Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

Epi-soda 16

A Magical Split

“It seems we’ve been carting around in the double-decker deathtrap for months,” said Der Weasel.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, I told you about the ‘bookmark spell’ didn’t I?” she asked exasperatedly. She opened The Year of Magical Thinking at the place that she had bookmarked previously.

“Actually,” Bumblebore interrupted gravely, “I was explaining that the time we’ve been away, which seemed like weeks or months, was rather like the time period that occurs when you put a bookmark between pages and then set it aside. When you return to it, you open it to the bookmark and the characters are right where you left them.”

“Well, technically, but tha’ was ages ago,” cried Der Weasel. “You can’t expect me to remember all that without my magic crib notes on my arms do you?”

Bumblebore’s eyebrows danced like two caterpillars doing the rumba. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “I knew it! I knew you were using some sort of magical device to cheat!”

“It’s not cheating—it’s—”

“Cheating! Tha’s what it is,” gloated Bumblebore triumphantly.

“But you use a pensieve to remember things,” said Harry “What about—”

“Immaterial, to our discussion—”

“What about me arms,” wailed Randolf the Burnt Sierra.

“Shut up about your bleedin arms, you stupid git,” growled Bumbelbore. “Don’t see me complaining about not having any arms, do you?”

Bumblebore moved slightly. “Hermione would you be a love and scratch under me robes?”

Hermione scratched Bumblebore’s back.

“Lower,” he said contentedly. “Lower still, even lower my sweet.”

“Ewwww, you’re a disgusting old goat, you are,” Hermione said resolutely.

“I suppose I am,” said Bumblebore sheepishly.

“What about me arms?” cried Randolf the Wrinkled.

Harry tapped Shun Standpipe on the shoulder. “Shun, could do me a favor?”

“Depends,” said Shun suspiciously.

“Would you open the double-doors to the bus?”

“You called?” asked Bumblebore confusedly.

“Well, for once, that stupid joke works,” Harry said amazedly.

Shun magically opened the doors with a handle attached to the doors. The sound of the evening’s traffic came in.

“Professor Bumblebore, do you see what I see on the street there?” asked Harry with a grin.

Bumblebore bent over to look. “What is it, Har—”

Harry magically removed Bumblebore with a swift kick of Harry’s foot.

“Brilliant!” cried Der Weasel

Harry grabbed Randolf the Warped by the robe. “Weasel, gi’ me a hand would you?”


“Hey, get your ‘ands off me, you little—”

Harry and Weasel magically threw Randolf the Red off the bus.

They put their arms around Hermione.

“Now,” said Harry satisfactorily, “let’s go find those other Horcruxes.”

“Horcruxii,” yelled Bumblebore and Randolf the Road Rashed.

“Garroff me,” Bumbore yelled just before he and Randolf the Mauve were left behind in the wake of the bus’s magical exhaust.

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Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

A Brief Retread, er, Recap

As you may recall (and simply not care, you can be that way, if you like), Harry Splutter and his friends, Hermione and Der Weasel, are on a quest to find and then destroy Horcruxes (or Horcruxii in Latinate) in order to defeat the e-vile Count Wal D’Mart.

While trying to get through airport security with a Horcrux locket, the TSA dementor (Now that Count Wal D’Mart and Dick Cheney ran things, the more trustworthy goblin screeners had been replaced by rule-oriented dementors) discovered their secret and they ran away (Harry et. al. ran away, not the dementors). During their search for a hiding place, they ran into Bumblebore, who took them to a dark hiding spot, a Three Broomsticks Express, where magical persons concocted magic potions (such as Long Island Iced teas). There, Bumblebore explained that “Horcruxii” are a portion of a magical person’s sole. “When a wizard does something bad, like jaywalking, a piece of the sole is torn away and placed in a container,” thereby “making the wizard, as it were, immortal…if he, or she, can remember his or her shoe size.”

He might have explained more but, once again, they were discovered. During this run through the concourse, they ran into the formerly “Randolf the Russet,” now “Randolf the Burnt Sierra” (since it’s fire season here in California and 800-plus square miles of vegetative stuff have been scorched).

Bitter enemies (due to a disputed bar bet that neither remembers any more),
Randolf and Bumblebore began beating each other with their fists. Harry stopped the fight by disarming the wizards, literally. Before the limbs could be corralled and reattached, Harry’s archrival Drano Fauntleroy burst through the terminal doors along with his henchmen, The Crabs and Boil.

Drano ‘Little Lord’ Fauntleroy, Crabs, and The Boil looked resplendent in their Branchwater Security Agency uniforms. Branchwater (contracted by the Bush Administration’s Transportation Security Administration to provide security at airports) was a subsidiary of KBR (Kookla, Bran, and Rolly), a subsidiary Halliburton, who, in turn, were a subsidiary of Arbusto Energy and Dairy). Resplendent or not, they shot at our plucky band.

Harry and the others in the plucky band ran out to the street. Harry thrust out his thumb to point where he thought they should go. Shun Standpipe and the McClatchy (formerly the Knight-Ridder) bus magically appeared (since Shun couldn’t turn down a cameo on a seldom-read blog).

Presently, the pluckmeisters are in the McClatchy Bus as it hurtles through London at astonishing speeds, magically morphing as it squeezes between or around cars, taxis, lorries, jitneys, and fairies; in search of a plot point.

To be continued in an upcoming episode: The Band Splits

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Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

“Time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so.” ~ Douglas Adams

Epi-soda 15

“My word.” Bumblebore sighed. “It seems like we been riding the McClatchy—formerly Knight-Ridder—bus for weeks.”

“It only feels that way,” said Hermione knowledgably and rather smugly. She reached her arm all the way past the elbow into her clutch bag and pulled out The Year of Magical Thinking. She opened the book at the place that she had bookmarked previously.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Randalf the Burnt Sienna morosely. He sat next to Bumblebore wishing he could twiddle his thumbs. That is Randalf wished he could twiddle his own thumbs, mind you, not Bumblebore’s.

Hermione had her nose in the open book and while tapping her teeth with a tasseled bookmark. She looked up. “Hmm?”

“He said,” Bumblebore grumbled, “what are you going to do with that?”

“Read it,” said Hermoine obviously.

“We thought you were going to make a point,” observed Bumblebore.

He went on, “perhaps with the bookmark.”

She stared cross-eyed at the bookmark for several sentences in which the narrator discusses how the McClatchy Bus is hurtling through London at astonishing speeds, magically becoming narrower as it squeezed between cars, taxis, lorries, jitneys, and fairies.”

“Hey!” cried Bumblebore.

“Sorry,” apologized the narrator magically.

“The point I was making,” said Hermione at last, “was that we were in ‘bookmark time.’”

“Of course!” exclaimed Bumblebore. “You’re right.”

“Mmmph?” muffled Randalf the Rouge.

“She’s saying,” grumbled Bumblebore irritatedly and pushing Randalf the Rogue—”

“That’s rouge,” huffed Randalf.

“Whoops, sorry.” apologized the narrator again.

“May I continue?” asked Bumblebore, annoyed at the interruption.

“Of course,” said the narrator.
“That the time we’ve been away,” Bumblebore continued gravelly, “which seemed like weeks or months, was rather like the time period that occurs when you put a bookmark between pages and then set it aside. When you return to it, you open it to the bookmark and the characters are right where you left them.”

“Brilliant!” cried Der Weasel (it being in his contract that he must say ‘brilliant’ once an episode).

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