Yes, it is another parody of Harry Potter, but give it a try. Go on. It's
funny, really. It'll only take five minutes or so. Really. You'll laugh at
least once. Oh come on, where are you going? (hears nothing but chirping
crickets) Hello? Puh, I'll write it anyway.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the films or characters or anything to do with it at all – except the books, which are cool.
ALLY ROTTER AND THE PHILOSPHER'S/SORCERER'S/WIZARD'S/MAGIC PHONE
aka ALLY ROTTER AND THE TITLE THAT GIVES AWAY PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE STORY, WHICH IS TERRIBLE ANYWAY AS EVERYONE'S OUT OF CHARACTER, AND THE TITLE IS
TOO LONG
The Girl who Lived (yes, you read that right, a girl. If you didn't realise this wasn't the original version, you are slightly odd. If you're still reading, you're slightly odd as well.)
The Duglies would have been a normal family, had their task in this book not been showing what a tragic life our heroine did lead. Just because of this fact, they are stuck being the prissy, un-magic family, who are so pompous they deserve Governor Swann's wig, instead of being a possible relation of the heroine or a future Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
They lived in their pompous house in their pompous street in their pompous town in their pompous county in their not-so-pompous country, as it couldn't be pompous because hello, it had our heroine in it. Not to mention Orlando Bloom. They'd just finished their pompous day, in which we were left in no doubt whatsoever to their pompousness because of Mr Dugly refusal to acknowledge several highly obvious magical facts, such as people Alliterating and Disalliterating every few feet, white rabbits hopping everywhere (followed by a man in black leather and sunglasses) and massive flashing neon signs in the sky reading 'REJOICE, FOR LORD VAL D'IZAIRE, THE HIGHLY EVIL WIZARD, IS DEAD!!!!!!!' No, he didn't even notice the seven exclamation marks. Shocking.
Anyway, after this highly pompous day, they all went to bed, Mr Dugly considering whether or not his company ought to buy more spades. His surname came from his company and his appearance merged. Night settled over street. This made it ever so slightly darker, but no less pompous. Shame. Then suddenly, with a puff of smoke, a slight whiff of feet and a strain of 'La Cucaracha', a man appeared on the corner.
He looked exactly like a child's picture of a wizard, except with slight mistakes; his purple robes were embroidered with peace signs and smily faces instead of stars, his glasses were massive, rainbow framed and pink tinted, and his hat had a parrot perched on top of it. Due to this long description, it is obvious that this is a major recurring character, so I'll tell you that his name was Fungus Crumblebore.
He looked up and down the street, pulled out a shotgun and shot out the lights of the lampposts. Due to a silencing spell he had used, no-one heard anything except twelve loud gunshots. But it was nearly Bonfire Night so no- one cared about bangs after dark, and anyone looking out their windows was far more likely to be worried by a man clicking a cigarette lighter in the middle of the street and causing bits of light to fly to it than of some nutter shooting out lamp bulbs.
He shuffled across the road, which was remarkably empty of joyriding youths (magic at work again) to where a hamburger was sitting on a wall. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McDonalds," he said.
"Wind in the sails," agreed the parrot.
The hamburger suddenly transformed into a middle-aged woman, wearing yellow robes with a large red M on the front of them. She retained the slight odour of grease, but Crumblebore was used to it.
"How did you know it was me?" she said.
"Well-" began Professor Crumblebore.
"Actually, save it," said Professor McDonalds. She was well aware of Professor Crumblebore's love of his own voice. Chances are if she asked him to explain anything, it would wind up being a long-winded description of his holiday in Majorca last year. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" replied Professor Crumblebore. Professor McDonalds rolled her eyes. This was his second favourite thing – answering a question with another question.
"Waiting for you."
"Then I'm here to stop you waiting."
"Look, Crumblebore, STOP being philosophical, I've been on this wall all day. I had to bite some chavs who decided that they couldn't be bothered to walk the 500m into town to Burger King."
"Oooh, that's going to have repercussions," said Crumblebore gleefully.
"You don't need to sound so happy about it," snapped Professor McDonalds.
"You always get so grouchy when you're cheese for more than half an hour," said Crumblebore, "I remember the time you-"
"Anyway," said Professor McDonalds hurriedly, "Why ARE you here?"
"I'm here to deliver Ally at her aunt and uncle's," he said, "Why are YOU here?"
"I already told – I heard from Haggle that you were coming," said Professor McDonalds, not attempting to argue.
"Ah, Haggle," said Crumblebore, looking thoughtful, for no apparent reason, or possibly a reason that would be revealed in the sixth or seventh book.
"Is it true that You-Know-Who-Oh-Come-On-Yes-You-DO-Know-Who-I-Told-You- About-Him-Only-Last-Week-You-Know-The-Evil-Guy-Like-Darth-Vader is dead?" "Well, you're really asking two questions there-"
"No I'm not. I'm asking one."
"Well," began Crumblebore, getting into his story-telling tone of voice, "He may be, he may not be, he may be neither, he may be both."
"Uh, Crumblebore – it's not possible to be both dead and alive."
"Yes it is. Magic."
"Ah, yes," nodded Professor McDonalds nervously, "Right. Magic. But what actually happened?"
"The question is not 'what', it is 'when'. 'When' actually happened?"
"That doesn't even make grammatical sense," protested Professor McDonalds.
"Yes it does," glared Crumblebore, "Trust me, I'm a wizard. Anyway, when it actually happened was yesterday evening. Lord Val d'Isere went and killed Jams and Lil' Kim Rotter."
"Jams and Lil' Kim?" said Professor McDonalds in shock, "But – why?"
"They bugged him, I guess. Anyway, that's not the main part of plot."
"It's not?"
"No. Check the title."
Professor McDonalds glanced at the cover of the book. "Ah – so what happened to Ally?"
"Well, this is the amazing point that will produce many more books in this series – she didn't die."
"What?"
"The question is not 'what', it is 'where'."
"No, it's actually 'what'. Oh wait, it should have been 'why', really, shouldn't it?"
"Yes. And the answer is, we don't know. Or rather I do know, but that's more of a fifth book revelation."
"Ah. Right."
Suddenly the sound of ringing filled the air. Descending from the sky and landing on the street, with a rather loud THUMP waking up everyone within a five-mile radius, who promptly rolled over thinking "Damn teenagers," and immediately fell back into a younger-generation-hating slumber, came a massive bicycle with a large man astride it. Actually, the bicycle could not really qualify as a bicycle, it was more of a trike – considering the neon pink framework, white wicker basket with plastic flowers on it, cheery bell and a reflector shaped like Tinkerbell. Sitting on it was a man, wearing a suit that was twice as garish and bright as any suit has the right to be. This man had the appearance of being tall, but that was just the charisma coming off him in waves. He had a slight hint of orange in his features.
"There you are, Haggle," said Professor McDonalds.
"Dead man tell no tales," agreed the parrot.
"Why is that parrot always threatening me?" said Haggle, eyeing the parrot nervously.
"The question is not 'why', it is 'when'?" mused Crumblebore.
"Well, I know the answer to that," said Haggle.
"Ah, but what is it?" said Crumblebore.
"... All the time," said Haggle.
"A-HA," said Crumblebore triumphantly, nodding to himself. McDonalds and Haggle glanced at each other uneasily.
"Anyway..." began Professor McDonalds after an awkward silence.
"Did you get what I asked for?" interrupted Professor Crumblebore, apparently unaware that it had been him who had caused the awkward silence in the first place.
"Grande double-mocha frappacino with extra cinnamon, right?" said Haggle, holding out a Starbucks bag.
"Verily, forsooth," said Professor Crumblebore, accepting the bag, "But also, the infant?"
"Uhh... maybe," said Haggle, "Thought I heard something fall out of the basket around Manchester, but that might have just been my sandwiches." Turning his immense back on them, he turned to rifling through the bicycle basket. As he searched, he threw out a bright pink knee-length boot, a goldfish in a plastic bag, a live peacock, several water pistols and a Terry's chocolate orange, before pulling out triumphantly a little baby wrapped in a Mickey Mouse washcloth.
"Disney," said Crumblebore, looking thoughtful again, "Hmmm..."
"Aaaah," said Professor McDonalds, maternal instinct taking over, "He's so adorable, coochy-coochy-coo!"
"It's a girl, Professor," said Haggle slightly nervously.
Professor McDonalds shot him a look, which hit Haggle's forehead and made him wince. "I knew that," she said sharply. She brushed the small little tuft of hair off her forehead and blinked. "Crumblebore, can't you do anything about this scar?"
"Oh, no, no, no," said Crumblebore, shaking his head so that his Peace sign earrings hit the sides of his face, "Scars can be damn useful plot devices. Also give you the sort of dashing, warrior look, don't you think?"
"Well, normal scars may do that," persisted Professor McDonalds, "But this one is bright purple and in the shape of a treble clef."
"Really?" said Crumblebore, nodding his head, "Hmmm." He didn't look particularly concerned, however, and shortly afterwards pulled out his mobile and started playing Snake.
"Hadn't we better, uh, put Ally on the doorstep?" said Haggle, still holding the baby. Crumblebore nodded distractedly, his thumb moving like lightning over the keys of his phone.
"Oh, but these people are terrible!" said Professor McDonalds, "Couldn't we keep it? Pleeease?"
Crumblebore looked up gravely. "Alas," he said. "Alack." He then turned his eyes back to the screen and said nothing more on the matter. Professor McDonalds sniffed with annoyance, and carried Ally over to the doorstep, laying her down gently in the hope of not waking her up. No such luck – as soon as Ally perceived that she was no longer being held, she opened her eyes and started shrieking at the top of her lungs.
"Aw bugger," said Professor McDonalds, "Professor, what should we do?-" She turned to see Crumblebore trotting away along the road as fast as his short little legs could carry him, and Haggle trying, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a tree. As lights turned on inside the house, Professor McDonalds glanced behind her fearfully, and then also raced away down the road, covering her hands with her ears to keep out the infant's wails. "My goodness," she thought to herself, "She has only been in the plot for a page or so, and yet she is already bugging people beyond their minds can imagine."
Ally herself was still screaming at the top of her voice, not knowing that she was special, not knowing that she was now the character of a seven-part book series, not knowing that she had a stupid treble clef on her forehead, not knowing that the rest of her life was going to be one long angst-fest, and not knowing what the hell E=mc2 meant, but then hardly anyone knows that, so how she was expected to when she was only a baby, I don't know. Magic, I guess.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the films or characters or anything to do with it at all – except the books, which are cool.
ALLY ROTTER AND THE PHILOSPHER'S/SORCERER'S/WIZARD'S/MAGIC PHONE
aka ALLY ROTTER AND THE TITLE THAT GIVES AWAY PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE STORY, WHICH IS TERRIBLE ANYWAY AS EVERYONE'S OUT OF CHARACTER, AND THE TITLE IS
TOO LONG
The Girl who Lived (yes, you read that right, a girl. If you didn't realise this wasn't the original version, you are slightly odd. If you're still reading, you're slightly odd as well.)
The Duglies would have been a normal family, had their task in this book not been showing what a tragic life our heroine did lead. Just because of this fact, they are stuck being the prissy, un-magic family, who are so pompous they deserve Governor Swann's wig, instead of being a possible relation of the heroine or a future Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
They lived in their pompous house in their pompous street in their pompous town in their pompous county in their not-so-pompous country, as it couldn't be pompous because hello, it had our heroine in it. Not to mention Orlando Bloom. They'd just finished their pompous day, in which we were left in no doubt whatsoever to their pompousness because of Mr Dugly refusal to acknowledge several highly obvious magical facts, such as people Alliterating and Disalliterating every few feet, white rabbits hopping everywhere (followed by a man in black leather and sunglasses) and massive flashing neon signs in the sky reading 'REJOICE, FOR LORD VAL D'IZAIRE, THE HIGHLY EVIL WIZARD, IS DEAD!!!!!!!' No, he didn't even notice the seven exclamation marks. Shocking.
Anyway, after this highly pompous day, they all went to bed, Mr Dugly considering whether or not his company ought to buy more spades. His surname came from his company and his appearance merged. Night settled over street. This made it ever so slightly darker, but no less pompous. Shame. Then suddenly, with a puff of smoke, a slight whiff of feet and a strain of 'La Cucaracha', a man appeared on the corner.
He looked exactly like a child's picture of a wizard, except with slight mistakes; his purple robes were embroidered with peace signs and smily faces instead of stars, his glasses were massive, rainbow framed and pink tinted, and his hat had a parrot perched on top of it. Due to this long description, it is obvious that this is a major recurring character, so I'll tell you that his name was Fungus Crumblebore.
He looked up and down the street, pulled out a shotgun and shot out the lights of the lampposts. Due to a silencing spell he had used, no-one heard anything except twelve loud gunshots. But it was nearly Bonfire Night so no- one cared about bangs after dark, and anyone looking out their windows was far more likely to be worried by a man clicking a cigarette lighter in the middle of the street and causing bits of light to fly to it than of some nutter shooting out lamp bulbs.
He shuffled across the road, which was remarkably empty of joyriding youths (magic at work again) to where a hamburger was sitting on a wall. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McDonalds," he said.
"Wind in the sails," agreed the parrot.
The hamburger suddenly transformed into a middle-aged woman, wearing yellow robes with a large red M on the front of them. She retained the slight odour of grease, but Crumblebore was used to it.
"How did you know it was me?" she said.
"Well-" began Professor Crumblebore.
"Actually, save it," said Professor McDonalds. She was well aware of Professor Crumblebore's love of his own voice. Chances are if she asked him to explain anything, it would wind up being a long-winded description of his holiday in Majorca last year. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" replied Professor Crumblebore. Professor McDonalds rolled her eyes. This was his second favourite thing – answering a question with another question.
"Waiting for you."
"Then I'm here to stop you waiting."
"Look, Crumblebore, STOP being philosophical, I've been on this wall all day. I had to bite some chavs who decided that they couldn't be bothered to walk the 500m into town to Burger King."
"Oooh, that's going to have repercussions," said Crumblebore gleefully.
"You don't need to sound so happy about it," snapped Professor McDonalds.
"You always get so grouchy when you're cheese for more than half an hour," said Crumblebore, "I remember the time you-"
"Anyway," said Professor McDonalds hurriedly, "Why ARE you here?"
"I'm here to deliver Ally at her aunt and uncle's," he said, "Why are YOU here?"
"I already told – I heard from Haggle that you were coming," said Professor McDonalds, not attempting to argue.
"Ah, Haggle," said Crumblebore, looking thoughtful, for no apparent reason, or possibly a reason that would be revealed in the sixth or seventh book.
"Is it true that You-Know-Who-Oh-Come-On-Yes-You-DO-Know-Who-I-Told-You- About-Him-Only-Last-Week-You-Know-The-Evil-Guy-Like-Darth-Vader is dead?" "Well, you're really asking two questions there-"
"No I'm not. I'm asking one."
"Well," began Crumblebore, getting into his story-telling tone of voice, "He may be, he may not be, he may be neither, he may be both."
"Uh, Crumblebore – it's not possible to be both dead and alive."
"Yes it is. Magic."
"Ah, yes," nodded Professor McDonalds nervously, "Right. Magic. But what actually happened?"
"The question is not 'what', it is 'when'. 'When' actually happened?"
"That doesn't even make grammatical sense," protested Professor McDonalds.
"Yes it does," glared Crumblebore, "Trust me, I'm a wizard. Anyway, when it actually happened was yesterday evening. Lord Val d'Isere went and killed Jams and Lil' Kim Rotter."
"Jams and Lil' Kim?" said Professor McDonalds in shock, "But – why?"
"They bugged him, I guess. Anyway, that's not the main part of plot."
"It's not?"
"No. Check the title."
Professor McDonalds glanced at the cover of the book. "Ah – so what happened to Ally?"
"Well, this is the amazing point that will produce many more books in this series – she didn't die."
"What?"
"The question is not 'what', it is 'where'."
"No, it's actually 'what'. Oh wait, it should have been 'why', really, shouldn't it?"
"Yes. And the answer is, we don't know. Or rather I do know, but that's more of a fifth book revelation."
"Ah. Right."
Suddenly the sound of ringing filled the air. Descending from the sky and landing on the street, with a rather loud THUMP waking up everyone within a five-mile radius, who promptly rolled over thinking "Damn teenagers," and immediately fell back into a younger-generation-hating slumber, came a massive bicycle with a large man astride it. Actually, the bicycle could not really qualify as a bicycle, it was more of a trike – considering the neon pink framework, white wicker basket with plastic flowers on it, cheery bell and a reflector shaped like Tinkerbell. Sitting on it was a man, wearing a suit that was twice as garish and bright as any suit has the right to be. This man had the appearance of being tall, but that was just the charisma coming off him in waves. He had a slight hint of orange in his features.
"There you are, Haggle," said Professor McDonalds.
"Dead man tell no tales," agreed the parrot.
"Why is that parrot always threatening me?" said Haggle, eyeing the parrot nervously.
"The question is not 'why', it is 'when'?" mused Crumblebore.
"Well, I know the answer to that," said Haggle.
"Ah, but what is it?" said Crumblebore.
"... All the time," said Haggle.
"A-HA," said Crumblebore triumphantly, nodding to himself. McDonalds and Haggle glanced at each other uneasily.
"Anyway..." began Professor McDonalds after an awkward silence.
"Did you get what I asked for?" interrupted Professor Crumblebore, apparently unaware that it had been him who had caused the awkward silence in the first place.
"Grande double-mocha frappacino with extra cinnamon, right?" said Haggle, holding out a Starbucks bag.
"Verily, forsooth," said Professor Crumblebore, accepting the bag, "But also, the infant?"
"Uhh... maybe," said Haggle, "Thought I heard something fall out of the basket around Manchester, but that might have just been my sandwiches." Turning his immense back on them, he turned to rifling through the bicycle basket. As he searched, he threw out a bright pink knee-length boot, a goldfish in a plastic bag, a live peacock, several water pistols and a Terry's chocolate orange, before pulling out triumphantly a little baby wrapped in a Mickey Mouse washcloth.
"Disney," said Crumblebore, looking thoughtful again, "Hmmm..."
"Aaaah," said Professor McDonalds, maternal instinct taking over, "He's so adorable, coochy-coochy-coo!"
"It's a girl, Professor," said Haggle slightly nervously.
Professor McDonalds shot him a look, which hit Haggle's forehead and made him wince. "I knew that," she said sharply. She brushed the small little tuft of hair off her forehead and blinked. "Crumblebore, can't you do anything about this scar?"
"Oh, no, no, no," said Crumblebore, shaking his head so that his Peace sign earrings hit the sides of his face, "Scars can be damn useful plot devices. Also give you the sort of dashing, warrior look, don't you think?"
"Well, normal scars may do that," persisted Professor McDonalds, "But this one is bright purple and in the shape of a treble clef."
"Really?" said Crumblebore, nodding his head, "Hmmm." He didn't look particularly concerned, however, and shortly afterwards pulled out his mobile and started playing Snake.
"Hadn't we better, uh, put Ally on the doorstep?" said Haggle, still holding the baby. Crumblebore nodded distractedly, his thumb moving like lightning over the keys of his phone.
"Oh, but these people are terrible!" said Professor McDonalds, "Couldn't we keep it? Pleeease?"
Crumblebore looked up gravely. "Alas," he said. "Alack." He then turned his eyes back to the screen and said nothing more on the matter. Professor McDonalds sniffed with annoyance, and carried Ally over to the doorstep, laying her down gently in the hope of not waking her up. No such luck – as soon as Ally perceived that she was no longer being held, she opened her eyes and started shrieking at the top of her lungs.
"Aw bugger," said Professor McDonalds, "Professor, what should we do?-" She turned to see Crumblebore trotting away along the road as fast as his short little legs could carry him, and Haggle trying, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a tree. As lights turned on inside the house, Professor McDonalds glanced behind her fearfully, and then also raced away down the road, covering her hands with her ears to keep out the infant's wails. "My goodness," she thought to herself, "She has only been in the plot for a page or so, and yet she is already bugging people beyond their minds can imagine."
Ally herself was still screaming at the top of her voice, not knowing that she was special, not knowing that she was now the character of a seven-part book series, not knowing that she had a stupid treble clef on her forehead, not knowing that the rest of her life was going to be one long angst-fest, and not knowing what the hell E=mc2 meant, but then hardly anyone knows that, so how she was expected to when she was only a baby, I don't know. Magic, I guess.