Characters, places, names, events, and basically every aspect of this story are the property of J.K. Rowling and others. We just--twisted them...a little.
This story has a long history behind it, one which is hard to understand, so we won't try to explain. To clear things up, there are actually three authors, and we take turns writing the story. So, since I am posting by the chapter and not by the update, it could be quite a while before the next chapter is finished (although I believe we are currently on Chapter Seven or so).
Don't take this story too seriously, and please review once you've read it. Feel free to flame it, we do. Actually, we could care less if you review, because it's written purely for our own entertainment, and is only being posted here because we feel that it might have some entertainment value.
Oh yeah, and although it doesn't start out that way, it does get rather perverted later on. A product of too much free time in class...
Chapter 1: The Pimp Who Lived
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Apartment 4 of the Privet Drive Projects, were proud to say that they were straight from the hood, thank you very much. One day Mr. Dursley was on his way to work on the corner to sell drugs, when he saw a bunch of people dressed in lingerie and thongs.
"Crazy teenagers," he scowled. "Don't even know how to work corners the right way."
Mr. Dursley had a normal day, because he didn't see the unusually large swarms of pigeons and seagulls. He was inside the broken-down warehouse at the corner, doing his thing. He called some buyers on his cell phone, shot a few people, and then called some more buyers. But then, when he decided to go across the street for some Church's Chicken, he noticed a group of thong and nipple-tassle wearing folk talking excitedly.
"The Potters…yes, their son Harry…"
Mr. Dursley remembered that his wife's sister had married a man named "Potter". But could it be? He thought nothing of it until a man ran up to him, shook his hand, and said, "Even a Muggle like yourself should celebrate, too! The evil Booty Raper has been defeated! This is a horny, wait, I mean HAPPY day!"
Not knowing what to say, Dursley went back to the warehouse and had a great day (the cops didn't show up).
Later, at home with his wife, he saw all kinds of crazy things on the local news. Swarms of pigeons, carfires, and multiple arsons could only mean one thing-something to do with their crowd. It was no good, he'd have to ask Petunia about it.
"Hunny," Petunia "Lil Mama" Dursley said, "I made five hundred dollars in tips today, and I won the Best Stripper of the Month award."
Knowing that Lil Mama was in a good mood, Vernon "Big Daddy" Dursley decided to ask her about her sister.
"Hey, Lil Mama, what was the name of those Potters' son? Hamlet?" asked Big Daddy.
"No! It was Harry; a nasty, pornographic name if you ask me."
Mr. Dursley's face went white. "Right then. I agree. He'll turn out just like his mother, dirty and scandalous."
"Exactly," she replied, and the subject was dropped.
But little did they know that at that moment they were being watched. What had appeared to be a mangy alley cat was really a member of an elite top-secret government anti-gang squad.
The cat sat perfectly still on the top of the Dumpster in front of the Projects of Privet Drive. Suddenly, a man appeared on the corner, and the cat still didn't move. The man was Professor Dumbledore, and the cat magically transformed into Professor McGonagall.
"Is it true, the Potters are dead?" asked McGonagall.
"Yeah, it is. Pity, really. They were they best ones on the block," replied Dumbledore.
Then a bright light shone down on them, and a massive Pimpmobile was flying down from the sky.
"Hagrid!" cried McGonagall with incredulity. "You really think it wise to trust that pimp with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," replied Dumbledore, then added as an afterthought, "Well, except when he's high."
The Pimpmobile came to a stop in front of the two, and the hydraulics brought the car to the ground so it's passenger could get out. It was a man; his hair was 'froed and he wore a fur coat. He carried a gold chain, had the most believable pimp limp, and his hands were the size of trash can lids (and you know what they say about a guy with big hands).
"I have the bebbe for ya," said Hagrid while handing over the small containing a one-year-old future pimp.
"Thank you, Hagrid. And where did you get that there Pimpmobile?"
"From Sirius Black. He wuz ova at da houz, and he lent it ta me."
At that moment Dumbledore placed young Harry Potter at the steps of Building A, Privet Drive Projects. Next to him lay the letter explaining in Ebonics to Big Daddy how he was really a wizard-pimp.
"He'll have that scar for life. I have one just above my left knee that's a perfect map of the London Underground, for my late night cravings," said Dumbledore. "I wouldn't remove it even if I could. Such things come in useful. Want a sherbert lemon?"
"No thanks," McGonagall replied, then continued, "Let's get this show on the road. Come on, just dump the kid!"
Since Dumbledore had already carefully placed little Harry on the remains of the doorstep, they all jumped back into the Pimpmobile and took off.
A breeze (predicting acid rain) ruffled the weeds in the dirty lot. Little Harry Potter slept on, not knowing that he was special, not knowing that in the morning he would be wakened by a near-fatal shooting next door, and that he would spend the next few weeks being malnourished and neglected…he couldn't know that all over, people were raising their shot glasses and saying in slurred voices, "To Harry Potter, the pimp who lived."