Harry was a wizard. He got a letter that told him that. Prior to getting the letter, he had done some things that appeared to be magic, but were really just stupid asinine parlor tricks, sort of like David Blaine, only with even less magic.

His friends were Hermes and Ronnie. Hermes was a Greek god. Seriously. I’m not kidding. He was the son of Zeus, but also moonlighted as Mercury, son of Jupiter and the singer for Queen, for several years in the 1970s. Despite popular belief, he did not, in fact, have winged shoes. They were just Nikes. I mean, come on.

Ronnie was a regular girl. She hung out with the other two because she thought they smelled nice. What she didn’t know was that they liberally doused themselves with Axe body spray on a regular basis, because they both thought it would help with the ladies. In actual fact, she was the only woman on the planet who actually liked how that smelled, and even then, she just thought it was okay. Her last name was Spector. This was a stage name. She thought it had a nice ring to it, and would help with her career, being much easier to say and remember than her real name, which was Rockwell. She was also a ghost half the time. This was some kind of accident because her parents were killed by the evil Lord Waldemart when they were doing it. The magic rebounded on him, banked off the wall, ricocheted off the mirror, bounced of one of the blades of the ceiling fan, and went right into Ronnie’s body, nothing but net. This left Waldemart with some kind of half-life. The other half kept Ronnie’s mom alive until she could be born, which only took about 15 minutes because hello, magic. But she was a ghost part of the time. While most people were sleeping, she was ghosting. Believe me, it’s not the same thing. She felt this paragraph was getting a little long, so the story shifted.

Harry, Hermes and Ronnie went to a party for the students of the school they all went to, Berklee’s College of Magic, rivals of the crosstown Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy. To make a long story short, they all got a little stoned.

Neville Bongbottom brought along some of that gillyweed that had helped Harry breathe while he was taking his SCUBA diving test. Harry was a certified scuba diver, skilled in breathing from the demand valve, clearing water from the mask, surfacing properly to avoid the bends, and how to tell which way was up by passing some gas and following the bubbles. But most of all, it somehow helped him to draw the biggest hit of his life.

Kids, don’t do drugs. Drugs are bad. Unless they are prescribed by a doctor. And even then, use them as directed. Do not take tramadol, for example, when you aren’t feeling any pain. The relaxed easygoing feeling of peace you get after taking such a drug is DANGEROUS!

Anyway, Harry passed the bong to Luna Feelgood, who was the supplier of gillyweed in the entire tri-wizard area. Ronnie did not partake, because she was a ghost at the time and all she had to do was float in the smoke. Hermes took a hit and immediately fell asleep. He was kind of a lightweight for a god. Harry felt good for a while, but suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his head. This was because he had poked himself in the eye with the arm of his glasses. At this point, it wasn’t a total buzzkill, but a total bummer, man.

Suddenly, sensing an opening, Lord Waldemart attacked! He appeared and slapped Harry in the face. Unfortunately for Lord Waldemart, Harry had just been watching Yo Gabba Gabba, Adventure Time and Sesame Street, and had mistaken all the silly shit that happens in kid shows for spells. The unfortunate part was that they actually were spells when one was under the influence of gillyweed, which he like totally was! Ronnie drew first, since she was the best wizard, but she was still a ghost. Her wand, Cheeto with cheesy center, was ineffective. Harry took out his wand, which was made of Twinkie with creamy filling, and shouted the first spell he could think of.

“Muppetus Totalus! Also, I have to say, there is precious little dialog in this story.”

Blue fur sprouted from Lord Waldemart’s body everywhere. Yes, even down there. I checked. His nose turned red and bulbous, like a small eggplant, only red and bulbous. His eyes grew flat and very big. His fingers went from five per hand to four. He began moving with short jerky motions. Harry, seemingly unsurprised by all of this, worked more of his magic.

“Okay, Lord Waldemart. You’re near. This is near. Near. Can you say ‘near’?”
“Near,” Waldemart said in a deep gravelly death metal voice. “Near!”
“Now, show me far. Show me far!” Harry pointed straight up.
“Far! Far!” The spell having totally flummoxed Lord Waldemart, messing him up big time, he couldn’t wait to demonstrate ‘far’, like all good Muppets do.

Unfortunately, again, for Lord Waldemart, he went in the direction Harry had pointed. He went up through the roof, through the second floor bedroom where Neville was banging Luna, through the roof and right through the entire atmosphere. It turns out there is absolutely no air in outer space, so Lord Waldemart totally friggin’ died.

Once again, Harry had proven that he was extremely high. He grabbed Ronnie’s Cheeto and ate it, then ate his own wand. He ate the wand that Lord Waldemart had dropped, which was an almond chocolate biscotti. Then he went to town on a whole pepperoni pizza from Siriusly Good Pizza (he didn’t leave a tip even though the pizza was made and halfway to the house 15 minutes before he actually ordered it, the little shit).

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