Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

When in doubt, have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand.” (Raymond Chandler)

Epi-soda 14

“Look out!” shouted Hermione shrilly while pointing and hopping from foot to foot.

“Wha?” said Harry and Weasel unanimously and also stupidly thinking that she might need to use the little witch’s room again.

“Mmmmph” mumbled Randalf the Russet Potato, who had somehow stumbled into Bumblebore’s lap, what with lacking arms for steadying himself and all.

“Garroff!” shouted Bumblebore irritatedly, having, seemingly, missed the ‘Look out!’ that Hermione had shouted a moment ago, and that the reader needed to be reminded of, since it occurred so long ago in the narrative.

“It’s Drano Fauntleroy coming through the terminal doors along with the Crabs and Boil and…oh no…he’s got a gun!” she shrieked.

Drano ‘Little Lord’ Fauntleroy, Crabs, and Boil looked resplendent in their Branchwater Security Agency uniforms. Branchwater, having been outsourced by the Bush Administration’s Transportation Security Administration to provide security at airports, was a subsidiary of KBR, a subsidiary Halliburton, who, in turn, were a subsidiary of Arbusto Energy and Dairy.

“A gun?” said Harry quizzically. “Don’t you mean a wand? We don’t use guns in the wizarding wor—”

“Freeze, slimeballs!” yelled Drano Fauntleroy.


Fzzzzwhzzzz. A bullet fzzzzwhzzzzed past Harry’s ear.

“Run!” she shrieked redundantly.

Hermione grabbed Harry and Der Weasel by the scruff of their scruffy necks and headed for the double-door—

“Did someone call me?” asked Bumblebore.

That’s double-door, grumbled the narrator somewhat irksomely.

“Oh, sorry. Carry on.”

After reading the previous thread of the story the narrator continued…

Hermione dragged Harry and Weasel through the DOUBLE DOORS [narrator looks around glaringly, daring any inane character to talk back] with the others watching before another shot rang out.



“Feet, don’t fail me now,” cried Bumblebore.

“Wha’ about my bloomin’ arms?” Randalf the Burnt Sienna (the narrator having used all the Russet crayon in the box) moaned piteously.


Bang (Whoops. Out of sequence. These things happen when all H-E-double-hockey sticks is breaking out.)

“Never mind,” yipped the Potato. He did the 100-meter dash through the double doors.

“Did we lose them?” asked Der Weasel as the group reformed outside near the curb.

“The white zone is for—”

“What now?” asked Harry out of breath. “They’ll be on us any time now.”

“Some great wizard you are,” sniffed Hermione discontentedly.

“Yeah,” Der Weasel chimed in redundantly. “Don’t even have a plan how to get us out of here, let alone to find the horcruxes.”

“Horcruxii!” shouted the others.

“Well maybe we could go over there.” Harry used his thumb to point at a hiding place past his shoulder.

Kerpow! Screeccccch ch ch ch. They all turned to see what had made the horrific and quite loud backfire and braking noises.

“Brilliant!” Weasel yelled enthusiastically.

There in the gloaming stood the Knight-Ridder Bus.

The door swung open and the attendant—

“Shun Standpipe!” piped Harry as he, Hermione, Der Weasel, Bumblebore, and Randalf the Orange clambered aboard. “I thought you were dead.”

“Nah,” drawled Shun. “I couldn’t miss the opportunity to appear in a little read blog now could I?”

Shun Standpipe closed the door behind the group as Drano, Crabs, and Boil crashed into the door’s glass. “Where to?”

“Get us out of this scene,” screamed Hermione demurely.

“Okey dokey.” Standpipe put the bus in gear.

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Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

Episodah 13 (I hope you don’t have triskaidekaphobia) is from Alan Hutcheson. Drop by and see his Sketches by Plumboz.

“Do you think you might do that again?” Bumblebore said nonchalantly to Hermione.

“Do what?” Hermione said perplexedly.

“That little, you know,” said Bumblebore. He made a kicking motion and then tipped his head back. “In the backside.”

“You want me to kick you?” gasped Hermione indignantly. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’ll kick you, you old perv,” volunteered Ron vigorously.

“It’s not the same,” moped Bumblebore.

“Well then try this on!” chortled Randalf the Russet and Purple. He aimed a roundhouse kick at Bumblebore, but with no arms the technique he had learned at the Wizards’ School of Martial Arts and Sewing Machine Repair served him badly and instead of planting his size fourteen in the Headmaster’s tuckus the itinerant wizard missed by a good foot and a half and ended up on the floor himself.

“I should like my arms back,” he said morosely. “If you don’t mind.”

“How about a foot, you clumsy fake?” said Bumblebore, who seemed to have no problem with the concept of kicking someone when he was down. “Ow!”

Hermione intercepted his kick with a well aimed foot of her own at the back of his knee, flipping the Headmaster face down into Randalf’s lap.

“This is just not right,” muttered Ron queasily.

“Off!” shouted Randalf vociferously. He tried to bounce Bumblebore off his lap with no success; the wizened wizard’s head kept landing back where it started. “Oh my lord! Get off! Get off” Get off!”

“Maybe you two are, but it’s doing nothing for me,” groaned Harry droopily.

“Mmph, mrrhpr, keemph,” said Bumblebore incoherently into Randalf the Russet’s lap.

“Don’t do that!” screamed Randalf miserably.

“What did he say?” inquired Hermione with some interest.

“He said ‘Now will you kick me?’” said Harry, who owing to his unusual and generally hushed up genetic makeup could speak Face/Lap. It was a talent he was just beginning to appreciate fully.

“Fine,” said Hermione. She hauled back and gave Bumblebore a good toe in the hip, rolling him off Randalf the Russet.

“Thank you,” said Randalf gratefully.

“Thank you,” said Bumblebore breathlessly. “Would any of you by any chance have a smoke on you?”

“I say we leave them,” said Ron with finality. “We can find the Horcrusts without them.”

“Horcruxes,” said Randalf with conviction.

“Horcruxii, you blithering boil,” said Bumblebore with a look about him. Really, he said it while he was looking around. “Where have they got to?”

“If we knew that, we wouldn’t need you to find them,” said Harry exasperatingly.

“Not the Horcruxes,” began Bumblebore, but not before Randalf shouted:


“Not the Horcruxii, I meant,” said Bumblebore primly. “The arms. My arms to be precise. Where are they?”

All of them looked about and saw that Bumblebore was indeed right. The four arms, manacled though they may have been, had taken advantage of the diversion and toddled away.

“My arms!” moaned Randalf piteously. “My hands! What shall I do without my hands!”

“You’ll have to find a chimpanzee who will do anything for a fiver, I suppose,” said Bumblebore mischievously.

Hermione thought briefly about kicking him again but saw the only profit would be his and kept her foot to herself.

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