Alright, this 'un's a big different from the rest. It involves a member of
my German class, but it doesn't take place at school, in the presence of
more than one (known) German speaker, has nothing to do with our beloved
leader Herr Helmus, and might not be funny to anyone who has a respectable
mind. That said, enjoy.
P.S. Bits taken from Barry Trotter and the Unauthorized Parody, Cedric Diggory's Wake, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and of course J.K. Rowling. I owe nothing, my pitiful penny fund won't buy a sock, sue me do not.
~~~~~
U.S.S. Silverslides*: World War II submarine. Current Residence: A tiny town a little south of Hell, Michigan (no joke). War Status: Has yet to be hit by a missile (although some people would argue this). Currently available for tours June through August.
The happiest place on earth.
And, of course, when you take our motley HP crew to America, this is one spot you just have to stop at. However, as you, reader, are about to find out, the HP tribe just doesn't mix well with Muggle history, cell phones, and port-a-johns. Still with me? Congratulations. I award you a cookie. And my sincerest apologies.
(Opening scene is a submarine sitting above water docked in a nice bay. Sign advertises it the U.S.S. Silverslides. Early morning, some employees of the sub are wandering around inside. One is talking on the phone with a sewage company, something about the port-a-johns not being cleaned for a week.)
(Exit the HP squad, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, blah blah blah, from the sub. They are led by their tour guide, an overweight ballet dancer by the name of Sarah*.)
Sarah: (false perky voice) This concludes your U.S.S. Silverslides tour. Are there any questions I didn't answer already?
Seamus: In the control room there were red and green lights, you called them the "Christmas" lights. Why are they called Christmas lights?
Sarah: (blank and annoyed stare). Any iotheri questions?
Goyle: Bathroom?
Sarah: (points to port-a-johns) Over there. I apologize for them, we're having someone come later today to clean them. Finally. (At this she escapes un-noticed back into the sub, as the rest of the party have become distracted with their surroundings.)
Ron: wow! Harry! Look at that! (Ron is excitedly pointing at a Muggle pay phone). It's a tellyphone, isn't it? Like what I called you with last break, remember?
Harry: (looks exhausted, as though he's tolerated Ron's irritating excitability for just about as long as he could stand.) And you didn't know how to use it then, either, Ron. Leave it alone. Please. For the love of all you hold holy. Just leave the muggle items alone.
Ron: (angry glare) Just because you grew up with muggles. *splutter splutter*
Harry: (bristles) If you're so interested why didn't you take a Muggle Studies course?!? (walks away muttering about imbeciles allowed in public unsupervised)
Hermione: At this point I should add that Harry actually wasn't raised by Muggles, the Dursleys, but instead was raised in an alternate universe, and, upon his 11th birthday was transported to said Muggles for reasons not yet clear to the average reader, but since Albus Dumbledore orchestrated the whole thing, must have some grain of wisdom. So, once again, Ron, you look stupid for not knowing something like that, which is now public knowledge.
Bloomsbury Publisher: Indeed, Miss Granger, it's been public knowledge for the last few weeks, ever since The Leaky Cauldron (Long May They Live) posted that.. There's always a few characters who are willing to trade plot spoilers for a rare magical breed of animal *winks at Hagrid*
(And now, of course, ensues the pointless porn that accompanies almost every Potterverse fic. Hermione and the publisher run into each others arms and snog each other senseless until they re-enter the story at a later date)
Draco: (At the edge of the bay, looking into the water) Filthy. slimy.. Muggles can't even fight a war properly. just wait'll my father hears about this.. Hey! What's this? (pulls out a worn book from the edge of the water, riffles through it) *Evil Grin* teeheehee! What's this?
Crabbe: *dully* What?
Draco: Oh. Nothing. Go find Goyle. He's been gone awhile. Probably forgot which end to use. Pah! (sees his sick humor's been wasted on Crabbe.) Never mind. Go do something useful.
Crabbe: *shrug* (wanders off to the port-a-johns to find Goyle.)
Draco: (sits on a bench and starts thumbing through the water-logged pages.)
Crabbe: (by the port-a-johns) Goyle?
Goyle: Crabbe?
Crabbe: Goyle?
Goyle: Crabbe?
Crabbe: Goyle?
Goyle: .What?
Crabbe: Where are you?
Goyle: In here. The port-a-john.
Crabbe: Come out.
Goyle: Can't. I'm locked in the port-a-john
Crabbe: (confused, has mis-heard Goyle) You want me to lock myself in a port-a-john? (thinks for a minute. Breaks a sweat.) Ok. (does so)
(silence)
*Names have been changed to protect to ignorants.
A/N: I gotta go pee right now. I'm gonna post this and leave you all hanging. What will come of Sarah the dancer? What is it that Draco found? How will Crabbe and Goyle get out of their current pile of Schiess? What will Hermione and the Publisher's baby look like? ER, scratch that last bit. On to the next chapter! I promise, more pointless plot bunnies will make their presence known.
P.S. Bits taken from Barry Trotter and the Unauthorized Parody, Cedric Diggory's Wake, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and of course J.K. Rowling. I owe nothing, my pitiful penny fund won't buy a sock, sue me do not.
~~~~~
U.S.S. Silverslides*: World War II submarine. Current Residence: A tiny town a little south of Hell, Michigan (no joke). War Status: Has yet to be hit by a missile (although some people would argue this). Currently available for tours June through August.
The happiest place on earth.
And, of course, when you take our motley HP crew to America, this is one spot you just have to stop at. However, as you, reader, are about to find out, the HP tribe just doesn't mix well with Muggle history, cell phones, and port-a-johns. Still with me? Congratulations. I award you a cookie. And my sincerest apologies.
(Opening scene is a submarine sitting above water docked in a nice bay. Sign advertises it the U.S.S. Silverslides. Early morning, some employees of the sub are wandering around inside. One is talking on the phone with a sewage company, something about the port-a-johns not being cleaned for a week.)
(Exit the HP squad, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, blah blah blah, from the sub. They are led by their tour guide, an overweight ballet dancer by the name of Sarah*.)
Sarah: (false perky voice) This concludes your U.S.S. Silverslides tour. Are there any questions I didn't answer already?
Seamus: In the control room there were red and green lights, you called them the "Christmas" lights. Why are they called Christmas lights?
Sarah: (blank and annoyed stare). Any iotheri questions?
Goyle: Bathroom?
Sarah: (points to port-a-johns) Over there. I apologize for them, we're having someone come later today to clean them. Finally. (At this she escapes un-noticed back into the sub, as the rest of the party have become distracted with their surroundings.)
Ron: wow! Harry! Look at that! (Ron is excitedly pointing at a Muggle pay phone). It's a tellyphone, isn't it? Like what I called you with last break, remember?
Harry: (looks exhausted, as though he's tolerated Ron's irritating excitability for just about as long as he could stand.) And you didn't know how to use it then, either, Ron. Leave it alone. Please. For the love of all you hold holy. Just leave the muggle items alone.
Ron: (angry glare) Just because you grew up with muggles. *splutter splutter*
Harry: (bristles) If you're so interested why didn't you take a Muggle Studies course?!? (walks away muttering about imbeciles allowed in public unsupervised)
Hermione: At this point I should add that Harry actually wasn't raised by Muggles, the Dursleys, but instead was raised in an alternate universe, and, upon his 11th birthday was transported to said Muggles for reasons not yet clear to the average reader, but since Albus Dumbledore orchestrated the whole thing, must have some grain of wisdom. So, once again, Ron, you look stupid for not knowing something like that, which is now public knowledge.
Bloomsbury Publisher: Indeed, Miss Granger, it's been public knowledge for the last few weeks, ever since The Leaky Cauldron (Long May They Live) posted that.. There's always a few characters who are willing to trade plot spoilers for a rare magical breed of animal *winks at Hagrid*
(And now, of course, ensues the pointless porn that accompanies almost every Potterverse fic. Hermione and the publisher run into each others arms and snog each other senseless until they re-enter the story at a later date)
Draco: (At the edge of the bay, looking into the water) Filthy. slimy.. Muggles can't even fight a war properly. just wait'll my father hears about this.. Hey! What's this? (pulls out a worn book from the edge of the water, riffles through it) *Evil Grin* teeheehee! What's this?
Crabbe: *dully* What?
Draco: Oh. Nothing. Go find Goyle. He's been gone awhile. Probably forgot which end to use. Pah! (sees his sick humor's been wasted on Crabbe.) Never mind. Go do something useful.
Crabbe: *shrug* (wanders off to the port-a-johns to find Goyle.)
Draco: (sits on a bench and starts thumbing through the water-logged pages.)
Crabbe: (by the port-a-johns) Goyle?
Goyle: Crabbe?
Crabbe: Goyle?
Goyle: Crabbe?
Crabbe: Goyle?
Goyle: .What?
Crabbe: Where are you?
Goyle: In here. The port-a-john.
Crabbe: Come out.
Goyle: Can't. I'm locked in the port-a-john
Crabbe: (confused, has mis-heard Goyle) You want me to lock myself in a port-a-john? (thinks for a minute. Breaks a sweat.) Ok. (does so)
(silence)
*Names have been changed to protect to ignorants.
A/N: I gotta go pee right now. I'm gonna post this and leave you all hanging. What will come of Sarah the dancer? What is it that Draco found? How will Crabbe and Goyle get out of their current pile of Schiess? What will Hermione and the Publisher's baby look like? ER, scratch that last bit. On to the next chapter! I promise, more pointless plot bunnies will make their presence known.