A Pathetically Un-funny Harry Potter Story
Disclaimer: I do not, I repeat, DO NOT own Harry Potter. Do you honestly think I would insult my own characters this way? Of course not.
Author's note: This is meant to be funny. It probably isn't. Don't flame me or anything. Also, this story contains graphic depictions of...certain aspects of the female anatomy. No sex, but you get the picture. Do not read if you don't like that kind of stuff. Although, who in their right mind wouldn't?
Harry Potter was sitting in his room, staring at the wall eating ice cream with a fork for lack of a better thing to do. He had been home from school for only 2 days and he was already bored out of his fucking mind. Even crying for hours about Sirius didn't break the endless monotony. It might have been more exciting had his relatives been there, but alas, they were on a vacation to Scotland. Obviously, Harry wasn't coming, since he's sitting in his room eating ice cream with a fork instead of squashed between two morbidly obese guys on an airplane.
Now finished with his tub of ice cream, Harry flipped on the TV. He stared at the moving pictures for two hours but turned it off when he decided that reality TV was worse than getting your legs crushed by a bus. So Harry went downstairs and looked longingly at the outside world. He had received a letter specifically forbidding him from going outside because those fucking little crybabies at Grimmauld place feared for his safety.
Because there was nothing left to do in the house except watch reality TV and sleep, Ron came bursting in his Dad's magical flying car. "Wow! Thanks Ron! I could tell the author was really running out of ideas for me doing stuff!" Harry said as Ron stepped out of the Magical Flying Shitmobile. "Huh? Author? What?" Ron asked, confused. "Apparently you don't realize this is just a story, Ron. We aren't controlling any of our actions." Harry replied. "That's some heavy shit. That might take some getting used to." Ron stated. "Now, are you fucking going to fucking get in the fucking car or what?" Ron continued, obviously trying to be cool by using more swear words than needed.
Harry climbed into the shitmobile and they flew over to Ron's run-down-piece-of-crap-uglier-than-a-used-tampon house. It was uglier than Harry remembered. "Gee, if I had control of my own actions I'd probably blow this place straight to fucking hell." Harry thought. But since this is my story, and I can do whatever I want, Ron magically heard his thoughts and began beating Harry into the ground. "Fucking shit-licking donkey-dick-eating piece-of-horse-crap motherfucking son-of-a-bitch retarded-gaywad, nobody ever fucking talks about my house that way, ever," Ron grunted in between punches. "I didn't even say anything! God fucking dammit, stop right the fuck now!" Harry yelled.
Ron stopped beating him up. Not because of Harry's pleas for mercy, but because he was overtaken by the spirit of a deceased German pharmacist named Klaus. He began screaming German obsceneties as he walked off in the direction of the woods. Harry just sat there in stunned disbelief.
That is, until Ginny came out.
Ginny sure had...ahem... "grown" during the summer, although the growth had been more horizontal than vertical. Harry couldn't take his eyes off her naked ta-tas (Not really naked, more like a metaphorical naked, if you know what I mean) and found himself in the "red zone." For the less enlightened members of the audience, that means he had a massive erection.
But then, all of a sudden, Ginny's chest really was naked. Her boobies bounced joyfully to and fro, happily released from their cottony prison. Harry's ding-dong somehow got even larger. It was easily visible from ten miles away. Hell, it was even visible from fucking space. Ginny either hadn't noticed, or simply did not care. She walked up to Harry and give him a big hug. "I'm so happy you came Harry. I just know we're going to have sooo much fun this summer." Ginny said. Harry almost died, but not quite because then I'd have to end the story.
Ginny ran back into the house, her tits jumping up and down like jello. Harry slowly walked back to the house in a daze. He sincerely wished he had a camera. Then he wouldn't have to rely on mental images.
As he walked in the door he saw something that no person should have to see.
Mrs. Weasley had all her clothes off and was vigorously masturbating. Harry threw up and passed out after only a few seconds of watching this horrendous spectacle of human eroticism. While he was passed out, Mrs Weasley put her clothes back on (thank god!) and went to do some cooking or something.
When Harry woke up a huge pair of bouncing titties was in his face. Harry had to really resist the urge to reach up and grab them. "Harry! Are you okay?" Ginny asked him. "Yeah, I'm fine..." Harry responded, sincerely thanking whatever god there is out there that Ginny didn't realize the fact that she had no top on. Harry sat up and looked around. For some reason everything was purple. Fucking purple. He was confused for a while until he realized that he had a piece of purple cellophane stuck to his face. He ripped it off. "Wow, that was weird. What a stupid way to make a story longer" Harry thought.
"Hey, Ginny, would you happen to know where Ron went?" Harry asked. Ginny didn't respond. She was too busy doing jumping jacks. "Bounce...bounce...bounce...bounce..." was all that Harry's head was capable of thinking about. Then, in a desperate attempt by the author to get off the subject of female anatomy, Hermione came in. But the author's plans were foiled when it turned out she didn't have a shirt on either.
"Oh, fucking dammit" Harry yelled as Hermione walked in the door. "Fucking shit-ass christ-raping hell. Jesus." Harry continued as Hermione's chest jiggled happily. "Fucking nutsack balls" added Harry, obviously distressed by the presence of two pairs of very large breasts in the same room as him. "What's wrong Harry? Aren't you glad to see me?" Hermione asked in a whimpery voice.
Harry couldn't take it any more. He jizzed in his pants, making a large sopping stain on the front of his jeans. Embarassed beyond any conceivable human limit, Harry killed himself with a sledgehammer that was conveniently close by. "Well, that was pretty fucked up right there." commented Hermione as if she were talking about the weather. "Oh well, it doesn't really matter. Neville was the real one who could defeat Lord Voldemort." "True dat." said Ginny.
For some reason, Neville was right there. "OMG LOL w00t i am teh 1337-r0xx0r IMHO!1!" Neville yelled, apparently very glad that he got to kill the most powerful wizard ever. "1337!" Neville than took out a huge piece of toast and started munching on it. Hermione and Ginny just stared at him for a while until the story ended.
THE END, BITCHES