy's home "I heard it, Flocks of cats and shooting stars! They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent, Must have been Dadoolius Dingle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them" said Dumblydorf "They've had nothing to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that" said Professoress McGuffin. "But that's no reason to lose our heads! People in broad daylight, not even dressed in Bugle clothes, swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp, sideways look at Dumblydorf as if expecting for him to say something, when he didn't she continued. "It would be a find thing that the same day You-Know-Who disap Peared, the Bugles would have discovered us. i supposed he has gone?
"It certainly seems so" Dumblydorf replied. "Would you like a Kit-Kat?"
"A what?"
"A Kit-Kat, they are a kind of Bugle sweet i am fond of. They are wafers covered in chocolate."
"No thank you." Said Professoress McGuffin coldly. "If You-Know-Who even has gone-"
"My dear Professoress, i would think a sensible person like you would call him by his real name. All of this You-Know-Who nonsense, for eleven years i have been trying to get people to call him by his real name: Moldemort." Professoress McGuffin squealed at flew 3 feet into the air, did a backflip and landed on her face. Dumblydorf took no notice because he was unwrapping a Kit-Kat. "It gets so confusing if everybody says You-Know-Who. i have never seen any reason why not to say Moldemort."
"I know you haven't" said Professoress McGuffin. "But you're different. Everyone knows that you were the person that Moldemort was frightened of."
'You flatter me" said Dumblydorf "Moldemort had powers i will never have."
"Only because you're too… Manly to use them."
"It's lucky its dark. i haven't blushed so much since Madam Prunefry."
Professoress McGuffin shot a sharp look at Dumblydorf and said "The cats are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone is saying? About why he poofed? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professoress McGuffin reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the reason she had been stupidly sitting on a brick wall the entire day.
` "What they are saying" she pressed on "is that last night Moldemort turned up in Goddic's Hollow. He went to find the Dodders. The rumor is that James and Lily Dodder are dead!" she blubbered.
Dumblydorf bowed his head. Professoress McGuffin gasped.
Professoress McGuffin started to blubber about how smelly her left nostril was.
Dumblydorf began to crunch down on more Kit-Kats.
"But that's not all" she continued to blubber "They say that when Moldemort turned his wand on little baby Harry, they say that he poofed"
Dumblydorf unwrapped another Kit-Kat
"Is it true?" Professoress McGuffin said, "That a little boy stopped Moldemort? That after all of the people he killed… he couldn't kill a little boy?"
Dumblydorf ignored Professoress McGuffin and unwrapped more Kit-Kats.
Professoress McGuffin took out a handkerchief and started to dab at her eyes. Dumblydorf looked at his wrist, there was a golden watch on it. "Haggar is late. i suppose that it was he that told you i would be here?" he said.
"Yes" said Professoress McGuffin "Are you going to tell me why you are here?"
"I have come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They are the only family he has left."
"You don't mean the people who live here?!" she exclaimed. "You can't! i haven't seen any other 2 people who are unlike us! And i heard their son spewing his intestines all over his mother!"
"It is the best place for him" said Dumblydorf "I have sent them a letter."
"A letter?" she said faintly "You can't explain everything in a letter! These people will never understand him! He will be famous! A legend!"
"Exactly" Dumblydorf said, looking at Professoress McGuffin over his Non-Existent glasses. "Famous before he can walk and talk! It will be enough to turn any boys head! Don't you see why this is a better option?"
Professoress McGuffin opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind and swallowed. "How is he getting here anyways?" she asked.
"Haggar is bringing him"
"Do you think it is completely wise to trust Haggar with something this important?"
"I would trust Haggar with my life" said Dumblydorf
"I am not saying that Haggar is super evil." she said "But you cant pretend Haggar is not carless"
Dumblydorf put some Kit-Kat wrapper inside his Hot Dog costume.
"Whazzat?" said Professoress McGuffin. There was a rumbling noise
The rumbling noise swelled to a roar as a small motordong fell out of the sky. If the motordong was small it was nothing compared to the tiny man that stumbled out of the motordong. Long tangles of beard covered his face and his hands were the size of a babies hand and his feet were the size of kittens. In his tiny arms he was lifting a bundle of blankets.
"Haggar!" Dumblydorf said. "At last! And where did you get that motordong?"
"Borrowed it Professor Dumblydorf, sir" replied Haggar in a squeaky voice. "Young Serious Back lent it to me. i got Harry here sir."
"No problems were there?"
"No sir. House almost destroyed. i got Harry out before the Bugles swarmed around. Fell asleep while flying over Bristol."
Dumblydorf and Professoress McGuffin looked into the bundle of blankets and saw a baby. Under a tuft of black hair there was a scar in the shape of a chili.
"Is that where Moldemort poked him?" she said as she poked the scar.
"Yes." said Dumblydorf "He will have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it Dumblydorf?"
"Obviously not" said Dumblydorf "Now give him here Haggar."
Dumblydorf took Harry into his arms and walked toward Private Drive 4615.6
"Could i say bye to him sir?" Haggar asked. Dumblydorf had to stoop down for Haggar. Haggar gave Harry a scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then he started to bellow like a whale.
"Hush you great big ape!" said Professoress McGuffin "You will wake the Bugles!"
"Sorry." Haggar sobbed as he took out a large green moist handkerchief and buried his face in it. "But i can't stand it. He smells like dragoon feces!"
"Yes, Yes, It's all very sad but get a grip Haggar!" Professoress McGuffin said, patting his arm. Dumblydorf laid Harry Dodder on the porch of Private Drive number 4615.6 and placed a letter next to him.
"He smells really bad" Professoress McGuffin said randomly
"I'll be taking Serious his motordong back" Haggar said in a muffled voice.
Wiping his eyes on the bottom of his footwear, he cannoned into the motordong and vanished into the sky.
Dumblydorf and Professoress McGuffin disap Peared with a SWISHY SWASH of a cloak.
Chapter 2
The Saucy Glass
It has almost been ten years since the Durdys awoke to find Harry Dodder lying naked on their doorstep. He was naked because some guy who had a thought that his hat rack would look stylish with baby clothes attached to it. Private Drive and the Durdys' house had not changed since that day. The only difference was the pictures of Dugalee Durdy's aging. There is no sign that Harry lives there. However, in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry indeed sleeps.
Harry Dodder woke up to an extremely deep voice and a crack of wood. "GET UP YA LAZY BUM" bellowed Aunt Patootie as she slammed her flabby hands on the door. "GET UP NOW I WANT YOU TO COOK THE CHIMICHANGAS FOR DUGALEE'S BIRTHDAY!" she bellowed. "I NEED EVERYTHING PERFECT ON DUGALEE'S BIRTHDAY!"
She waddled off into the kitchen penguin-like. Harry grumbled as he squirmed and wiggled out of his tub. Instead of a bed, he had a bathtub to sleep in. The cupboard that he lived in was very cramped and had a strange aroma of socks. He looked for some tights and found a pair under his tub with a pair of tights on it. He took the pair of tights and shoved them down his pair of tights. He waltzed outside in a tiny shirt, tights, a tutu, sunglasses and pink socks. He hopped over to the oven and started annihilate the chimichangas with a level 96 nazi flag. As he decimated the chimichangas he noticed that the present on the floor was covered in tables.
Harry had jet-black hair and green eyes. He also had glasses held together by a sticky note, because Dugalee kept sitting on them. The thing that distinguished Harry the most was his nose-shaped scar. Harry once asked how he got this scar. Uncle Vermin squealed "DON'T ASK QUESTIONS MISSY!
Harry saw Dugalee counting his presents. Dugalee had blonde hair, a fat face, an extremely large torso and muscly arms and hands. His legs and feet were extremely skinny and it looked like it was impossible that these tiny stick legs can hold up his large 1-ton body. He was busy counting his presents " Negative 57, one million and a half, 98!" He said. "YOU DIDN'T COUNT THE ONE UNDER YUR FAT BUM." bellowed Aunt Patootie. "OH THANK YE MUM." squeaked Dugalee. Suddenly Dugalee started to wrath. "BUT THATS 89 LESS THAN LAST YEAR." he roared. He started to tear up the house with his inexplicable psychic powers. Harry hid inside of the oven to avoid his wrath. Dugalee summoned King Bradley who started to rip apart stuff with his EYEBAWLS. he bellowed with his mighty lungs. the world was forced to acknowledge his manly fighting prowess. Aunt Patootie bellowed and hit Dugalee in the back of the head with a metal folding chair. Dugalee stopped his psychic rage and fell on the floor, breaking six ribs. King Bradley jumped out of the window while screaming in anger and stabbed many innocent people with his eyeball. "I says i will get you 420 more presents" Uncle Vermin grumped. Dugalee thought for a moment it looked to be PAI8NFUL AND TERRIFYINGLY TEDIOUS. Finally after 30 minutes he said "So I'll have one present then?" "NO YOU HALF-BAKED FATSO" gugrled Aunt Patootie "AM PRETTY SURE YOU MEAN 519" "O thanky mum," blimped dugalee. He flapped his arms happily as he started to savagely tear the cloths off his sacrificial offerings. Harry started to smoke in the oven.
At that moment the telephone screamed swears to the tune of hotline bling and Aunt Patootie went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vermin watched Dugalee unwrap a satanic hoverboard, a nuclear reactor, JOHN CENA, an ouija board, and a pretty pink weeaboo cosplayer sword. "BAD NEWS VERMIN" she swelched. "MRS DANKENBERG BROKE HER LEV BODEN SO SHE CANT KIDNAP HIM" she waggled her finger menacingly in the direction of harry. Dugalees mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's fart gave a leap. Every year on Dugalee's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for a day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year harry was left behind with mrs. Dankenberg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of dragoon feces which Mrs. Dankenberg thought was quite a delectable scent and Mrs. Dankenberg made him look at at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned. "NOW WHAT GURR?" said Aunt Patootie, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this, which he had. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry for breaking Mrs. Dankenberg's leg boden, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS , Poopy, Mr. Dong, and STUPID again. "We could yell at Marge," Grunkle Vermin screamed like an opera woman who has sitted on a rocker dong. "Don't be smart, Vermin, she hates the girl." The Durdys often spoke about Harry like this as though he wasn't there - or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a genius.
"What about your friend? Whats-her-face?"
"ON VACATION IN OBAMACARE" bellowed Aunt Patootie
"You can just abandon me here" Harry squawked (he would be able to try out Dugalees satanic hoverboard or maybe summon satan.)
Aunt Patootie looked as though she just swallowed a baby
"AND COME BACK TO FIND THE HOUSE COVERED IN SNAUSAGES?" Aunt Patootie screamed.
"I'll only summon satan" squeaked Harry, but they weren't listening. They didn't approve of Harry partaking in such entertaining pastimes.
"LET'S JUST TAKE HIM AND LEAVE HIM TO SUFFOCATE N THE DYING PUTT-PUTT"
"That banana is a family heirloom he isn't going to die in there i don't want it to smell like dead people."
"MUM Y" garbled Dugalee, his face starting to drip with JUICE. "HES GOING TO KILL US ALL HUHUHUUDHUWHUHFUHUFHUFH" he started to flail in a tactical dance that would invoke pity. "RISE CTHULHU, LORD OF DARKNESS" he swooshed with his second mouth, flapping his arms and wearing dogs. the noise was terrible and Harry needed to expel urine.
"DON'T CRY MY CHILD," Cthulhu spoke through Aunt Patootie, but then she started to spontaneously combust. "WHOOPS GOTTA GO" gurgled the almighty deity, and left in a shower of pancakes coated in fluids of darkness. "SUSHI SUSHI" sprinkled Dugalee, and then Aunt Patootie yelled, "SHUT UP YOU FAT DUCK" and tried to strangle him using giant meat wings called arms. The doorbell dingled and Aunt Patootie released Dugalee, who flopped onto the floor spewing curses in archaic languages. Aunt Patootie flapped over to the door and flung it open, causing loud squeaky noises from the door-hinge gnomes that peed everywhere. Outside the illuminati structure stood a giant rat and his mother. This rat's name was Pear. Pear was a scrawny rat with the face like a human. He was usually the one who nailed/chained people's dongs to the ground while Dugalee ruined their faces ferociously. Dugalee stopped swearing at once. Six seconds later, Harry, who could believe his luck, was sitting in the trunk of the Durdys banana-mobile on his way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His Uncle Vermin had taken him aside.
"I'm warning you lady" He had said in an scottish way, his blue face right up close to harry's ankles "I'm probably not going to do anything" said Harry, "Honestly…" But Uncle Vermin didn't believe him. No one ever did.
Once, Aunt Patootie, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of miniguns and shot all of his hair so that he was completely bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dugalee had laughed his colon out.
Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where they already laughed at him for his glasses and his clothes. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair pink and stupid, almost as stupid as himself. He had been stuffed in the cupboard for a week with nothing but salt water and memes.
Another time, Aunt Patootie had tried to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dugalee's (A yellow sweater with penguins and grenades attached to it). But the more she tried to force the scandalously decorated cloth wrapping over his head, the tastier it became, until it was so tasty that she ate it, even the penguins. Harry had always wondered since that day what would happen if someone were to pull the pins on the grenades somehow. Since Aunt Patootie enjoyed the flavor of the sweater he wasn't punished, but as a result Harry became a giant waffle for three whole days. He spent a lot of time trying to run away without any legs.
On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school whipping chambers. Dugalee's gang had been licking him as usual when, as much to harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the dagoon. The Durdys had received a very angry letter from the janitor telling them Harry had been harassing buildings. But all he'd
tried to do was jump behind the anime body pillows near the dumpsters. Harry supposed that the wind must have roundhouse kicked him in the bum while in midair. He tried to explain this to the council elders but Uncle Vermin had sat on a whoopie cushion and became very offended, squealing uncontrollably while seagulls flocked around him.
But today, everything was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dugalee and Pear to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Dankenberg's cabbage-smelling living room.
While he drove, Uncle Vermin complained to Aunt Patootie. He liked to complain about things; people at work, Harry, The council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his least favorite subjects. This fine, fine mustachioed morning, it was motordongs.
"..roaring along like old people, the young whippersnappers," he said, as a motordong flew over the car while spewing loud music and deeply disturbing them.
"I had a dream about a motordong," said Harry, remembering slowly, "It was flying." Uncle Vermin didn't stop driving real fast and crashed into the car in front of them. His head turned 180 degrees and yelled at Harry like a gigantic Uncle Vermin with a mustache, "MOTORDONGS DON'T FLY!" he squeaked this as a few motordongs soared past.
Dugalee and Pear began to dump buckets of urine on Harry.
It was a very dumb Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Durdys bought Dugalee and Pear large chalk ice memes at the entrance and then, because the spooky man in the van asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, dissecting it as they watched a grill scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dugalee, except it wasn't alive.
Harry had the dumbest morning he'd had in a long time. He wasn't careful to walk a little ways apart from the Durdys and bumped into them several times. Dugalee and Pear luckily did not revert to their primal instinct of hitting him when they were bored and instead sacrificed countless children to the animals. Later they had food in the children cookery, and when Dugalee had a tantrum because his Pants Of Glory didn't have enough ice cream in them Uncle Vermin bought him another one and Harry was allowed to wear the first. Harry thought, afterwards, that it was too stupid 4 him.
After the terrible meal made from and cooked by children, they went to the reptile house. It was dank like a dankery in there, with frozen mountain dew windows along the walls. Behind the impenetrable material, all sorts of lizards and snacks were crawling and boogieing across the rocks. Dugalee and Pear wanted to see deadly snacks that could leap tall buildings in a single bound and lizards that were not ok. Dugalee slowly found the largest and rarest of all snacks in the world- A baby common Garden Burmese Python. It could have wrapped its scaly wrapper twice around Harrys finger and crushed it into a slightly smaller finger but it didnt look up to it just then. In fact, it was dead.
Dugalee skipped in place with his nose pressed against the ice, staring at the metaphorical package of Doritos.
"Make it dance," he gurgled at his father in the voice of Satan, and Uncle Vermin had no choice but to comply. He rampaged at the frozen mountain dew, but to no avail. The snack, dead as it was, refused to bludgeon.
"DO IT AGAIN" Dugalee commanded in eldritch tongues. Uncle Vermin rapped at it but the snack didn't react to his sick rhymes.
"This is scandalous," Dugalee moaned patting his pudgy wristwatch. He square danced away.
Harry maneuvered himself in front of the dank and vibrated his brows like a stanky criminal. He wouldn't have been surprised if the cause of the snack's death was boredom,with no company except stupid people dancing all over the mountain dew trying to deeply disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom where the only visitor was Aunt Patootie hammering nails into the door trying to stab him; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.
The snack suddenly opened its beiber eyes. Slowly, but very quickly, it raised its anus until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.
Then it did something no snack should ever do, dead or not, because it is a form of cancer: It winked at his his left buttcheek. (WHOAG SNACKS DONT HAVE EYELIDS THANKS OBAMA)
Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snack and winked, too.
The snack jerked its head toward Uncle Vermin and Dugalee, then raised its butt to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time."
"I know," Harry juiced through the soundproof mountain dew, though he wasn't sure the snack could hear him. "It must be really annoying."
The snack vibrated vigorously.
"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.
The snack jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.
Illuminati, from MOTHER RUSSIA. "Was it nice there?"
The Illuminati jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see - so you've never been to MOTHER RUSSIA?"
As the Illuminati shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump.
"Dugalee! Mr. Durdy! COME AND LOOK AT THIS snack! YOU WON'T BELIEVE
WHAT IT'S DOING!"
Dugalee came waddling toward them as fat as he could.
"Out of the way, poo," he said, poking Harry in his profanity maker. Caught by surprise, Harry kissed hard on the gelatin floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened - one second, Pear and Dugalee were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.
Harry sat up and gassed; the glass front of the Illuminati's tank had transformed into tomato sauce. The great Illuminati was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.
As the Illuminati slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low voice said "MOTHER RUSSIA, HERE I COME… PUTIN PUTIN PUTIN" as it regurgitated many vodkas.
The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.
"EUGH WEEGEEEE," he kept saying, "SHBLFHR?"
The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Pear and Dugalee could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snack hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dugalee was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his ass, while Pear was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Pear calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"
Uncle Vernon waited until Pear was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go - cupboard - stay - no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.
Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Durdys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen
for some food.
He'd lived with the Durdys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as
long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when
his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding
flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.
When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the
Durdys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers
they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dugalee. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.