Return of the Cranatoes

Hello, nonexistent readers! (Yeah, Dwarf of the Dance, I’m not even counting YOU anymore!) Happy Thanksgiving! 
I ate heartily. Okay, no, I ate normally, but normally I eat scarcely. Something about people aside from my family, for whatever reason, made me lose most of my appetite. But this year it was not so! However, I did eat when I arrived home. I’m just not used to eating right after getting to my destination, thus my stomach was not adequately prepared to eat the multitudes. 
Cranatoes! They were my main dish. I actually ate two servings of them! Yes, they are what I look forward to most of all (desert aside). Mmm, and that pumpkin pie… At least, I think there was pumpkin pie hidden beneath the whip cream… I should have had more desert. But I was all sugared out. That’s what happens when your sister makes two kinds of delectable for breakfast, and right after that, your mother comes home from a race carrying a box of donuts. It’s not good, my friends! Well, actually, it was good, which is kind of my point. 
My mother is disgusted by cranatoes. She’s never tried it… She must be so deprived. It makes me sad. 
Is anyone experiencing bouts of insanity today? I woke up and could only walk like a drunk. A couple hours ago, I tripped, and then tripped while tripping, and then tripped while tripping while tripping. I couldn’t shuffle a deck of cards. My speech was all over the place. There were other things my tired brain will remember tomorrow. 
I tried a new tea today! And muffin. And donut. 
Did anyone else see the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade? Wasn’t it… abnormal? More bands, less floats, both awesome (Newsies) and odd (did you HEAR Daniel Radcliffe singing?!?) musical songs, and then there’s the 610 Stompers. Seriously. Even Al Roker was like, “Well, that was, haha, uh, oh, look, there’s…” 
I’m thinking about eating another donut now. Or something. My stomach’s in tears. Like I didn’t just feed it half an hour ago…
Oh, what a strange day it has been. 
I promise to write in Happy Rotter by December 6th (Sorry, Hugo!). 

Yeah. I’m done.

Joe

Happy Rotter Strikes Again: Chapter One

Dear Readers,
We three hobos of Christmas Island are now writing…
A co-written series! 
Warning: If you haven’t read/watched (you better have read them first!!!) Harry Potter, you may not understand the following story, but feel free to read for bizarreness. Also, we’re just having fun. And it’s full of spoilers. So, if you want the mysteries to remain mysteries, and not to be exclaimed to your ears through confusing, possibly incorrect ways, we advise to read at those risks! 
Now, without further ado, we give you…

Happy Rotter Strikes Again

     Happy stared at the device in his hand, horrified. 
     “It’s called a cell phone,” Mr. Weasel said. “Or a mobile.”
     “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Happy muttered in his traditional British accent. “How do you know about muppet technology that I don’t even know of? That’s not possible!” He shoved the brick-sized phone at Mr. Weasel. 
     “You were the Chosen One, Happy,” Jenny sighed. “That doesn’t mean you’re God.” 
     “I’m going to take a walk,” Happy barked at the Weasel family gathered around their kitchen table. They stared at him, flabbergasted, as he stormed outside, furious at the world. 
     How dare they! he thought. I’m Happy Rotter! I deserve to know everything! I defeated  Mort Loverdold! Perhaps I should just destroy the thing. I destroyed all that ancient stuff; muppet junk should be easy. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Happy clutched his neck automatically, before remembering the star-shaped scar had been rendered useless. 
     Happy turned around. The kitchen glowed brightly through the dark summer night. He could discern figures through the molding curtains. From a distance, the house looked like a shoe. On more than one occasion, he had wondered about that and a certain nursery rhyme. Unfortunately, it was one only told to muppet children, and Happy’s best friend, Tom, had only given Happy befuddled looks. 
     By the time Happy returned to the house, he was much to tired to take action. He went to bed, plotting different ways to kill the cell phone and leave no evidence. 

*

     In the morning, Happy flew on his mop to the school, Pigpimple. It was especially refreshing to fly through a cloud. It was a shame the mop absorbed so much of the water, though. 
     Once he arrived at the castle, he strode to the headmaster’s office that lay in ruins from the final battle. In fact, the entire castle was in shambles. All of the wizards that had a bit of spare time were pitching in to magically fix the magically destroyed building and the surrounding grounds. The school board was practically demanding that by the end of the summer, Pigoimples be habitable. 
     “Ah, Happy, there you are,” a voice said. “What have you been doing this past year?” 
     Happy jumped up into the air, whirling around. 
     “Happy, do use a wand when alone,” the man said, striding from the shadows of a collapsed wall. 
     “Not possible,” Happy whispered, fainting. When he awoke, he felt something tickling his face. He swatted it and opened his eyes. A grey and white beard filled his vision. “Professor Dumbdoorknob?” Happy asked. “How?” 
      Professor Dumbdoorknob helped the seventeen-year-old to his feet. “Why, Happy, I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
     Happy glared. “You’re dead, sir.”
     “I suppose I am. I really don’t know how I got back to this living land. Although, the next land is quite alive. Do you like the color red?” 
     “Um…”
     “Dear me!” Dumbdoorknob exclaimed. “You never know when Tod Mirdle will strike! Really, where is your wand?” 
     “But professor!” Happy protested. “I defeated Mort Loverdold! He’s gone!”
     “What? Oh, Happy, I don’t think so! I may be old, but I still have most of my marbles! Oh, do I see lemon drops in that bowl? Goodness, there are so many! Pip pip, Happy! And remember to practice your occlumency!”
     Happy slid to the floor, his mind spinning. 

      Joe

Ode to Bebo

     Today, Bebo leaves the country, along with Lenard. Unless they have already left. I’m really none too sure.     
     Last Thursday, we had an accidental hobo reunion. It was all thanks to Bebo. Hugo now works with Bebo, well, until now, when Bebo swaps countries. Anyway, Bebo was given a present from work, but left it at work. Hugo drove it over while I visited Bebo, thus creating the reunion. Thank you, Bebo, for your forgetfulness. It comes in handy sometimes.
     While I hunched over in Bebo’s box, he suddenly remembered; “Oh, yeah! I got you this when I snuck into Mexico.”
     “How long ago was that?” I asked.
     “...Seven months...”
     Perhaps it isn’t so surprising he still has a shirt of mine from earlier this summer. I’m lucky he ever found my pants. I wonder where the secret room’s hidden...
     Guess what? Hugo got his present seven months ago. Yeah. YEAH.
     Yep. This is how our worlds work.
     Oh, Bebo. Seven months from now, your plane will descend. You will get home, but find that Hugo has somehow mangled your house beyond recognition. He will blame me, he will point the accusatory at me. Just know that  whatever he says, I was not the one who let the army of squirrels into your box.
     Good luck in that new land. God bless your extended vacation. May your paths be filled with many friendly hobos.
     And Lenard, please come back in one piece. Do not let Bebo talk you into, well, anything. Bebo’s a bad example filled with bad ideas.
     G’day mates!

Joe

Beyond an Epic Fail

     Remember how I said that we can’t function well when we hobos are apart? Well, at least with this blog, it’s true. Ah, what a tragic summer it has been. We three, mostly separated. Yesterday, we almost had a reunion! Bebo was there, as well as Lenard, Hugo, and some others. But, reader, it was I, Joe, who was missing from the party (and the Dancing Dwarf, but that creature doesn’t really count). Bebo spend a good amount of time trying to convince me to visit him and his horse. I failed in that epically. And he failed in forcing me out of the house. We are failures to each other.
     Have you noticed this horrible fact? I’m the only one who’s posted since school got out. They must have lives… Well, in Hugo’s case, fictional lives… But I’ve read plenty this summer! And I’ve written a lot. Among other things. And what does he do? Read. And facebook. Probably uses the heavy stuff, too, disfiguring his face…
     Hugo, this is a public announcement telling you to check your email! Of course, you never check this blog. You only know what’s being said through your email. It’s a never-ending loop with you, isn’t it?
     Oh, look. I uncovered another one of our failures.
     Guess what? School starts tomorrow. Blah. But hey, maybe Hugo’ll post again… Of course, Mr. Bebo is NOT coming back. Oh, what sadness! And Razzle! He’ll never be seen again, the poor automobile.
     My life is so drab. Yesterday, my highlight was putting on a pair of jeans. Oh, and right before I went to sleep I found out some awesome info about a college. But I have a stalker. Of the feline variety. Every stinkin’ place I go. Whoosh! And he’s there. Right now, he’s a couple inches away. I should really get a restraining order from this ally cat. He’s very persistent.
     Stalker cats, horsy reunions, and heavy fictional facebooking. It’s official. We fail at life.
     Joe

The Butter Thief, Chapter Three

“So?” Jenny asked. “Will you do it?”

“You know what you’re asking is insanely difficult,” the slightly obese, balding man told her in his heavy New Jersey accent.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “That’s why I came to you.”

“Look,” he advised, “I can’t help you, but I know someone who can. They call her the Butter Thief. A thief among thieves, she is. Almost a legend, ya know? I mean, getting’ to her might be hard, but she can handle this, easy.”

“I don’t usually work with women,” Jenny said. “I find them… deceitful.”

The man laughed at this. “Well, then you’re straight outta luck. She’s the only one I know of who could do this.”

“Maybe. How can I get in touch?”

“Oh, honey,” he guffawed. “I don’t know the women! Don’t know anyone who do. Although, if you’re desperate…” He observed her.

“Fine,” Jenny resigned. “It’s a big job. Lots of money at stake.”

“Hang on,” he told her. “I’ve got to get my computer to show you.” He walked into the back room of the dusty pawn shop. A minute later he returned, holding a laptop. “Lemme just… One minute, okay? Slow internet… And there you go.” He swiveled the laptop on the counter to face her. “It’s a news thing from yesterday,” he said.

A news anchor woman stared at Jenny from the video playing. “Two weeks ago, a man, Jeremy Hendricks, who went by the aliases of Liam Johnson and Ben Warrington, was arrested for stealing a large collection of coins six months ago that are valued at three million dollars. He has since been charged of other thefts, as well as being the accomplice in a murder. The most recent theft, which also involved the murder, happened a mere sixteen days ago. The investigation into that crime unearthed a massive slavery ring. He almost always had partners to assist him, and he has turned them all in. All but one, that is. The police have released a statement saying, “He calls her the Butter Thief. He will not name her out of fear for his life. We believe that this is a valid claim because he has been otherwise cooperative. This woman is a high-profile criminal. We have been investigating into the matter, and will continue to do so.” If you have any information about this woman, please call-”

Jenny stopped the video. She glanced at the grinning man and back at the computer. “And that’s the only person you know of?”

“The only one,” he replied.

“Then I guess I’ll have to keep searching.”

“No! Don’t you get it?” he asked. “This Jeremy guy, he might be able to tell you.”

“I’m afraid that even if he did, it wouldn’t help me. The Butter Thief,” she said, stifling a laugh, “is someone who I’ve already asked. Sure, she can do it, but she’s occupied for the moment. Thanks for your time, though.”

Jenny walked along the street, thinking about how odd it was that now the whole world knew her name, instead of only the exemplary thieves the had at one point collaborated with.

HoboCon 2011

     Yesterday was a grand day. Yesterday was… HoboCon 2011!!!
     We three hoboes were reunited. It was a touching moment, filled with excited blabbering, awkward hugs (from me, the only person who could ever rival Voldemort), multiple outbursts of violent fake-fencing, and bickering. Ah, you would have cried!
     Not only did Bebo and Hugo come over to my beautiful box, but so did Lenard! As well as two other, as yet unnamed individuals. I expect that you will know them quite soon. The only exception at this glorious festival was the Dancing Dwarf, who was doing something…. Maybe that thing?
     Might I say that Bebo and Hugo are terrible at croquet. I believe Bebo only succeeded in not losing to his Hugoian counterpart because of his having cheated. Twice (that I’m aware of). And this was the easy course. Dear goodness, if I had set up the usual extreme course I like to play with my family, I am firm in my belief that those two would still be out there, probably at the third… loopy-stuck-in-the-ground thing… My, aren’t I articulate?
     Oh, yes! Speaking of family, my sister was in attendance. She would probably prefer to go unnamed as she was a bit surprised at the shocking lack of decorum and direction in what we said. But, HA! Oh, just believe me when I say, she was thoroughly entertained. At one point I left her with Hugo in the kitchen to show Lenard and company a story I was writing about our adventures we’ve had. After roughly ten minutes, I jolted up in my bed, realizing I had left those two alone! Needless to say, we all rushed back to them to unexpectedly find that they were doing just fine without us. But before that, it was a chaotic, scary moment… 
     At one point Hugo played a beautiful piano piece he himself composed. He’s a hobo of all trades…
     Sadly, Bebo and company had to leave early due to animal things. Then, a couple hours later, after eating a plentiful dinner, Hugo too left. After a game of badminton, my sister left to play a rambunctious game called soccer, or futbol in other places. Yes, that sport. How I long to play… Soon after, I grabbed my magical camera, and began taking pictures of Lenard and company on the rope swing. How I wish I had grabbed it sooner… Did you know that a rope swing in motion, with someone on it is a prime target for photographing? It is. Even I looked rather debonair and dashing in a couple pictures, if I do say so myself. And Lenard? Far too photographic. He should be a model… A newspaper model! Yes, I will have to speak to him about that… Oh, and then those two left. It’s not like they’re still here, or anything… I hope… With that big, scary, unmarked van…
     Ah, the rope swing. Not only is it great for photos, but it also works well when one wants to get in an exercise. I’m still sore! Either that or…
     BEBO, YOU ARE DEAD IF YOU GAVE ME THAT PESKY FLUENZA!
     Hope you’re all not dying in this heat like I am (and no one else seems to be…).
     Awkward hugs and kickses,
   Joe
     P.S. I’ve been told to post ahead of those lazy bums. So I’ll get to that soon. Honestly, I don’t know how they even function without me…