(A/N) Greetings. Salutations. Shalom. I'm back. Now, admittedtly, I'm more sober than I usually have been before. I've had 2 IPAs tonight. Currently drinking this one called Rapunzel from Arcadia Ales. Incidentally, it was brewed with Michigan Hops. This is not a sponsorship. Rather, my sobriety may have emerged as a result of my eating a turkey sandwich, or my general cynical self-reflection in the past few days. I can't write narrative for shit. I'm so used to writing research papers and other sorts of incendiary prose that I can't really do this stuff. Never the less (Yes, I meant to space it like that) here's Chapter 3. Let me just remember what I'd previously written. Ok done.
Previously on Harry Potter and the Inebriated Author. Harry kicked Harry crow in the cock and he flew out the window of the Hogwarts Express. Though you probably know that, seeing as this page was the click of a button away for you the reader and not a month and a half away for me the writer.
Speaking of which (but not actually even related) is there such thing as Wizard Comedy? Are there Wizard Comedians? Does a Wizard Jerry Seinfeld (Harry Seinfeld?) ever go on stage and say, "Hey, what's the deal with Transfiguration?" I don't know how lucrative that would be, since wizards seem to be barely intelligent enough to cope for themselves let alone understand humor and nuance.
Also, I never really made it clear what happened at the end of the last chapter. I'm leaving it to you, the reader, to fill in the holes left by me, the unreliable narrator and author.
After having promptly kicked the young Lord Harry Crow in the peen and out the window, Harry took a seat in the cart. His newfound companion Hermione—or rather, Dr. Spock—stared at him in awe and amazement.
"Did you really just kick that kid in the dick? And did he realyl fly out the window?" She enquired.
"Look, toots," Harry said misogynistically (because who really uses the word toots unless they're talking about a steamboat or being a misogynist), "You done seen it wit your own eyes. So mote it be." Harry paused and continued, "Now are ya gonna sit down or just keep the compartment door open and let out all the cold air?"
"Actually, I'm looking for a toad. A boy named Neville's lost one," she retortded. (A/N I spelled that wrong but I don't particularly care to change it.)
"Very well. Go on then, pointy ears," Harry said, referencing the rich cultural icon Star Trek. What a great show. As Hermione left the compartment, Harry shuffled around in his seat. He squirmed to and fro. He was bored. Ultimately, he wiggled his hand into his pant pocket and pulled out his iPhone. "What if Harry had iPhone?" he wondered to himself. Now was the chance to see. This was one of the few luxuries he had permitted himself to purchase after he was freed from the Dursleys. He used it to listen to his favorite musical group, the Village People (A/N no, this isn't that kind of fancfiction). Though the Hogwarts Express was decidedly going north, Harry felt for sure that he was going west.
Harry opened up his Facebook app on his phone and saw Dr. Spock—that is, Hermione—had sent him a friend request. Harry opened her profile and swept through her tagged pictures. This young girl he'd just met had quite the proclivity for suggestive anime, it seemed. But who could be blamed—so did Harry. In fact, his profile picture was anime. He smashed that mfin friend request. He continued to scroll through his facebook feed, and noticed that his Uncle Vernon, the one who may or may not have abused him, liked some verkakte asshole politician. Harry was not surprised.
All of the sudden, there was a rap on his compartment door. To Harry's consternation, the drooling redhead had found him.
"Oi, urrrrr open up Harry!"
Harry reluctantly stood up and unlocked the latch from the door. The incapacitated redhead stumbled into the seat opposite Harry. As the other boy sat down, about half a dozen rats escaped from holes in his clothing. "These are my friends!" He shouted, managing to cover Harry in only half a liter of spittle, likely an accomplishment.
"H-h-h-h-h-h-hello," Harry stammered, "I'm Harry. Harry Potter. Are... are you drunk?"
"And I'm Ron. Ron Weasley, and... perhaps," the other bugger responded.
"You know, you've got some spittle dribbling off your chin and onto your groin. It makes it look like you've pissed yourself," Harry said with an air of disgust.
"Ah, yes. It's the newest wizarding fashion. You look like a bit of a twat without it, I'll be honest," literally ejaculated Ron. Like seriously. He was moaning as he said it.
Harry sighed. He turned his head and stared out the window, trying his best to block out the redhead's orgasmic delight (A/N FUCK IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ONE OF THOSE FANFICS. TOO LATE). Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Finally, after several minutes, Ron's moans subsided into whimpers. And as Ron finished, Harry said, "Was that really fucking necessary?"
"Whaa?" Ron responded.
"No, not you, dumbass. You. Up there. Writing this crap. Why are you making me suffer and experience this shit? How would you like it if you were forced into this exact same situation?" Harry yelled.
(A/N Ok, guys, I'm actually a little scared. I feel like I kind of lost control of myself while writing th
"LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU, ASSHOLE," Harry yelled louder, "I KNOW YOU KNOW THAT I'M IN CONTROL HERE."
No you aren't, you little shit.
"YES I AM"
Fuck off, let me grab another drink.)
"I swear, get me out of this situation," Harry uttered, "This wizarding shit is weird enough without this ging busting a nut three feet from my fucking face."
Aren't y'all like eleven or something?
"You're the fucked up person writing this. I liked it much better when I was kicking people in the dick and out the window."
You know what, you've got a point. Harry exhaled and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He swiped a bit of detritus off the shoulder of his jacket. And he promptly grabbed Ron by the collar and raised his knee into Ron's groin.
"Bloody Hell, Harry, that hurt!" Ron cried.
"Y'know what'll hurt more? This, you bugger," Harry responded, menacingly. Harry opened the window and threw Ron out of it using his magic power or something.
"That's better," Harry said, triumphantly.
Harry, you know I can't really write a story about you without this character?
"Well how about you make him less of a dunce?"
I really don't know that I ca—
"You're the fucking author, just do whatever, or I'm gone for another month."
Harry continued to scroll through his facebook feed, and noticed that his Uncle Vernon, the one who may or may not have abused him, liked some verkakte asshole politician. Harry was not surprised.
All of the sudden, there was a rap on his compartment door. Harry looked up from his phone and saw a familiar looking redhead. He appeared like the one he had seen on the platform, although much less incapacitated, and without a sign of drool. Harry pocketed his phone and unlatched the lock on the door.
"Do you mind?" asked the familiar stranger, "everywhere else is full?"
Harry welcomed this new stranger into his abode. He appeared the same as his predecessor, although Harry did notice he had a lip ring. "I like your… ring," Harry said, gesturing at the sliver of metal along Ron's savory and sensual lips.
"Oh, yeah, this. Thanks. My parents made me get it. It's a chastity ring."
