CHAPTER ONE THE BOY WHO HAD TOO MANY NICKNAMES
Once upon a time, there was a house at Number 4 Privet Drive, where a dysfunctional family lived. The husband was fat, with blubber that jiggled as he walked. Just last week, he had been pierced a harpoon and laughed, declaring it was only a flesh wound. The wife was a hooker picked up in Tijuana. She had broken the heel of her scarlet stilletto, causing her market value to decrease substantially.
The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. They only said this because he brought in revenue. Not even a year old, he had already been declared illegally obese, bringing in money from "the man," as the hippie-like Mrs. Dursley spoke.
Petunia Dursley had long dirty blonde hair, tied into eleven different braids, and covered with a thin, gauzy silk scarves. The pervasive scent of cigarette smoke and cheap rose perfume clung about her, even in her OCD-clean house. Her outfit was jarring, in a skimpy little sports bra and a long orange skirt, adorned with purple flowers. Cheap wooden necklaces from Cancun hung around her long neck, falling to her ribcage. She was a loud, gossipy woman who spoke with a lot of hand gestures, causing her bracelets to chime against one another.
Vernon was a large, beefy man, with a bad haircut, ugly boots, a mangy soul patch and a gas station jumpson, with a name patch reading: 'Al.'
Petunia sighed, "Vernie, I wish you wouldn't wear that!" She scolded, spraying Lysol over the plastic food. Real food attracted bugs, after all.
"Dammit, Petty! I killed a man for this suit!" Vernon yelled, hawking a loogie into a glass.
Clearing her throat, Petunia held out a jar, and he reluctantly placed a quarter into it. "Why did you kill him, again?" She asked.
"Dammit, he was looking at me funny!"
"He was the guy who lived on the corner, right?"
"Damn straight!"
"He's BLIND!" She yelled, throwing her hands into the air.
"That's exactly why. He been gropin' my wimmen as she helped him across the street."
"But I never..."
"Not you, Petty. Your sister. The pretty one."
"I HAVE NO SISTER! I WALK ALONE!" Petunia hollered, sending the windows rattling. Dudley began to sob. Petunia whirled on him, only to find him choking on a plastic biscuit. "Ew!" She gasped, "You just got your germy drool all over my plastic scone!"
Leaving his son choking as Petunia continued to unload her feelings of what she thought about drool, germs, alcohol, pesticides, anthrax, the government, hippies, drugs, sex, alcohol, rock music, and the first amendment, Vernon went to work.
On the way to work, Vernon sang to himself, "Hey, I'm a redneck woman... I ain't no high class broad... I'm just a product of my raisin... I say, 'hey y'all' and 'yee-haw'..." He glanced out the window to see a bikini-clad woman turn into a cat. "Damn, she must be flexible," he grunted.
Minerva McGonagall finished apparating, and shook her head, "Fucking Kangaroos." She muttered, with a swish of bleached blonde hair. On accident - she had never been good at Apparating, contrary to popular belief - she had ended up in Cancun. She pulled out her ridiculously tiny cell phone, and drunk-dialed the AOL Help Desk guy, "Hey! Man!" She greeted, "Am I slurrin' my speech?"
In the mountains of Canada, Voldemort laughed as he stormed the Potter household. "H4H4H4H4H4. WUT N00BS U R." He decreed.
James Potter, dressed in tattered blue jeans and a flannel shirt, shrugged.
"Jethro!" A dark-haired spectral man, called Tom Riddle Senior, hollered, "They're makin' funna yew, boy!"
Voldemort turned, "P4! \/\/l-l4T U )01N' 0N teh l)Al/lg r00f, P4?"
"What do you think?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, "Lady? Or the tramp?"
Lucius regarded his wife experimentally, leaning over her shoulder to grab the video game controller, "So...we're playing Panty Raider, huh?"
She nodded briskly, "Yes."
"I say go for the tramp."
"Sir, ma'am..." The zitty boy who was unlocking the crane game to retrive the quarters squeaked, his voice cracking, "Are you gonna buy anything?"
Lucius turned, his silk-lined ermine cape billowing out behind him, "Do you know who I am? I am Lucius I, the Emperor of the United States."
"S-since when, sir?" The boy managed.
"Since September 17th, 1859! Look it up!" Lucius snapped, his eyes cold.
Narcissa smirked. "Bitch!" She called.
Lucius turned, "Yes, ma'am?" He squeaked nervously.
"Go buy me a sandwich!" Her blue eyes flashed, "You worthless slut!"
"Yes, ma'am."