Hairy Peter and the Writer's So Stoned: Chapter One
Chapter One
The Boy Who Lived… and who reeked of the annoyingly bad smell of dung
THE PARSLEYS, who lived on the corner of Sane Street and Illogical Boulevard somewhere in England, were pleased to say that they were “perfectly normal,” not counting the bajillions of dollars they defrauded from the local bank, but they decided not to think about it so they can still give the moronic readers the impression that they are perfectly normal. (Yes, I’m talking about you, putz!)
Mr. Parsley was a man without a sense of humor. He hadn’t so much as cracked a smile since the great flu epidemic of 1962. He had the least bit of humor ever. He was one of the writers for The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Mrs. Parsley looked like a life-size version of Mrs. Potatohead, minus the sex appeal. Their son, Glockenspiel, looked like a shorter version of “Weird Al” Yankovic from the music video for “Fat,” minus the glasses, mustache and cool hair.
Mr. Parsley was heading to work when suddenly he looked around and saw he was surrounded by complete weirdos. One of them he recognized as Justin Beiber. (That moron not only has the audacity to take America and Canada, but has now hit the newspapers of England.)
When he was at work, he didn’t notice owls flying every-which-way, nor people on the ground gasping, for none of them had ever seen an owl in their life, much less tons of them. He didn’t even notice it when Spiderman crashed through the window of his office, nor when Wonder Woman got him in her grasp and started humping him. (Okay, is that enough sex references in this chapter? We don’t want to make this book R-rated.)
While he was driving his car to his house, he ran into one of the weirdoes mentioned back in paragraph three of this chapter. This one dressed normally, except he had a very thin body and a large, round head. He had a white mustache that fit right under his pointy nose. As Mr. Parsley rushed out of his car to make sure he didn’t have to perform mouth-to-mouth, he said “I’m terribly sorry.”
The weirdo seemed happy. “Don’t be sorry, for today You-Know-Who has been finally destroyed! Woo-hoo!” And the weirdo hopped away laughing all the while in an annoyingly high voice. Then what appeared to be a yeti followed the other weirdo, looked over at Mr. Parsley, and said “Don’t mind Pops, he’s always like this.”
Mr. Parsley finally parked his car outside his house at 4:20. When he was walking in, however, he saw what appeared to be a cat reading a newspaper. It was a tabby cat, orange with black stripes, reading a newspaper. Mr. Parsley walked into his house, came out with a bowl of lasagna, gave it to the cat and said “Here you go, Garfield.”
From around the corner came Alpo Doubledork, a man with a long white beard who, if it hadn’t been for him wearing a wizard’s hat, would’ve looked like Santa Claus. His glasses sat on his nose just like so. This isn’t really worth remarking upon, except that we have to provide a very accurate description when they get Richard Harris to portray him in the movie adaptation.
Doubledork looked at the cat mentioned back two paragraphs and said, “Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonads. And an excellent choice, too. I almost mistook you for a real cat.”
“Oh, shut your face,” said the cat, who, from henceforth, shall be known as Professor McGonads. “I hate transforming into a cat.”
“I thought you loved transforming!” said Doubledork.
“That was before this morning,” said Professor McGonads, and Doubledork got where she was going. “Damnable alley cats in heat. Next time, I shall disguise myself as a large Doberman instead. Now why did you want to meet me here?”
“Well,” said Doubledork, clearing his throat, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that you-know-who has been killed.”
“Yeah, no s**t Sherlock,” said Professor McGonads. “I read that eight paragraphs ago. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Hairy’s parents have been killed,” said Doubledork.
“Yikes!” said Professor McGonads. “I wasn’t expecting that. What about the boy?”
“Haggis is bringing him.” Suddenly, a large motorcycle fell out of the sky. The radio on the motorcycle was booming to “Born to be Wild” by Steppenwolf. A giant who looked like a taller version of the violin player from Kansas stepped off of it, carrying a bundle with an odd smell.
“ ‘Ere yeh goes,” said Haggis. “I’d best be off now. I know it’s him, though—see dat weird scab on his for’head?” He drove off, with his radio now playing “Beat it on Down the Line” by the Grateful Dead.
Doubledork set the bundle, which he now saw contained a baby, down on the front step of the house of the Parsleys. And when the Parsleys got up, they found the baby, they found Hairy Peter, and were forced to raise him, the boy who lived, and who reeked of the annoyingly bad smell of dung, and had that dollar-sign shaped scab on his head for the rest of his life.