Project S.P.E.D- Stupid Parodies Executing Dumbness
Hello, I am the manager of Project S.P.E.D. You don't need to know my name, and you don't need to know my e-mail. Why? Because I don't need you flaming me by *mail* too! I happen to love Harry Potter, and I have another Pen Name, which I'm not naming, and on that I write very good, respectful, (Fairly wholesome) Fanfictions. I do NOT think any of the characters I use are gay, stupid, sped, or otherwise. I am NOT making fun of Mentally Disabled people. I'm just using this to help me. I have this problem where in my fanfictions I can't get myself to make fun of any of the characters. So I'm using this to shatter my barriers. So please don't take this seriously, I LOVE Harry Potter, and I LOVE the characters that I will make fun of in this parody series. Don't kill me! Along with writing overly serious Fanfics, I am sensitive. :::Puppy eyes::: Please, just be open-minded and help me, tell me what you think. I know rape and molestation are serious topics, as well as mental conditions and other whacked out ideas that I will use, but I needed to be extreme. I'll try to make this funny, help me! And give me *really* stupid ideas. :) –The Editor
The Brainstormer- Another Fanfic author, and my best friend. She was the one who convinced me to do this, and the one who came up with the idea. *She* has no problem mocking characters. (Scowls) She's helping me, but I need your help too. HELP ME!
Speddy- The Writer in charge of all the really dumb stuff.
Slash- The Writer in charge of all the slash (M/m, f/f) stuff.
*Sexthy*- The writer in charge of all the *sexual* content.
Well, you know us. Now know the plot…
Project S.P.E.D- The Mission, Should It Fail to Kill You
Mrs. Rowling, a popular and famous Fantasy writer, was sitting at her desk, writing furiously. Her pen scrawled up and down in her Composition Notebook. For once, her daughter was not screaming for attention, and she had only to focus on her writing. She was working on the next book in her amazing series, Harry Potter and the Flight of the Demons. At least that was the working title. It might be changed at any point to "Harry Potter and the Forest of Night" or "Harry Potter and the Book of Ages". It all depended on what those obsessing Fanfic Authors, Fanatics, and RPGers on the Internet found out. She smiled to herself. Maybe she would change the title into "Harry Potter and the Vicious Fans". How would they react to that?
She hummed the tune to "You're so Vain", by God-knows-who in God-knows-where, U.S.A.
Suddenly there was a rap at the door. She looked up from a particularly suspenseful and ominous part in the book, a chapter called "The Half World". A forbidding feeling swept over her, but she ignored it. That was a book, *her* book, it wasn't real. Voldemort didn't go around knocking on doors anyway, unless he had decided to become a Girl Scout. She chuckled to herself and opened the door.
A tall, thin, bald, and incredibly pale man stood in front of her, in black robes. Behind him was a small, plump man, with a slowly receding hairline. They were evil and cold looking, and leering in an unpleasant manner. They could be only one thing.
"OH NO!" Ms. Rowling said. "ADULT FANATICS!"
The pale man looked at her, an odd expression on his face. "…Excuse me…?"
"HOW SICK CAN YOU GET! LEAVE ME ALONE! WHEN KIDS DO IT, IT'S CUTE, BUT YOU NEED TO GET LIVES!"
The man blinked. "Uh…."
She slammed the door and glared at it, as if it had been bothering her. *Really…*
Murmuring was heard outside the door.
"My Lord…?"
"I don't think she gets it."
"What do you suggest?"
"Surely, after all the time that boy has taken up, surely she wants to teach him a lesson?"
"She gets paid to work with him. Paid a lot."
"Ah… financial reasons, eh? Well, nothing is more important than money, except maybe revenge, so we'll probably just have to force it out of her."
"As you wish, My Lord."
A pause. Rowling's intelligent mind, with brilliant and creative Genius, quickly drew a flabbergasting conclusion from the facts.
*HOLY F***! PSYCHOS!*
Outside the door, The tall man and the short man pondered what to do.
"Conjure up an bunny?"
"No."
"Sing the theme song to Duck Tales?"
"They had a theme song?"
"Hmmm…"
"I've got it! Wormtail, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"
"I think so, Lord, but where are we going to find a Tutu that glows in the dark?"
"At the Disney Store, of course! But that wasn't what I was pondering."
"That we should buy the rights to Pokemon and scare little kids by bringing Tracey back?"
Back inside with Rowling…
*Gosh, I wasn't expecting company. Maybe I should hide that Porno…*
**Outside…**
"Everybody, *POLKAMON!*"
"Articuno, Jynx, Squirtle, Beedrill!"
"PO-KAY-MON!"
**Inside again…**
*Shouldn't I be doing something…? Oh! Wait, yeah… blocking the door. Hmmm…Wow, take a look at the size of that…*
"I CHOOSE YOU, PIKACHU!"
"Pika."
"No! You're not doing it right! You have to be happy!"
"My Lord?"
THUNK
"Awwwww, the Pokeball missed!"
"No it didn't…"
The small plump man named Wormtail suddenly collapsed in a heap.
"Wormtail? Wormtail? Uh oh…"
Well, the situation looked pretty bad. Wormtail was suffering from head injury, Rowling had no place to hide her porn from the psychos, and poor Mr. Pale Man was all alone, and didn't have a driver's license. What to do? He couldn't get anywhere without Wormtail, because he was afraid of strangers! They kept trying to kill him, and he didn't know why. It was all very not-shiny. So, Mr. Pale- All-Alone-Man could think of only two solutions to this. He could either a) Find some chickens and use them to destroy the world, or b) Ask the nice screaming lady to help him. And then he could do what he had originally planned to do, and force her to… well, he couldn't say. What he planned to do was a secret, and no one was supposed to know. Not even him. He was always very good with secrets.
So he walked up to the door and knocked.
Inside, Mrs. Rowling had finally managed to find a place for her nude pictures. She hid them behind her first edition copies of all her books, and was up on a step stool, humming as she stuffed them in. Suddenly the door opened with a creak and in walked….
"LUCY, I'M HOOOOOME!"
Voldie-poo.
Rowling turned around with lightening quick reflexes and promptly fell of the step stool.
"Well," She said to Voldie- poo, "Know that you're in," She carefully observed the plump man in his arms, "Wont you sit down?"
"Do you think you could help Wormtail?"
She blinked.
Wormtail?
Well, this seemed to settle it, she was either going insane, or her characters had come to life and were about to kill her because she made them look like bad guys. Yes, this was definitely not her day.
This is why you never disrupt habits. This wouldn't be happening if your daughter was here like normal. Never, ever disrupt habits. Or at least don't make a habit of disrupting habits.
Yes, it was time to blame habits. Boy, was this a mess for poor Rowling.
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Well, what happened after that was fairly boring. So instead of going on and on about how long it took to revive Wormtail, and how utterly nervous Rowling was, we're going to skip to the end of this story, so you'll finally figure this all out and know why we're rambling on and on about nothing in particular.
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Wormtail blinked. The last… the last thing he could recall… was being hit with a Pokeball. One of these days, his master's obsessions were going to kill someone. Probably him.
"Oh, good, you're awake!"
He looked up.
And he nearly passed out again.
"You!" he gasped.
"Me?" Rowling said, puzzled.
"Master, I suggest we get started." Wormtail said, sitting up. His master looked up from a newspaper and a cup of tea.
"What? Oh, yes, of course. Ms. Rowling, we have a bit of a chore for you."
"BUT I DON'T WANNA CLEAN MY ROOM!"
"Erm, not exactly…."
"Oh, just forget it. Imperious!"
And Ms. Rowling sat down heavily onto her desk chair.
Voldemort smiled nastily. His yellowed teeth spread up into the corners of his jaw line, and his shiny bald head reflected the light like a pair of binoculars. If Ms. Rowling had been in control of her body, she might have shuddered.
"Dear me," Wormtail said with a simpering grin, "I would have thought she'd put up a better fight…."
"Tea time's over, Ma'am. We have a job for you, a job that will insure my success. We need you to write us some "Fanfictions"…. Nothing to terrible…just… enough to make poor Harry miserable." He laughed like the maniac he was, with his frighteningly high-pitched voice.
And she turned to her pile of loose leaf, and began writing…
The end is near, my friends. The end is near.
Part Two- The Beginning of the End, In Which Things Turn Semi-Ugly.