A/N: New and improved! I'll be adding more chapters at some point. . . .
Disclaimer: Nobody's stealin' nobody's story around here, but I need to give credit to an article in the Southern Medical Journal, vol. 76, no. 5, for giving me a great idea. (BTW, I'm not a doctor or anything; I just found it on the Internet, under the Yahoo! rectal foreign bodies section--MWAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!!!)
***
Memoirs of Dobby
(Dobby is in his brand-new mobile home at a retirement community on the beautiful shores of Atlantic City, New Jersey. He is in his new lounge chair with a little built-in remote-control caddy. He is wearing plaid pants and a BRIGHT ORANGE sports shirt. He looks tanned and relaxed. Street traffic roars by outside. It is 90 degrees F and humid as hell, so he is blasting the air conditioner and drinking Sierra Mist and eating egg rolls.)
Dobby: First of all, I'm sick of this referring-to-myself-in-the-third-person shit. Do I look like Elmo? Second, I don't really wear all my clothes at the same time; that was just a joke, you idiots! Third, I like to cap on those Malfoys, especially that crumb-bum Lucius.
I slapped him once.
Interviewer: When you were his house elf?
Dobby: Hell yeah! Why would I bother with that sack of shit now? I said, "You're a player and you lied to me!" And then I gave him a nice hard slap across his face. I had to stand on the couch to do it, and then I spent two months in a dungeon, but it was worth it.
And the rats I met while I was in the hole? The salt of the earth. They got me moisturizer, bottled water, aloe vera for the blisters from the ball and chain, everything.
I was born in a dump in northern England to a one-legged prostitute. I was cold, I was starving, but who worries about a flimsy little elf? Then, when I was only four, I realized I had a calling for interior design, so I naively answered a want ad from the Malfoys. They kidnapped me and made me their slave! I called Mummy, I called the police, I called Amnesty, I called Oxfam, I even stuck my head out the goddamn window and tried calling a state of emergency, but nobody lifted a finger. I was trapped.
Then, after decades of torture, Harry freed me! After I hooked up with Dumbledore for my job at Hogwarts, I rang Hagrid to come around for some Tanqueray and donuts. We trashed the Hogwarts kitchen, but nobody ever found out. Then everything got NC-17 with him way too fast, but we're good friends now and he's coming out to visit in November.
Interviewer: What about the Malfoys?
Dobby: Well, what's left to tell? You probably already know about the father/son incest, the drinking, the domestic brawls. Do you know about the forged Oxycontin prescription?
[Interviewer shakes head.]
Whoops--wait a minute--that was Noelle Bush down in Florida. The Malfoys may be sick bastards, but at least they're not the Bushes.
Well, how about the time Lucius checked into St. Mungo's with a Bird's Custard tin stuck in his arse?
[Interviewer looks dumbfounded. Dobby smiles and laughs evilly, rubbing his hands together.]
The Daily Prophet conveniently ignored THAT story when it came over the wire.
Of course, our Luci is such a liar. He tried telling everyone that he was just giving me a hose-down in the backyard (why does my name always get dragged into it?) when he slipped and fell on the tin, causing it to enter his precious. So I ask, what was he doing completely nude? And what, the tin was just waiting there outside for him to fall on it? And what, your arse just goes "Whommm!" and opens up a foot when you slip and fall on a Bird's Custard tin?
What really happened was he did some bad NC-17 stuff with the tin like he always does when taxes are due, he couldn't get the tin out, and Narcissa found him in the bathroom crying, and then she made him Apparate to St. Mungo's by himself. And when he checked out and came home, she was in such a high towering rage that she bent all the spoons telepathically and didn't talk to him for a month.
There was also the time that he tried rapping in public and was nearly beaten to death by enraged passersby.
Or what about the time he tried asking Jason Isaacs on a date, and Jason Isaacs gave him an Indian burn and made him cry?
Or the time he and Donald Rumsfeld were caught at that rest stop in Maryland?
Ah well, that's enough for now. It's a nice sweltering day outside, and I think I'll wander over to the boardwalk for some blackjack and pizza. Ciao for now, baby.
Ende
PS: For those of you concerned with immigration issues, Dobby will not be deported because he is not human! So he does not have to apply for a U.S. green card, but he can still gamble and buy firearms like there is no tomorrow.
Final A/N: Thanks for reading this. It's sort of an in-betweener piece and a character study, but it ended up with way too much ass and Noelle Bush. :oD
Disclaimer: Nobody's stealin' nobody's story around here, but I need to give credit to an article in the Southern Medical Journal, vol. 76, no. 5, for giving me a great idea. (BTW, I'm not a doctor or anything; I just found it on the Internet, under the Yahoo! rectal foreign bodies section--MWAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!!!)
***
Memoirs of Dobby
(Dobby is in his brand-new mobile home at a retirement community on the beautiful shores of Atlantic City, New Jersey. He is in his new lounge chair with a little built-in remote-control caddy. He is wearing plaid pants and a BRIGHT ORANGE sports shirt. He looks tanned and relaxed. Street traffic roars by outside. It is 90 degrees F and humid as hell, so he is blasting the air conditioner and drinking Sierra Mist and eating egg rolls.)
Dobby: First of all, I'm sick of this referring-to-myself-in-the-third-person shit. Do I look like Elmo? Second, I don't really wear all my clothes at the same time; that was just a joke, you idiots! Third, I like to cap on those Malfoys, especially that crumb-bum Lucius.
I slapped him once.
Interviewer: When you were his house elf?
Dobby: Hell yeah! Why would I bother with that sack of shit now? I said, "You're a player and you lied to me!" And then I gave him a nice hard slap across his face. I had to stand on the couch to do it, and then I spent two months in a dungeon, but it was worth it.
And the rats I met while I was in the hole? The salt of the earth. They got me moisturizer, bottled water, aloe vera for the blisters from the ball and chain, everything.
I was born in a dump in northern England to a one-legged prostitute. I was cold, I was starving, but who worries about a flimsy little elf? Then, when I was only four, I realized I had a calling for interior design, so I naively answered a want ad from the Malfoys. They kidnapped me and made me their slave! I called Mummy, I called the police, I called Amnesty, I called Oxfam, I even stuck my head out the goddamn window and tried calling a state of emergency, but nobody lifted a finger. I was trapped.
Then, after decades of torture, Harry freed me! After I hooked up with Dumbledore for my job at Hogwarts, I rang Hagrid to come around for some Tanqueray and donuts. We trashed the Hogwarts kitchen, but nobody ever found out. Then everything got NC-17 with him way too fast, but we're good friends now and he's coming out to visit in November.
Interviewer: What about the Malfoys?
Dobby: Well, what's left to tell? You probably already know about the father/son incest, the drinking, the domestic brawls. Do you know about the forged Oxycontin prescription?
[Interviewer shakes head.]
Whoops--wait a minute--that was Noelle Bush down in Florida. The Malfoys may be sick bastards, but at least they're not the Bushes.
Well, how about the time Lucius checked into St. Mungo's with a Bird's Custard tin stuck in his arse?
[Interviewer looks dumbfounded. Dobby smiles and laughs evilly, rubbing his hands together.]
The Daily Prophet conveniently ignored THAT story when it came over the wire.
Of course, our Luci is such a liar. He tried telling everyone that he was just giving me a hose-down in the backyard (why does my name always get dragged into it?) when he slipped and fell on the tin, causing it to enter his precious. So I ask, what was he doing completely nude? And what, the tin was just waiting there outside for him to fall on it? And what, your arse just goes "Whommm!" and opens up a foot when you slip and fall on a Bird's Custard tin?
What really happened was he did some bad NC-17 stuff with the tin like he always does when taxes are due, he couldn't get the tin out, and Narcissa found him in the bathroom crying, and then she made him Apparate to St. Mungo's by himself. And when he checked out and came home, she was in such a high towering rage that she bent all the spoons telepathically and didn't talk to him for a month.
There was also the time that he tried rapping in public and was nearly beaten to death by enraged passersby.
Or what about the time he tried asking Jason Isaacs on a date, and Jason Isaacs gave him an Indian burn and made him cry?
Or the time he and Donald Rumsfeld were caught at that rest stop in Maryland?
Ah well, that's enough for now. It's a nice sweltering day outside, and I think I'll wander over to the boardwalk for some blackjack and pizza. Ciao for now, baby.
Ende
PS: For those of you concerned with immigration issues, Dobby will not be deported because he is not human! So he does not have to apply for a U.S. green card, but he can still gamble and buy firearms like there is no tomorrow.
Final A/N: Thanks for reading this. It's sort of an in-betweener piece and a character study, but it ended up with way too much ass and Noelle Bush. :oD