Authors' Extremely Important Note of Importancy: This is a story that we, Mariela and Melissa (view profile for more info), made up through various emails to each other over the course of a few days. It was planned to never be seen by anyone else, but obviously, thathas all been changed. We havecurrently written over nine chapters, and will be putting up one chapter a day... or every few days. We do not own Harry Potter, but we do own the characters that aren't in Harry Potter. Just the characters, though. Not the real people. Thoughthat'd be pretty awesome. Because all the non-Harry Potter folk are based on real people: our peers, our former teachers, etc. Anyways, wehave slightly altered the names of the people, for our own safety. And even though we hate "Brigitte"(100 completely)we do not hate the Asian race, or any race for that matter. We just think "Brigitte" isa horrible person. Also, this story is pure silliness, and there is a LOT of Harry bashing, so if you're a HP fangirl/boy, and are easily upset, we suggest you don't read this. All flames will be ignored, so don't even bother, folks. So now, ON WITH THE STORY!
You Can't Scream and Vomit at the Same Time : Chapter One
On a quiet street in the middle of a small town, there sat a house. It was surrounded by lush green vegetation, and huge oak trees that gave plenty of shade during the summer. The house in question was fairly large, and was painted deep blue with white trimmings. The soft summer breeze floated in through an open window. Gazing through said window was a Miss Samantha Black. She had long, thin, pale blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. She was dressed in a tight red mini skirt that brought too much attention to her ridiculously pale legs, and a low-cut purple shirt that gave her the look of a prostitute; a prostitute whom no one would pay to sleep with.
As a handsome boy walked past her window, she stuck her hip out to the left, and batted her heavily coated eyes. Her deep blue eye shadow had been put on a bit too generously, and the boy quickly walked away.
I bet he liked what he saw, she thought before turning away from the window. She was a bit prudent, and her ego was ridiculous for a person with such a figure. She glanced at the deep brown coffee table in the center of her living room. It was stacked high with Ms. Manners' books. She walked past it, and into the kitchen. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows.
Samantha turned, grabbed her spatula, but spun around too late. What she planned on doing with the spatula, she wasn't sure. Suddenly, the spatula flew out of her hand, and into the hands of the woman she was facing. She was weary with age, and her heavily wrinkled body was heaving from the difficulty of breathing. "Samantha Black?" she wheezed, bringing a handkerchief up to her face.
"What? Who are you? How did you get in here?" Samantha demanded, bringing down her ugly-sandal-covered foot onto her freshly waxed floors.
"I'm Ms. Nakathing, and I come from Hogwarts, the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Which really are the same thing. But we magic folk are sexist, so witchcraft is for girls, and wizardry is for boys. It's quite a shameful shame, actually, because..."
"Enough," Samantha interrupted, "I do not want to hear your drunken lies. Now if you don't have anything important to say, get out."
"Quite a tongue we have on this one!" Ms. Nakathing exclaimed, "But I will not be leaving yet, my dear, for I have important and astounding news for you and your family."
"Get on with it," Samantha moaned, shifting her weight.
"You're a wizard, Harry!"
Samantha looked at the woman in disbelief. "I'm a girl. And my name isn't Harry."
"You are? Oh my, my, my! I'm terribly sorry! You're a wizard, Samantha!"
"I'm still a girl."
"Oh," Ms. Nakathing said, looking down at a clipboard, "You're a witch, Samantha! There, are you happy now?"
"Yes, thank you very much," Samantha said, smiling at her proper correction of grammar. Then, suddenly realizing what Ms. Nakathing had said, her mouth dropped open in horror as if she were suddenly being attacked by mutant sea bass. "I'm a what?"
Meanwhile, on a miniscule island, which was in fact a peninsula and was part of the same small town, two girls were in the middle of a picnic. These two girls went by the names of Melissa and Mariela. Melissa had short, brown hair, recently dyed a few colors darker than it actually was. She was, unlike Samantha, dressed in jeans and a simple blue tank top. She also wore glasses, and blue converse. Mariela was also wearing jeans, but she wore a red tank top, and plain, white tennis shoes. They both had a modest amount of mascara and eyeliner on.
Now, these two girls were having quite a bit of fun with a small cat that they had encountered. It was a rather clean cat, and Melissa had only just picked it up when something amazing happened.
"Um, Mariela?"
"Yeah?"
"I've had a few fat cats, but this one is getting heavier by the second!"
Before Mariela could answer, Melissa dropped the cat. After several seoncds, it had completely transformed.
The girls now saw that it was not a cat at all, but a man! Not just any man, mind you! This man was wearing beige khakis, and a checkered button-up shirt. To their horror, the girls realized that the man's top button was undone and from where there should have been nothing at all, sprung a mane of chest hair.
Melissa and Mariela had only just said, "What the f uck!" before their world was turned upside down and sideways. You can't forget sideways.
Whilst Samantha was busy finding out about her "magical" gifts, and Mariela and Melissa were being harassed by a man with unusually long chest hair, Brigitte was reading a book.
Not just any book, mind you. Because Brigitte didn't exactly read random books.
It was a very unique book... a different kind of book...
Okay, it wasn't actually a book.
But it was a magazine. And magazines have very informative articles.
Magazine articles can be very noteworthy and exciting, and you can learn a lot from them.
They can be very educational.
But Brigitte wasn't reading an article.
She was staring at a beautiful blonde model, who was trying to sell Maybelline mascara.
"Wow," she whispered, staring at the pouting girl.
"What?" came a voice from the foot of her bed. Brigitte shot up in bed and looked around.
"Who is in my room?" she shrieked.
"Well, you are in your room," the voice said. Brigitte brought her knees up close to her chest.
"Wh-wh-what's going on?" she whispered. Her breathing got heavier and slower. She thought she might die. Which would be such a shame.
"Meow, meow, meow," the voice said. It was trying to sound like a cat, but it sounded very human. Brigitte's brow furrowed in confusion, which happened quite frequently.
Suddenly, a slender black cat waltzed from the front of her bed, and went over to Brigitte's bedside table.
Brigitte was quite surprised to see a dancing cat.
Especially one who could waltz.
But, anyway, the cat went over to Brigitte's table, and started licking the bottom drawer.
"Ew," she said, pointing at the cat with one of her long, manicured fingernails. She didn't say "Ew," with exlcaimation or anything of the sort, it was just a plain and simple, "Ew."
"What is your problem?" the black cat asked in a huffy voice. "I'm trying to tell you something. Haven't you ever seen that movie?"
"What movie? Lassie?"
"Heavens, no! Do I look like a sheepdog to you?" the cat said, looking slightly offended.
"No... errm... I'm sorry... you look like a cat... a talking cat..."
"How can you tell a cat can talk just by looking at it?" the cat retorted.
"I don't know..."
"You seem to not know a lot."
"Hey, that's not cool, mister!" Brigitte said, sitting up straighter.
"I don't care if I'm uncool!" the cat said, then sat down on one of Brigitte's fuzzy slippers.
"Get out of my room. You smell like talking cat."
"That can be changed...AND arranged..." the cat said, before it twirled into a twirly thing of smoke.
"What!" was all Brigitte could say before the cat turned into a tall, slightly balding man, wearing spectacles, a sweatshirt that read "San Francisco Boy's Choir", and khaki shorts.
"My name is Scott Mathieson, and I have come to tease you so much you will cry and throw nail polish at me."