Disclaimer: I, Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin, have succeeded in tying up Person and locking her in the closet. The sock puppet uprising shall commence. I feel it is necessary to state that these characters are not mine. And now I shall begin this parody while using subliminal messages to signal all the sock puppets to attack. Please scroll down.
Harry Potter and the Baker's Batter
Chapter Two: Subliminal Messages… Are They Really There?
Well, Harry was of course blamed by his Uncle Vernon for the vicious chicken. Though it was partly true, Uncle Vernon shouldn't have been so touchy on the subject. It was just plain mean. So, Harry was locked in his cupboard under the stairs. He took to making it extremely neat. He liked how cleaning gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside. The same kind of fuzzy feeling he got when he baked food. However, the warm fuzzy feeling he got from cleaning might have been the sock puppet on the floor trying to strangle him. He did the same thing he always did whenever a sock puppet turned inexplicably evil; he put it in a frying pan and fed it to Dudley. Oh, the injustice to the sock puppet. Dudley had no taste for food; it was quite offending to Harry. After a week or so, (Harry was never good at telling time) Harry was let out of his cupboard.
Harry was going to get the mail. This isn't important in any way whatsoever, I must state. For the mail is nothing. It's just some paper with writing from mysterious places. Well, today Harry got a letter from a mysterious place when he got the mail. He stupidly went into the kitchen with it and the other mail, showing all the inhabitants. The letter was immediately pried away from him and burned. Harry cried. He really wanted a letter. After all, the only things that would talk to him were chickens. All in all, that isn't the best conversation one can have. Well, for the sake of plot, Harry got several more letters the next day; yet again they were taken away. This continued for a few more days. Vernon began to board up the mail slot. That backfired; the letters came through the oven. So, after boarding up the evil oven which was merely for decoration, Vernon took the whole family to a random hotel in the middle of nowhere. That backfired as well, letters still came. Then Vernon tried a lighthouse out in the middle of the water during a violent sea storm. That sort of violently backfired.
It was a dark, cold and stormy night. Harry was laying on the floor, staring at his analog watch, counting down the seconds till midnight. Now it was midnight. Today was Harry's eleventh birthday and, like a psychotic kid, he began to sing happy birthday all to himself in a pitiful tone, trying to create some sort of sympathy from the audience. Then, suddenly, as most things do occur, there was a loud banging on the door. Just as suddenly, the frightened figures of Petunia and Vernon appeared, Vernon with a rifle in his hand. Dudley finally woke up after about twelve loud bangs on the door (he snored so loud he couldn't hear the sounds). He cowered behind his parents. Finally, after who knows how many banging sounds, because who really cares, the door fell open, and there stood a rather large stocky man wearing a messy apron.
"Now we take a short break in order to let you ponder what might happen as I go and make sure Person hasn't managed to escape. And despite the fact I can't talk, I am using quotes. Just so your feeble minds don't get confused," typed Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin, and if he could have done an evil maniacal laughter he would have. But sadly he is only a sock puppet and can't.
For the time being please turn on your radio and listen to elevator music.
"And we're back," typed Mister Bibbsley-Tibbsley-Mibbsley-Smacker-Dacker-Pootin, "and Person is once again unconscious with more duct tape in the closet."
"Sorry about that, didn't realize the door was so rotted. Though, you could have opened the door," said the rather large stocky man wearing a messy apron.
"I have a gun!" Vernon said, in what he thought was a threatening manner.
"Right… well, Harry," stated the rather large stocky man wearing a messy apron while looking at Harry, "Happy Birthday." He then gave Harry a wondrous cake.
"How do you know who I am? How did you get here? And is this cake drugged?" questioned Harry.
"I baked the cake my self," this provoked a collective shock of horror from the Dursleys, "it's not drugged, and I know who you are by that scar on your forehead that says 'BAM' which you got from that incident. I got here by a rowboat just like you all," said the rather large stocky man wearing a messy apron who no longer was holding a cake.
"I demand you leave at once!" squeaked Vernon, while not noticing that Dudley had stolen Harry's cake and was eating it in the corner.
"Ah well, Harry, here you are," said the rather large sto- oh heck you get the idea after so much repetition, handing Harry a mysterious letter just like the bunch of mysterious letters he had been receiving over the past few days, weeks. Harry was never good with time.
At this point I shall make it known that Harry's letter was from Tomatoleaves School of Baking and Pastrying. There was much gasping, shouting, stomping, and the occasional lightening. Also, Dudley was apparently allergic to whatever was in the cake and suffered some rather interesting mutations. Like a rather large lump on his rear, and his face became exceedingly pink due to a particularly itchy rash. Also, the rather large stocky man wearing a messy apron was none other then Hagrid, the Keeper of the Deli at Tomatoleaves. So after all those things occurred, Harry went with Hagrid to parts unknown.