Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Bad Fanfiction Review: The Least Funny Joke of All Time

I’ve been meaning to review this one for a long time. In fact, I even had half of it written when evil hippogriffs rampaged through my hard drive and ate it. I say hippogriffs because this lovely little tale focuses a lot on them, or rather, how Harry and Draco are turned into hippogriffs and fall in love. However, I don’t want to give it all away in one go, so read on, ye horrified readers.

George and Fred are known as pranksters. However, as the author of this story points out, “Some jokes just aren’t that funny…” Apparently, they have turned both Harry and Draco into hippogriffs, which, let’s be honest, we’ve all wanted to do at one time or another just so they could finally recognize the burning passion they have for each other. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

Upon waking up in their changed state, Harry and Draco each charge to the headmaster’s office. Draco gets there first, and ever unflappable, Dumbledore sends Snape off to call Draco’s father as if he were ordering a spot of tea. Harry comes galloping in soon after, and Draco goes absolutely bonkers. Everyone else thinks that Draco is attacking Harry, but Hagrid, suddenly appearing on the scene, announces that Draco “just wants to mate.”

What.

I like to think everybody gave Hagrid blank looks at this fact, but as Draco is humping Harry and purring, it’s rather obvious that this story is nine levels of wrong. Hagrid takes it to eleven levels as he explains that in hippogriffian culture, there are submissives and dominants. Draco is dominant and Harry is—duh—submissive. Harry merely rolls his eyes at this statement, “as if to say ‘That’s soooo me.’” It is then decided that letting them live together in the Forbidden Forest is the best way to handle this. Because if Draco rapes Harry, no one wants to see that.

Poor Ron.

Unfortunately, the reader follows them into the forest, and Draco randomly decides to call Harry “Harriet.” But the bizarre incidents do not stop there. They are met by some centaurs, who apparently have the same mating lifestyle as hippogriffs in that there are only males. Submissives (remember that this is Harry) can get pregnant. Because what’s a horrible fan fiction without a good, healthy does of male pregnancy? And since submissives are rare, all the dominant hippogriffs will all try to “jump” Harry, as Draco puts it. Normal people call it hippogriff rape.

As the story progresses, Harry and Draco settle into hippogriff domestic life with Draco hunting and Harry making…nests. Until one day a brown hippogriff shows up while Draco is gone. This is the hippogriff equivalent of the bed intruder.

He's climbing in your nests, snatching your...er, hippogriffs up?

As the brown hippogriff is…er…holding Harry down, he keeps saying things like “Ah ah, pretty one, Don’t do this now. Calm down” and “Ah ah ah pretty. You shouldn’t say such nasty words.” But Draco saves the day and all is well. They even decide to call each other “friends” instead of “enemies.” Because once you’ve nonstop humped your mortal enemy for weeks, you become friends automatically.

You humped my leg for 2 hours today. I guess we can be friends now.

In the next chapter, we get our first glimpse of consensual hippogriff sex, which isn’t much better than hippogriff bed intruder sex. After only a couple of horrifying images which I wont get into, they are happened upon by Ron, Hermione, Blaise, and Pansy. This spells all types of awkward. Hagrid, probably deciding “Oh what the fuck,” announces that mating season is coming up.

We feel your pain, Mr. Bill.

Harry and Draco take this rather differently. Harry is panicking, like any sane, normal wizard who has been turned into a hippogriff. Draco can only think “Babies, babies. Cute babies.” Thankfully, the author skips the next hippogriff sex scene, presumably because she (or he?) has figured out how FUCKING AWKWARD it is. But since Harry gets pregnant as a result, maybe she doesn’t know how fucking awkward it is.

Or that’s what I thought. But let’s forge on into more awkwardness, shall we? Back at the castle, Fred and George are ever so sorry that they played this joke. They apologize to Lucius, Draco’s father, and he waves it off and kisses them both. On the mouth. Sexually. Oh, and there’s this note too:

My Dear Twins,

I hope that I didn't shock you too much with those two little kisses. If you want more I suggest that you come to the Malfoy Manor. You have one hour before my wards goes up again.

I'll be waiting.

Yours, Lucius


I will blow you... away.

Meanwhile, Ron is pining after Snape. We know this because he talks about it with Harry.

After that brief tidbit, we are transported to the Malfoy manor, where Fred and George are “sweaty, sticky and well fucked.” Kind of makes you wish we had the hippogriffs back, doesn’t it?

And then we jump forward to Lucius telling Snape that Snape actually fancies “young Mr. Weasley.” In response, Snape says that Ron is adorable. Because I guess Snape does shower flowers on the unsuspecting, especially if he uses the word “adorable.” And then he hunts Ron down and after a gentlemanly apology, kisses him and then prances off, presumably to cuddle bunnies.

And I just want them all in my house so I can roll around in them, and I want them in a basket with a bow on a rainbow...

But let’s go back to the hippogriffs for a moment because OH MY GOD THE BABIES ARE COMING. And then Harry lays some eggs and they hatch. All it in all, that part isn’t too bad if you discount the words “Harry lays some eggs,” and the fact that there’s a lot of growling and purring. And the fact that the babies call Harry “Mama.” And the fact that they are prone to walking in on a lot of sex.

I will spare you the ensuing details about the Ron/Snape and George/Fred/Lucius love affairs going on intermittently throughout this horrid piece of smut that isn’t so much smut as it is a shining example of Rule 34. You really don’t need to hear about Fred and George having sexytime with Lucius by swirling whipped cream and chocolate sauce all over each other’s bodies. You also don’t need to hear of the budding romance between Ron and Snape that plays out like a ridiculous Jane Austen novel. So instead I’ll skip to the part where Snape finds a cure for the hippogriffness of Harry and Draco.

Sob.

So Ron announces it to Harry and Draco, with their little hippogriff children present. Said hippogriff children are shocked and have a brief bout of “You’re going to leave us! I hate you!” which lasts about 10 seconds. Then they are promptly okay with this new development. It is decided that Harry and Draco will take the potion, but visit their hippogriff children as often as they can.

I will let that weirdness seep in for a moment.

So Harry and Draco take a potion and it turns them back into humans! Hooray! They turn and pet their hippogriff children, presumably to say goodbye, but all of a sudden…

POOF!

Their hippogriff children turn into real children!

And as they say, alls well that ends well in weird stories about bestiality, incest, and sex with minors. Harry and Draco’s children still have a knack for walking in on awkward sex scenes, Ron and Snape are happy and have two children, and Fred, George, and Lucius still have amusing romps around the house.

Please, someone, for the love of God, LISTEN TO THEM.

However, I am left wondering why it ends with Ron prancing around the kitchen with grace while wearing a blue and white apron. And the whole thing ends with the line “Ron snickered while Severus carried him up the stairs for some mind blowing sex in the bathtub.”

I’ll leave you to scrub your brains with vinegar now.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Remember a year ago when I started working with dirty sailors?

I wrote this a while ago, while I actually still worked for the Clipper, and so only made this available to select people since I didn't want to take any chances and get fired. But now I don't work there anymore and since I am quite unlikely to work there ever again, and since my boss no longer works there, I figured it was time to let the rest of the world see this masterpiece. I give you THE LIBERTY CLIPPER TRAINING MANUAL.



Hello and welcome aboard THE LIBERTY CLIPPER. Here is where we can make all your sailing dreams (and more!) come true. While working for THE LIBERTY CLIPPER, you will experience some of the best, and most desirable, working conditions you've ever known! From helping customers book sails to maybe even sailing the high seas yourself, working at THE LIBERTY CLIPPER is sure to be exciting! Here are some guidelines for you to follow once you start your new job:

Types of Sails

Noon sail - You go sailing around some islands. Yay islands!

3 PM Harbor Sail - More islands! More sailing! More dirty water!

Boston Tea Party Sail - Only available Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends, not that we'd tell you that. Includes a time traveling revolutionary from the 1700s. Huzzah!

Sadly, not this kind of tea party.

6 PM Sunset Sail - You can see the sun set!...if it's not cloudy, raining, thundering, or a Wednesday.

Sunday Brunch Sails - Only on Sundays. Eat breakfast as the crew salivates over actual food! This food will be brought to you by a frustrated girl in a broken down jeep who got lost on the way back from BJ's.

This would be a better option.

Private Charters - The best thing ever because they give the lots of cash monies. You'll hate them because you're the one that has to call the people scheduled for a sail that day and tell them that they're totally uncool and not invited anymore. Then they will hate you.

Bed and Breakfast - Or as we affectionately call it, "BOAT and breakfast!" Get it?? Cause you're on a boat!

Sailors

Never ever talk to them. Ever. Don't start up a conversation with them, don't say hi to them, don't even look them in the eye because then they can work their sailor-piratey voodoo magic on you. Most of the time they are unhappy because they get paid sixty percent less than minimum wage, but they don't need money because they smell. Regular meals are a foreign concept to them. They can subsist entirely on oysters and rum. If they fall overboard, they dissolve immediately, due to salt. Office workers MUST be wary because even just one glance and you could find yourself in the ocean, somehow transformed into a humpback whale with a sailboat full of harpoons and guns chasing after you. And you want to know how? PIRATE MAGICS.

All attempts to find a picture of a sailor that wasn't a slutty Halloween costume failed. So here's a whale.

Go Boston Cards

The people who hold these cards are SPECIAL. You must cater to their every need, because they are a cross between entitled yuppies and... entitled yuppies. They lose us money on nearly every sail, but they do like to complain about paying $10 a ticket to Boston Tea Party Sails. They're not allowed on sunset sails unless they give us their first born child.

Refunds

We don't give 'em! HAH! ...Unless we cancel the sail due to thunder, because loud noises frighten us. Otherwise the customer is S.O.L.

Discounts

Reluctantly given. We do AAA when we feel like it. Which is Fridays at 2:01 and Tuesdays at 11:37.

Don't give me any of that B.S., cute puppy. No means no.

Booking

Remember to get all the customer's important information! Name, cell phone, number of people, credit card number, billing address, mother's maiden name, favorite color, favorite food, drink of choice, boxers or briefs, their entire life story, and who they voted for in the last election. Then once all that is entered into our online booking program, you get to cross your fingers and pray that the credit card won't be denied. Hooray!

The Liberty Clipper

Our boat is a 125 ft schooner, which means it has two masts instead of one, which makes it more badass. It holds about 100 people and has three whole bathrooms! (I'm sorry, heads.) And the most important feature, A CASH BAR!

Light on the stormy, heavy on the dark. And it's better with a lime, you fools!


Of course, there's more to your new job than just this. You also get to do the following:

- Redecorate the office with Christmas bulbs!
- Wrangle dogs!
- Drive your boss' car to Southie for breakfast!
- Count money!
- Throw lines!
- Chase after those dogs again!
- SORTING!
- And more!

We're so glad that you chose THE LIBERTY CLIPPER! We look forward to working with you!

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

A Really Horrible Thing Happened This Morning

Welcome, friends, to my tale of absolute horror.

I like driving. It's fun, and while I'm driving I have a chance to mentally prepare myself for the day ahead. I often like to do this with the window open, because having the radio turned up and the wind in my face at 8 AM is absolutely necessary to my preparing process.

I do not like traffic. You don't move, you sit there, and suddenly the wind that was in your face becomes a stifling, oppressive heat. Also, if you leave the window open, bugs might fly into your car, as one did to me this morning. Except it wasn't just a bug. It was a yellow-jacket.

Oh hai.

In the word of bugs, you've got a couple different categories. There's mosquitoes and flies, which fall under the "Damn Annoying," and "Bugs that make you wave your arms about and dance like a ninny" categories. You've got the honey bees, which are in the "Hey, you're cool. Leave me alone and I'll leave you alone." But then you've got hornets and yellow-jackets, which are in the "Complete Asshole" category. The "I'll sting you if I damn well want to and there's nothing you can do about it" category.

Basically, they're dicks.

And it's one of these that flew into my window while I was sitting in traffic, and then promptly crawled into the tiny space between the windshield and the dash. "You clever fucker," I thought. "Now I'll just flip out the whole drive to work because I wont know if you're still there or not." Cause, you know, sometimes not knowing is worse. This yellow-jacket was the master of psychological warfare.

I might sting you, but I might not. HAHA YOU DON'T KNOW!

I immediately became aware of four things:

1. Where my limbs were and what was on them: Was that a hair? Or something crawling across my foot? What about my face? OH GOD IT'S IN MY HAIR.

2. How fast I was going: Would the yellow-jacket like it better if I went fast? Or slow? Does stopping abruptly anger it?

3. How bumpy the road was: Oh God, oh God, it's going to fly up out of there once I hit this huge bump and go right into my face.

4. What the music on the radio was: You know, because music soothes the savage beast. I figured commercials would anger him, so I frantically tried to find the stations that had music playing.

It also likes Nickelback. What a douche.

In an effort to calm myself down, I tried to be playful and give the yellow-jacket a name. With my creative skills oppressed by the evil lurking near my windshield, I settled on Bob.

But you know what? It didn't work. Bob was still a scary motherfucker. Instead of making the yellow-jacket more charming and amiable, it just added a rather sinister feel to the name "Bob."

Get the fuck away from me, Bob.

I think it's necessary to note here that I have never been stung. By anything. Ever. I guess seeing my brother get stung when I was little honed my survival instincts, and even though I ran away screaming from any black and yellow thing ever, I've avoided getting stung to this day. It probably would be less painful now than as a child, but it would still hurt, and the image of my brother wailing in pain is not yet erased from my memory. So, I am still afraid of these sinister flying, stinging machines. Not deathly afraid, but enough to make me dance like a ninny any time I come in contact with a yellow thing with wings.

Thankfully, I made it to work without something flying in my face and me crashing the car. As I was carefully shutting my window, poised to jump out at the least sign of yellow, a thought occurred to me: It was going to be hot today. Really hot. Like 95 degrees hot. As a result, the inside of my car would be the approximate temperature of the sun. So instead of leaving the windows rolled down and providing an escape route, I left them up and walked away laughing. That yellow-jacket is so dead. Deader than dead.

Feast while you can, asshole.

But since it's such a dick, I half expect it to still be alive and out for vengeance.




*Just so everybody knows, the image search for this was the worst thing I ever had to do.