DISCLAIMER: I hope Chapter One was ok. It was kind of short what with the Ten Commandments, and the disclaimer. Also, I forgot to mention, Brandon also owns more than a bag of weed, he owns all the girls in our school-PIMP- So that covers anyone I may have forgotten to mention (Damn weed) just kidding…anyway. This chapter will make no more sense than the last one….I hate confusing stupid people….no offence of course…
Like always everyone owns what they know they own, no posers…yada yada yada….
Chapter Two: Who the Fuck is "Blunt Man"?
The kids looked everywhere for Harry's bag of weed, but they couldn't find it anywhere.
Hermione: It's not behind the bushes
Ron: And it's not inside my ear
Brandon: Stop with the fuckin' Dr. Seuss shit you goddamn queer.
"I think it's time to go get some help." Harry finally stopped digging in the trash can, a rotten banana peel hung from his ear. "Maybe your right Harry." Hermione said trying not to puke from the smell of rancid Flubber-Fish guts that covered Harry.
Walking back to the castle never seemed to take this long. "Man, I'm sleepy" Brandon yawned. "Yeah…me too." Hermione just realized. Before ten second passed, all five of them were fast asleep on the grass.
SEVEN HOURS LATER
Harry was the first to awake, now, being so long without a drag of anything, he became PISSED OFF POTHEAD! "Goddamn it son of a bitchin' mother fuckin' cheap ass dick sucking pussy lickin' goody two shoes strutting fat butted bastards---WAKE UP!" He kick them all in the side, breaking Hermione's three left ribs, which she quickly fixed with a spell, then rushed Pothead and beat him into the dirt. She spit on him and called him a "sober".
Ron gasped at the word his best friends girlfriend said. "You called you boyfriend the "S" word?" Ron exclaimed to Hermione as she brushed the dirt off her hot pink tube top and leather mini skirt.
"You god damn right I did. Every time that son of a bitch gets sober, he becomes the BIGGEST asshole in the world." She turned to face her lover, pulled him up with one arm, then smacked him in the face.
"C'mon you little fuckin' sober, we gotta get you doped up or drunk before I kill you."
As the group finished their brisk walk to the front doors, they spotted a black, '74 Thunderbird convertible being driven up the driveway. In it was not other that Hagrid the Haggler. Hagrid supplied all the weed to Hogwarts, and he always gave his Hammers deals. (By Hammers I mean of course his friends. Hagrid called them hammers because anyone who knew him that well had to always be hammered.) As the hot rod blaring Snoop Dog rolled past, the five caught a glimpse of no less than 10 burlap sacks filled with the yummy chronic.
Hagrid waved and went off to the barn behind his hut to ration it off for wanabe stoners willing to pay absolutely nothing for a one pound bag. If you wanted more than one pound a week, it'd cost you a sickle per pound for each pound after your freebie, which is why even Ron could afford the yummy, yummy goods.
When they finally got into the castle and up to "Dumbledork's Pot smoking Hippie Room" it was nearly dark out. But of course Dumbledork was there, puffin' on a six inch blunt. Though years beyond senile, the man in a blue robe jumped up and ran to the kids, his long white hair trailing 4 feet behind him.
Harry stood with his arms crossed in his denim vest with cut off sleeves and sagging black jeans that allowed all the girls to stare at three inches of his green and white checkered boxers. He had lost the need for his glasses long ago when, after breaking his glasses…again, he yelled FUCK IT, pointed his wand a his eyes and zapped himself with perfect vision. His hair was still a mess through, and through all the fights he got in a Hogwarts, his arms were more muscular too.
There he stood, juvenile delinquent of the century, sporting a hella bad attitude. (you gotta love him…) While this one hundred and twenty something' year old gave him a hug. "What up Hommies?" the crazed hippie called, ghetto shakin' all their hands.
Before he got five words out on a topic about big screen TVs, Brandon cleared his throat causing Dumbledork to turn and look at him, like a stoner…
Shaking his head slightly, Brandon casually pushed Harry forward, shoved his hands in the black hoodie, and leaned against the brick wall.
Harry stood they for a minute, trying to figure out how to put the words, finally he thought "fuck it", and asked, "Dumbledork, someone stole my weed, can you find out who did it." "Yeah, I already know who it is." The man had now officially gone supper senile. "And…who would that be…" Ron asked suspiciously.
"The Blunt Man, of course." Dumbledork answered taking other drag.
"Who the fuck is the Blunt Man?" Harry yelled.