A/N: Mr. Trump, if you read this… just please don't sue me into oblivion.

Chapter Two: Disco Dobby

Dobby soon learned that becoming a disco DJ was not that easy. He had to constantly change the lighting, but that usually caused him to get burnt since because of his head-banging induced brain damage, he had a very short memory span.

"Damn it, Dobby!" Cried his new boss, Mr. Important. "I keep telling you that you should turn the lights off before you change the lighting!"

"Dobby is sorry, sir," Dobby said. "Dobby will try to turn the lights off, but Dobby is too short."

Mr. Important thought about it and decided to give Dobby some disco stilts. They were like normal stilts, but there were funky disco pants over them. When he walked in them, he looked like an elf with an extremely small body and very long legs. That caused some people to… err… think he was kind of odd.

So, everything went well… until the day the author decided it was time for a plot twist. He made Dobby go and get a hot dog, and yet forget to take off his disco pants. So he looked… kinda odd to the people he met.

Dobby approached the hot dog stand and said: "Dobby would like a hot dog with mustard, relish, ketchup, onions, ham, pineapples, anchovies and lettuce, please." He held out a 100-dollar bill.

The random zit-faced adolescent who was on his last shift of the half-hour looked confused. "Who's Dobby?" he inquired. Dobby, being the freaky brain-damaged elf he was, answered very confusingly: "Dobby is Dobby, sir."

The adolescent thought back to the hot-dog stand security manual. What did you do with a freaky, brain-damaged, schizophrenic elf who wanted a hot-dog?

Call the mental institute.

So the kid went to the back of the stall and called the mental institute. "Quick! I've got a wacky, freaky, disco-panted elf that wants a hot dog and is as rich as Bill Gates!

"You've got Donald Trump?" The voice replied.

After the mental institute had gotten the story straight, they dispatched an AWES squad (Anti-Wacky-Elf-Squad) and took Dobby away. The poor elf only had one question when they loaded him in…

"What about Dobby's hot dog?"

Will Dobby escape the mental institute? Will he actually get his hot dog? Find out… eventually!