Disclaimer: Hello, I am LordHighCommanderOfTheUniverse and this is my sock puppet Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin. Who is keeping his remarks to himself for the next few seconds due to the wonders of duct tape. I hereby state that the characters and what not do not belong to me. If they did, you would think that this would be in a book rather then on the internet, wouldn't you? If you said no to that statement, you do not understand the concept of money, and are therefore much too young to be reading this. With that stated, please proceed to the sign marked 'EXIT.' That would be the bright red neon drawings over on your right. This is the completely and entirely fake story of Harry Potter at Tomatoleaves School of Baking and Pastrying. Mind you, I have been telepathically saying all this. You merely believe you are reading it. Therefore, there are no quotes as it is not there. Please feel free to scroll downwards.
Harry Potter and the Baker's Batter
Chapter One: Tyrannical Sock Puppets
Once upon a time, in a land very far away from where the author lives that was completely unreal and called England, lived a boy. Although many boys lived in this very far away land from where the author lives that was completely unreal and called England, this boy had just had his parents killed by the evil rogue baker, Chef Emeril. The boy who had his parents killed rather horribly by Chef Emeril had managed to survive the killing donut hole tossed at him. Thus by doing so, Chef Emeril sort of died in the process. See, a bird suddenly flew in the window right as the donut hole was tossed and, of course, everybody knows that birds are immune to killing donut holes. So, the donut hole grazed Harry a bit, giving him a bit of Chef Emeril's powers. So, Bakers everywhere slept soundly that night, knowing Chef Emeril's evil reign had been stopped. Since Harry had survived this nasty and unfortunate run in with evil baking, he was destined to become a Baker.
That is once the Head Chef, the Saleswoman, and the Keeper of the Deli managed to get him to the Dursleys, which was the house of Harry's Aunt and Uncle. Which for the sake of the story, they did.
Ten years later in a land very far away from where the author lives that was completely unreal and called England, in a house in which the boy's Aunt Petunia, as in the sister of his mother who was dead after having been killed by the evil rogue Chef Emeril, as well as her husband who was the father of a boy living in a land very far away from where the author lives that was completely unreal and called England in a house, by the name of Harry Potter, who was nearly 11 years old and was living in a cupboard under the stairs in a house which his Uncle Vernon, who married the sister of the mother of Harry, who was married to his father, who had both been killed by the evil Chef Emeril by the killing donut hole which was then used to kill Harry, but had backfired, thus draining Chef Emeril of power and making Harry as good as Emeril, who is an evil rogue Chef of immense power who had been terrorizing-
"Dude! You're giving me a headache with that!" shouted LordHigh- let's give her a simpler name, eh? How about… Person. Yes that works after all she doesn't matter, I do. Typed Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin while typing this very line you are reading.
"Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin stop being evil!" commanded Person while shaking Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin about and hurting his poor fragile body. Poor, defenseless, sweet kind, lovable Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin.
"Stop writing that!" yelled Person. Odd, that's all she ever does. Bit of a nag really. Nasty old rotten badger.
"Fine, fine ruin my life's work why don't you!" moaned Person resignedly. I always win, pity I'm just a sock puppet.
Today was Dudley's eleventh birthday. Dudley is the cousin of Harry and, for the sake of your eyes, I'm not restating who is who. The boy was fat, for he had enslaved Harry several years ago as his own personal chef. His parents wouldn't like that if they found out, for baking of any sort was a very bad thing to the Dursleys. They went out, bought fast food, and dined at restaurants, leaving poor Harry alone in the cupboard under the stairs with a bit of bread. They, just like every other family in the land that the author lived in named America, which was very far away from the completely unreal land named England, never baked food. However, I digress. Today, for Dudley's special day he and his friend, who hated Harry, like everyone else, were going to the zoo.
Harry wasn't supposed to be going with the Durselys to the zoo. However, for the sake of the story, the person who was to be watching him backed out. So, after some verbal abuse from his Uncle Vernon, Harry was taken along to the zoo. The first stop at the zoo was the petting zoo. Dudley and his friend, who hated Harry like everyone else, wanted to see the chickens. However, as the chickens were just laying about doing nothing, the boys found it boring and moved on towards the llama. Harry stayed by the chickens and started talking to one. It was a rather interesting conversation about the living conditions at the zoo. Oddly, this didn't really strike him as odd, so he didn't run around screaming his head off at the fact he was having a conversation with a chicken about the living conditions of the zoo. Dudley and his friend rushed over because the chicken was moving, and everybody knows chickens are the most fascinating creature on earth. By rushing over, they shoved Harry to the side. This angered the chicken, because the chicken hadn't had a good conversation for the last three months. Then, suddenly, the fencing incasing the chickens vanished. Thus, Dudley and his friend fell into the area and the fencing, which was only two feet high, reappeared. The angry chicken began to attack. It was a vicious battle. The boys never stood a chance.