Entries Tagged as 'Filthy Lies & Fiction'

The Real Demise of Dumbledore

dumbledore 

In front of a full house of hardcore Potter fans at Carnegie Hall in New York, J.K. Rowling, sitting on the stage on a red velvet and carved wood throne, read from her seventh and final book, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” then took questions. One fan asked whether Albus Dumbledore, the head of the famed Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft,  had ever loved anyone. Rowling smiled. “Dumbledore is gay, actually,” replied Rowling as the audience erupted in surprise. She added that, in her mind, Dumbledore had an unrequited love affair with Gellert Grindelwald, Voldemort’s predecessor who appears in the seventh book.” - Newsweek, Oct. 19th, 2007

A flurry of shrieking bells echoed through the darkened halls of Hogwarts in the midst of a bleak and blustery October night.  Deep within the castle’s highest turret, a wizened hand reached for gargoyle adorned telephone.

“Hrmph…yes? This is Albu-”

“D!  We’ve got big problems, friend.”

“Who is this?  It’s the middle of the bloody night, you know.”

“D!  Big D.  Biiig daddy D!  It’s Larry, your lawyer.”

“I’m sorry young sir, I don’t recall enlisting a solicitor.”

Solicit her?  I swear to god that girl was 15!”

“…”

“Hah ha, just jerking your beard there, Dumbly, I know that’s what you pudding munchers “across the pond” call us legal-beagles.  I’m Larry Goldstein, the lawyer the studio assigned to your affairs when that J.T. broad bought the rights to your life story.  Anyway, speaking of pudding munching…we got a prob, honcho.”

“I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about, but if you’re referring to Madame Rowland, yes, I allowed the lady in question to chronicle some of the more exciting chapters of our hallowed halls.  I enjoyed her tales most immensely, despite her rather fetching liberties (my premature death for one, ha ha), and found some of her insights illuminous en extremus.”

“Right.  Very extremus.  Anyway, she outed you about 45 minutes ago.”

“What the…”Outed?”

“Listen, have you ever heard the term “in perpetuity?”

“Certainly, “Ano Perpetuitum” while rarely used, is an impressive spell which may extend an avatar, that is to say a likeness or embodiment of the user for centuries, coming from the old Latin for - ”

“It comes from the old Latin for “We own your ass, and we’d like to protect it.”  So I need you to be up front with me.  Just how many little wizard robes have you looked under?”

“I BEG YOUR PARDON!  This is an outrage sir!”

“No, what’s an outrage is some snarky bitch on a book tour telling the whole world which way your wand waves, especially when we’ve still got two more pics in production.  And we were banking on Dumbledore being all man, baby.  We had plans.  “Dumbledore vs. Snape: Final Countdown,” “Dumbledore and Jackie Chan vs. The Death Eaters: This Time It’s Personal.”  Incredible, right?  We’ve already got action figure prototypes on Mattel’s desk.  And there’s a lot more where that comes from, I assure you, but not for somebody the American public thinks might be a little light in the magical…whatever magic shoes you people wear.”

“By the sword of Gryffindor, I simply have no idea what you’re talking about, young man.”

“Oh yeah, you were part of that whole “sword” frat.  A bit too phallic for my taste, I’m more of a Hufflepuff man, if you get my drift…huff that puff, am I right?  Hooya!  Anyway, we gotta spin this thing and fast.  It’s already been rocking the AP for an hour now.  By Monday this is gonna be outta control, unless we get lucky and somebody bombs U.S. soil over the weekend.  Say, you don’t have a spell for that do you?  Some sort of Terrium McMassive, say?” 

“Terrium McMassive?  The spell to build large bodies of land quickly?  It’s quite an advanced piece of magic, I’m not sure -”

“Forget it.  What we’re looking for here is damage control.  What’s the deal with this Grindywalk?”

“Grindewald?  Gellert was my dearest friend for a time, a bright and shining young man.  So charismatic.  We thought we were going to take over the wizarding world, until that terrible day when he betrayed all that was most precious.  I don’t think I ever quite overcame such a traumatic loss - ”

“Right, betrayal and all, that sucks.  So were you two doing it or not?”

“Doing…”

“IT.  Were you waxing his cauldron?  Poking your wand into his goblet of fire?  C’mon, if you’re straight with me, and I use that term lightly, I might be able to make this all go away.”

“I refuse to sully the deep, albeit ultimately tragic relationship Gellert and I shared with these base accusations.”

“Listen, D, we’re about two hours away from some pissed off mudblood crying that her freak kid got brainwashed into a school that said it was training wizards when it was really converting fairies, so let’s deal.  Whatta ya’ got on the Potter kid?  He come on to you first?”

“I…my god.  What is wrong with you?”

“No god about it, or whatever it is you pagans worship.  We’re in some deep fucking shit here, and I’m trying to make sure you’re a sustainable investment for the next four years.  Let’s talk deep cover.  The McGonagall chick, is she down?”

“Professor McGonagall is an exceptional teacher, and Hogwarts is privileged to have her.”

“That’s great.  Will she take 20 large to claim you’re an excellent lover and a hippogriff in the sack?”

“Minerva would never…”

“Okay, right, fraternizing with the troops, no good.  Any other witchy types willing to pony up that your robe isn’t really pink?  No?  What else do we have going here?  Whatcha working on right now?”

“Well, I’ve been talking to some fine gentlemen from the Southern Continents about expanding my efforts into the field of acting.  They said I’d be a natural for a role they had in mind.”

“Mmm, little fruity, but doable, if it’s something with lots of explosions and titties.  What’s the project?”

“Playing Gandalf in “The Hobbit.”

“Oy vey.  No.  We can’t have you prancing around with a bunch of furry little kids, not now.  This is me, Larry, your trusted attorney, saying you can not do this thing.”

“Again, sir, I must stress that I have never met you, much less heard of you, before this most unexpected, and might I say, unwelcome conversation.”

“I hear what you are saying, Albie, and I respect the place where you are coming from, but I need you to understand that you…being that way…is a non-starter for anything that shows you tenderly guiding anyone under 18.  Much less hairy young boys called “Pippin” and “Merry Candyfuck.”

“From the script I was messengered, I do not believe there are any characters by those names in the moving picture you are referring to.  Also, whether or not I am, as you ever so charmingly put it, ”that way,”  there is no connection to being “that way” and being a paederast.  In fact, it’s proven that far more heterosexuals have inflicted that type of utterly unthinkable affront than-”

“Okay, listen D.  I will fix this.  I KNOW things about Rowlings.  Awful, dirty, horrendous things.  We have people for this.  We can make this go away.”

“I must insist that I do not have anything to apologize for.”

“Of course you don’t.  You just accidentally converted a bunch of mentally unstable pre-teens to some voodoo philosophy fraught with illicit symbolism.  Rocket powered broomsticks, limber willow wands, golden snitches, and all that.”

“I must again state that I have done nothing wrong.  My personal life is my own, and I truly resent these insinuations, Mr….”

“Goldstein.  Larry Goldstein.”

“…Really?  Is that Jewish?  Because you should know I totally hate Jews.”

“Ohh boy.”

“In fact, my editorial on the evil that is Israel is coming out in next week’s “Goblin Times.”  It should be the very thing to expose those money grubbing big-noses for the charlatans they are!”

“Okay, could you hold on a sec?  Hey, Cheryl?  Can you make up some coffee?  This is gonna be a long night.”

Call of the Wild (Suzanne)

It’s all Suzanne’s fault. Suzanne Fulton of Dayton, Ohio.

“Hey, I still don’t understand what the big deal was,” Suzanne starts, taking a drag from her Virginia Slim Ultra-Light. “Everyone acts like I’m Hitler or something.” She sips from her cup of “Parisienne Mocha Fantasia” instant coffee. Suzanne offered me a cup of the same earlier, but I politely declined. That stuff is crap.

I am sitting in the quiet, teddy bear adorned living room of Dave and Suzanne Fulton‘s ranch style home, trying to get to the bottom of the problem. I’m also trying to avoid knocking over any more Precious Moments figurines. I am on a quest for information. A holy pilgrimage for answers. Suzanne and I stare blankly at each other for a moment, before she sighs and begins again.

“It was 1981, I was a freshman at Ohio State.  Go Buckeyes, right?  They’d been doing some construction on one of the residence halls and I was just walking to class.  Honestly, I don’t know why I’m being crucified for this.”

I try to hide my disbelief. Suzanne ruined everything on that fateful September day.  How could she be so blind?

Construction was indeed underway at Canfield Hall during the mellow Indian Summer of 1981. But the carefree 18 year old Suzanne barely noticed the scaffolding as she waltzed past the building. “I was thinking about some assignments I had due, and about a party that my roommate told me was going to be “totally bitchin’,” you know, that sort of thing.”  Then it happened. As Suzanne’s pert young ass jiggled past Canfield Hall, a clarion call echoed over the campus.

“Shake it don’t break it, baby!”

“I looked up, I couldn’t quite figure out who said that. At first I thought it was God, or something, ha ha.”

It was not God (and Suzanne is not funny).  As Suzanne paused to shield her eyes against the September sun, her firm woman-child breasts quivering, the call was joined by another. And another.

“Daaaamn, I‘d like to saddle up those ponies for a ride around the park!”  “Them titties look good girl!”

The comments were coming from the construction workers high above Suzanne’s (newly frosted) head.

“Hubba huuuu-BA!” “Now that’s an ass I could bounce quarters off all night.” “You got some all day suckers on you, sweetheart.”

“Why don’t you come up here and suck my dick, baby!”

That’s when Suzanne betrayed all womankind. Because she did.

Her taught haunches barely constrained by her Olivia Newton-John-esque short shorts (“Hey, those were cute shorts! I had the matching headband, too.”), Suzanne made her way up 4 stories of scaffolding and presented herself to one Michael Rodriguez. Her moist, glistening lips had barely engulfed Rodriguez’s engorged member before the news began to spread. Spread like Suzanne’s gaping, cock-slobbering jaw.

“Holy shit, it WORKED!”

Like a crackling wildfire the news went down the line of bricklayers and carpenters.  The second string place-kicker for the Buckeyes glimpsed the scene from his dorm window and raced to pass it on to the rest of the team (presumably after furiously masturbating in a fit of voyeuristic passion). Within minutes, every male on campus knew. Knew that a guy got his dick sucked, merely by asking a total stranger 50 feet away from him to do so.

“I mean, it was just a BJ.” Suzanne takes another drag from her Virginia Slim (I swear to God, those don’t even look like real cigarettes. There can’t be more than a single thread of tobacco in the things.).

“But you had to know, didn’t you? There was no way that would be the end of it.“ I finally speak, trying to choke back my tears of frustration and rage. “How could you think that it would just stop there?

Because it didn’t stop there, of course. Like a viral infection spread by an army of horny monkeys, the news swiftly went beyond the Ohio State campus. Into the city of Columbus, the account spread with the honking of cars in the street.  Businessmen in diners whispered it behind copies of the Wall-Street Journal. When it reached a truck stop on I-71, the damage was irrevocable. Truckers immediately left off fueling their diesel powered big-rigs and hopped on their CB radios. In less than three hours, the news was barreling down every highway, every interstate and toll-way.

Within 24 hours every man in the country knew there was a distinct possibility of sexual favors for anyone brave enough to yell “Do those legs go all the way up?” or “Shake them titties!”

Why, Suzanne, why?

“You know, I still don’t see what the fuss was all about. You know? I mean, I guess I knew there was a little buzz on campus, but I went to the party that night, and everyone was really sweet. All the guys were so cute, yelling across the room that they’d like to smother my sweater puppies.  That’s where I met Dave, even. We started talking, or you know, I was talking. He kept pointing to his crotch and grunting, but he was a good listener. We started dating, got married after graduation, he got the job in Dayton, and…Here we are!” Suzanne smiles, sighs a little. Stubs out her tiny, skinny cigarette.

“But did you even think about the consequences? Did you think what you were doing to every woman who wanted to walk down the street without hearing about the junk in her trunk, or the jiggle in her jello? You gave those men HOPE, Suzanne. Dirty, filthy hope.”

Suzanne looks at me brightly, nods. “You’ve gotta have hope, right?  That’s in the bible, I think.”

Once again, we just stare at each other blankly. The moment is lost when I get distracted by a powder blue teddy bear that I’m pretty sure is giving me the stink eye.

“Oh, you like Mr. Fluffington? Isn’t he cute? Dave bought him for me. I’ve got a great collection. Almost 300 bears. Did you want to see it?”

No, Suzanne. I do not want to see your bears. I just want to walk down the street without being whistled at.

It’s all Suzanne’s fault.

Hanging with the Dream King

Overheard at the Neil Gaiman signing during “San Andreas Comic-Con ‘05” (Theme: “We love comics to a fault!”)

*******
“Oh my god, oh my god…I love you. I just, you don‘t know how much I love you. Oh god. I promised I wouldn‘t cry. My mascara is totally running, isn‘t it? God, I‘m such an idiot. I just, you know, love you! Ack! My hands are totally shaking!”

NG: “Thanks!”

“OH MY GOD HE SHOOK MY HAND!”

*******
“So, I made all these illustrations based on your stories, and I posted them on the message board and “Adaline the Reaver” said they were totally awesome, so should I email them to you, or do you want me to send them to your publisher? I can totally send them to your publisher, if you want to use them, and stuff.”

NG:
“Well, we can’t really…”

“I even got a tattoo of them…See? It’s just ballpoint pen. But when I turn 18 I’m TOTALLY getting it for real. For now I just draw them on everyday.”

*******
“At first I was really excited about Henry Selick directing the adaptation. What with The Nightmare Before Christmas, and all, I felt he would best be able to capture the creepy tones and dark style of the book. However, he said in an interview “It’s more of a Hansel and Gretel seduction into a place that appears to be colorful and wonderful, but turns out to be something more challenging .” “Colorful and wonderful”!? “Challanging”!? Is he mad?! At this point it’s all I can do to cross my fingers and hope for the best.”

NG: “….I, guess…yeah. That’s what we’re all doing, really.

*******
NG: “So how would you like this made out?“

“Could you make it out to Firespirit? No, wait, Adamintia. Or, how about Adamintia Moondancer? Oh shit, no, Tracy uses “Moondancer on her blog…Ravenwing? Yeah, make it out to Ravenwing.

NG: “Ravenwing?”

“Yeah. Ravenwing. Firespirit.

*******
“You said you were gonna write more stories about Shadow?”

NG: “Yes, in fact I’m working on some new…”

“I totally think they should be graphic novels, because I really want to see what he looks like.”

NG: “Well, I like to leave that up to the imagina-”

“I think he looks like Hellboy. You know, human, but you know, Hellboy-esque.”

NG: “I suppose you could…”

“Totally a bad-ass. Like Hellboy.”

*******
“So I picked up “Sandman: Book of Dreams” because its cover was more interesting than like all the crap novels which are like 95% of the library and I had no idea it was a comic and my mom always told me that girls didn’t read comics but I read this book and something was like “tap tap tap” in the back of my mind and I couldn’t place it but it was so familiar Then I realized–”

NG: “I’m sorry but there are a lot of people in line, here.”

“If you need me, me and Neil’ll be hanging out with the Dream King..“ It was a line from a Tori Amos song and I mean I a sit-up-in-bed-flip-to-the-front-cover-lightbulb-goes-off kinda moment ‘cause I had always loved that line, even when I didn’t know what it meant so I checked out as many books as I could find in my libraries and I’m currently reading “Neverwhere” and everyone wants to borrow them but I don’t lend them out…”

*******
“Hi, I’m DerangedElegance, you know, on the forum? This is Xanthacid.”

“Yeah, we were wondering, since The Endless are forbidden to love mortals, but Dream and Destruction have taken lovers…What about the other Endless?”

“I really can’t see Destiny doing it, but Death seems to make sense.”

“I think Death meeting Thanos, from the Marvel Universe, would be interesting, since Thanos extinguished entire star systems to please the Death of his world when he was in love with her. It would end horribly, of course, but it would be interesting”

“Oooohh Death and John Constantine! I read a fanfic with them together. It was some plot of Desire and Lucifer’s, man was it sexy.”

“I would like to see Death fall in love with a mortal. It would be ironic, I think, if Dream found out. Kind of like, “I’ve been the one to fall for mortals before, but you?” Cause Death seems to be so perfect most of the time.”
.
“Oh that’s awesome! I’m so gonna write this! I need to write a story about Death. You know, I think I’ll have her fall for a girl, you know. Just because.

*******
“It is late and I am sick. I take handful of sand and watch the grains fall to the toilet bowl, each grain means a dream less fulfilled …Oh dream master take away these nightmares and replace them with nothingness”

NG: “Daemonica,” is it?”

“Daemonica. With an “E.”

NG: “Right. Nice cape, Daemonica”

“With an…”

NG: “E. Yes, yes, with a fucking “E.”

*******

“Gaiman? More like GAYMAN! Heh. God, just look at all these ‘tards. Anyway, do you know where the Spiderman guys are?”

Unfuckingbelievable

Jay couldn’t believe his luck. His friends couldn’t believe his luck.

“She’s really gonna go for it?” “Dude! How’d you set that up?”

Jay demurred with the modestly smug grin of a man who is suddenly the coffee room Alpha male. When pressed though, he had to admit he was just as surprised as the rest of them.

“Well, I really can’t even remember how it came up. I mean, I know I’ve always thought about it and shit…Who hasn’t? But when we started talking about it I remembered all that shit that they always tell you to say to a girl in that situation . You know, that shit in Maxim and stuff. Be all intrigued and curious and everything, but if you act too interested it’ll creep her out.
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Soup At Hand, My (at) ASS

To the makers of Campbell’s “Soup at Hand”

Dear Sirs:

Holy shit. Are you kidding me?

I have seen your commercials presenting your product as an ideal choice for “Lunchers on the go.” Construction workers and commuters alike are shown enjoying the easy portability of this sippable soup. While I’m rarely “on the go,” and I own neither car nor backhoe, I was excited about trying your “Creamy Tomato” soup while at work today (I don’t own a microwave either).

Turns out I could have used a backhoe. To deal with the huge pile of disappointment.
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Inexplicable items found in the Office refrigerator

Item: A single bell pepper

Item: Full jar of garlic-dill pickle spears, prominently labeled with co-worker’s name in metallic pen (three spears later unrepentantly consumed by author)

Item: Two pound bag of very tiny limes (contents of fridge scoured for presence of something that would necessitate limes, i.e., gin, vodka, or similar to no avail.)

Item: 214 packets of Hellman’s mayonnaise

Item: 5 bottles of pancake syrup

Item: Ziplock bag of diced tomatoes

Item: Two bunches of celery (per their sharpie scribbled initials, celery and tomatoes did not belong to the same co-worker, eliminating author’s original theories of “salad making”)

Item: One and one half juice bottles stripped of their original labels (and minus any other identifying marks), containing something “brown”

Item: One unopened jar cocktail olives (Author scours fridge for possible cocktails…Turns up nothing. Checks to see if olives are pimento stuffed. They aren’t. Author eats entire damn bottle anyway.)