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

On Serious Offences

  Well, my very dear Virtually Nonexistent Virtual Blog Readers, it has come to my attention that one of you (I should say, all of you, since you seem to only consist of one person, that person being the Dancing Dwarf) is horribly offended by our new serial, Happy Rotter Strikes Again.  As I said in a comment posted under Chapter One, it is not at all our intention to demean the writings of J. K. Rowling.  Joe and I love J. K. Rowling, and we love the story of the Boy Who Lived.  That, beloved V.N.V.B.R.'s, is precisely why we embarked on our current spree of joyously uncontained mockery: we mock those whom we most love and admire.  If our expressions of affectionate esteem have in any way offended you, please chill out.  Stop being quite so serious.  Seriousness is bad for the complexion,  and it makes one's nose look dreadfully large.  There is nothing so unbecoming as seriousness.  Silliness, on the other hand, shrinks one's nose down to nothing, and it is excellent for the complexion.  Take me, for example.  I have a minuscule nose, and my complexion--well, never mind about that.  Nobody is ever allowed to see my complexion, anyway.
  Finally, my brethren, bear these things in mind when the next installment of Happy Rotter comes out.  Remember that we are not being serious, and remember that you should not be serious, either.  That way, we can all be happy, and frivolous, and make fun of whomever we wish without fear of offence.

~Hugo

Happy Rotter Strikes Again: Chapter Two

Happy leaned his head back against the ruined wall behind him, thinking wildly.  Dead people don't come back.  Not really.  I mean, when I stole that Resurgence Rock and used it, the people that came back were just ghosts; they didn't eat lemon drops or have tickly beards.  Suddenly, the wall behind him gave way and he found himself lying on the floor, staring at dusty fissures in the ceiling.  Muttering angrily and nursing a bruised elbow, Happy rolled over to glare at the defective wall, only to find that it was really a door. 

  "Happy!" a female voice screamed right over him. "What are you doing on the floor?"

  Happy, startled, tried to leap to his feet, but all that he managed was an awkward scramble foward into the wall next to his spot on the floor.  Grunting, he scrambled around on the floor, finally lurching upright.  A teenaged girl with wildly bushy brown hair and large dark eyes was staring at him, giggling.

  "Hermana!"  Happy cried happily.  He was so happy to see her that he could even overlook the fact that she was laughing at him, something which he normally did not allow, even from best friends.  "What are you doing at Pigpimples in June?"

  "The same thing you're doing," Hermana said, tossing her crazy hair.   "Helping with the rebuilding."

  Happy bristled at the assumption that he, the Chosen One, should participate in such menial tasks.  "Actually," he announced superciliously, "I'm here for a meeting with the new headmaster." 

  "Oh, do you know who it is?"  Hermana's voice was an excited squeal. 

  "No, I don't.  I came here to find out," Happy admitted reluctantly.  He hated to admit ignorance. 

  "Well, I'll see you later.  I have to get back to work now, but Mrs. Weasel has invited me to dinner tonight.  Are you going to be there?"  Hermana looked hopeful.

  "Yes, of course I am going to be there!  Can't you remember that I live there now?"

  "Oh, yeah, that's right!  Oh, Happy, I'm so glad that you finally managed to get rid of those awful muppets of yours!"

  "Yeah, well, you aren't the only one.  Look, I gotta be going.  See you tonight, okay?"

  "See you, Happy!"

  As Happy proceeded on his way to the headmaster's office, he wondered whom he would find there.  Would it be Professor Aphrodite McDonald, who was, after all, Deputy Headmistress?  Or, and here his heart skipped a beat, would it be Professor Dumbdoorknob himself?  He did, after all, seem to be back from the dead...

  Lost in thought, Happy walked right past the smashed gargoyle that marked the entrance to his destination.

  "Oy!  Ye!  Aren't ye supposed to be comin' in here?" a muffled voice with a thick Scottish accent hailed him.

  Whirling around with his hand straying to the underarm holster where he kept his wand, Happy abruptly realized that it was only the head of the gargoyle, speaking from the floor in the middle of the hallway.  Its voice was muffled because it could not open its jaws properly.

  "Uh, yeah," Happy mumbled, a blush heating his stubbly cheeks.  "I was, uh, thinking."

  "Yeah, sure, like ye teenagers ever think.  Step on up.  Headmaster's waitin'."

  Muttering a thank-you, Happy started slowly up the revolving staircase.  Once, it had moved smoothly in swift circles, but now it groaned and shuddered as it slowly, grindingly, ascended.  Happy eyed his conveyance uneasily; from the sounds it made, and the puffs of dust that rose into the air at regular intervals, the staircase was about to collapse. Don't those stupid people in charge of repairs ever do anything around her? he thought angrily. 

  Finally, the staircase brought him, with a jerk and a painful wheeze, to the door of the office.  Taking a deep breath, Happy reluctantly turned the doorknob and stepped into the devastated study.  Raising his eyes to the headmaster's desk, Happy suddenly seized his wand and leaped back into the doorway.

  "You!" he bellowed, "But--but--you're dead!"

  Behind Professor Dumbdoorknob's desk sat Severed Snake.

~Hugo the Horrible

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

Of Downs and Unders

G'day Mates!! It's Bebo here coming to ya live from Australia!!  I jus' thought i would check in on my old mates, Hugo and Joe. You probably wont be hearing much from my whiskered mouth over the next 7 months, but don't worry, I will be just fine down here with all of my new kangaroo friends!! Joe is jealous that I took my cardboard box with me, but it is a  good thing I did because last night it poured!!! So, here is me, whiskered, old hobo, cuddled up with my favorite koala bear in my old box with the rain pouring down, and then---THEN--CRAAAAACK!!! BOOOOOM!!! thunder and lightning!! This weather reminded me of the weather in my homeland. I tell you blokes, it was a good thing i decided to keep my five star beard intact because it was also cold. Then, the water began to fill up the ally and the water level kept on rising until me and the bear were curled up in an inch of water.
Well, the story didn't end so badly after all but I lost my precious cardboard box and i have been picking ally scum out of my beard all day!!

I guess I better go now, kangaroos are ready to hit the beach and I might be able to find some good food in the dumpsters near there.
Until next time, G'day mates!!!
¬Bebo

The Dwarf that Dances and Other Momentous Moments

  Ah, yes, Bebo has left us at last.  We miss him quite horribly, although I am sure that he does not miss us, given that he is off in the Land Down Under having lovely adventures with the indomitable Lenard.  Or Lenerd.  Or, as he himself prefers, Leonard.  Anyway, although Bebo probably never even thinks about us, we (or at least I) think about him often.  Just yesterday, as I was shivering in my box (the one located on the lawn of my parents), wishing for a wool coat, I thought, "Ah!  I shall go and see Bebo in his nice, warm, sturdy box, and drink week-old refried apple cider with him!"  But alas!  I remembered that, not only has Bebo Moved On To a Better Place, but he took his box with him.  I can't even steal it and live in a decent chunk of cardboard for a change.  Life is tough when one's friends move away...
  Ah!  I have news, though!  NEWS!  Yesterday there was a Dancing Dwarf sighting made by none other than your faithful correspondent, Hugo!  Well, it might perhaps be more accurate to say that there was a Hugo the Horrible sighting made by your absent friend the Dancing Dwarf, but these are merely frivolous details.  The substance of the issue is that Hugo and the Dwarf (Good grief!  It sounds like the title of a very bizarre fairy tale...) got together and actually had some communication.  It was lovely!  Hugo even got some exercise, for they walked a good deal as they had the above-mentioned communication.  Hugo almost never exercises.  He really should.  The downside to this particular exercise, however, was that Hugo was wearing high heels at the time, which was very stupid of him, especially since his parents specifically forbade him to cross-dress.  Nevertheless, high heels aside, we had a lovely time.  Or at least I did.  I think that the Dancing Dwarf did, too, but it can sometimes be hard to tell with that creature...
  Speaking of that creature, in some ways she really reminds me of my cat, which will of course offend her horribly when she reads this, because she hates cats.  If it is any comfort to you, O Dwarf, it would horribly offend my cat, too, but only because everything horribly offends my cat.  Last night, after feeding her generously with my own hands, and speaking to her flatteringly with all the (considerable) charm that I possess, she still bit me when I picked her up and gave her a kiss.  That little Fiend. All of this is absolutely not to say that the Dwarf is a Fiend, or that I would ever want to pick her up and give her a kiss.  Urgh.  (No offence, Dwarf).  I think that what I was aiming at when I started this nonsensical paragraph was that my Fiend is capricious, and the Dwarf is capricious.  Or something like that.  Or maybe I wanted to say that my cat is very pleasant to be around (despite the biting) and the Dwarf is also very pleasant to be around.  Yes!  That's it!  (Whew.  Nice save, Hugo.)
  Okay, so, now that I am stuck in the mud at the bottom of a very deep hole, dug entirely with my own hands, will someone please help me out?
  Today I took a Spanish test and turned in two chapters' worth of homework.  Unfortunately, since I was late, I did not turn the homework in in the manner requested by the teacher.  Then, as I was wasting her time turning in the homework the wrong way, I realized that I had not stapled it in the manner requested by the teacher.  She was understandably exasperated.  I was panicking, and the teacher was lecturing me as she shuffled with my messy, uncontained homework, when I was rescued by a classmate with a stapler.  Frantically grateful, I seized the stapler and stapled the homework.  However, I stapled it the wrong way! The teacher was more frustrated than ever as she struggled with the unweildy papers.  I wished for a massive earthquake to tear the floor of the classroom apart and drop me into a crack in the Earth's crust, but I had no such luck.  Finally, my poor, overworked teacher finished checking off that bloody homework, and I fled, trailing apologies and disorganization.  I confidently expect to fail the class; I have not been more mortified in a classroom since that One Time last winter in English 102.  Woe is me...
  You know, I think that the hole is deeper now, and the mud clammier and more abundant.  I think that I will stop writing and go hide under a rock,
   Your humiliated uncle,
    Hugo
 
P.S.  Am I the only one who appreciates the Screwtape Letters reference of my recent signatures?

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