Chapter 15: Plan 610: Dodgeball
"Yo, wut up my homedogs" Voldemort sang, while waltzing into the meeting hall that day.
Wait…sang? Waltzed?
Honestly, those two stood out to me more than his strange vocabulary. You see, Voldy got this idea that, to attract a younger crowd of Death Eaters, he needed to spice up his act and "get with the times." Apparently, that means talking like a moron. I mean, what the fuck is a homedog?
He also, started insisting on being called the "Dark Lord V-meister." …Yeah, welcome to the wonderful world of Death Eaters! He started his meeting off by starting to ramble incoherently in some dialect of…slang.
"So here's the down-low and da 411 on takin' over dis world ya'll" Voldemort said. He did some weird rap-like hand motions, to go along with the words, I guess. At his right hand was the Idiots Guide to Being Hip. If you couldn't tell (and you're probably the idiot if you couldn't) he hadn't mastered being "hip" quite yet. And likely never would. Like that's any surprise.
But as Voldemort's "teen-talk" (if you can even call it that. Seriously, do YOU know anyone who talks like this?) grated on my nerves every time he opened his mouth, it led me to call for some desperate measures. Plan number 610: dodgeball.
If you think about it though, maybe Voldemort will appreciate this great American sport. I mean, it has tormented kids for generations; it's right up his alley! But mainly I want revenge for an entire week's worth of already deathly boring meetings and making them unbearable by adding in homeboy's, dawg, and word up.
So after the meeting, I rushed out of the room. It was time to gather supplies, namely the round red, rubber balls of DEATH. MUWAHAHA! *cough* ahem…I have no idea where that came from…
Later
Luckily for me, Voldemort and some of his closest Death Eaters left on some mission. Not to kill Muggles or intimidate the Order or kick puppies. No, he and his posse went to the mall. To "research" as he calls it, though I caught him with a Victoria Secret bag the last time, and wearing clear nail polish (he went on a 3-hour rant about how manly men can wear clear polish. One of the more entertaining meetings, actually...
As soon as Voldemort opened the door to headquarters, all hell broke loose.
Two-hundred dodgeballs, all charmed to fly right at him we're set loose. They looked similar to Bludgers as they flew towards him. He stood there with a look of shock as a barrage of dodgeballs began to rain upon him.
It was a glorious sight to behold, as I hid in the doorway of my office. Like a million hellish gym sessions all rolled into one massive package of red-rubbery pain. It was enough make all the impoverished nerds, ones who suffered terribly from this game, tear up.
Unfortunately it didn't last long, as Voldy got wise and started blasting everything in sight. But not before gaining a black eye and various other bruises in the process. But the best was yet to come.
For as Voldemort walked into his room, dodgeballs rained down from the ceiling, covering him in a giant mass. He probably would have been fine, if not for the wrench I threw in for good measure.
Why a wrench, you may ask? Well if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball! Obviously, Voldemort fails at dodgeball. He gets an F.
Not that it matters to him; he kept us in a meeting for 5-hours yelling at us all. But at least the concussion keeps him from spewing off gibberish. I guess there's a silver lining after all!