Half-Blood, Half-Assed.
12/21/2004
In case you've been living under a rock for the last twenty-four hours, the new Harry Potter book is apparently finished, and due out in July of next year. Also, next year, Optimus Prime will die. I don't think this is a coincidence.

It doesn't seem all that long ago that everyone on my friendslist was all giddy over waiting for Order of the Phoenix to come out, and now we've got like eight months of build-up for this new one, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I'll say this, I like the title to this one better. The word "blood" must have a lot to do with it, I think. Anyway, I think I had my fill of the whole "Countdown to the New HP Book" mania from last time, so I figured as a service to all the Potter fans, and as a releif for the non-fans, I'd just go ahead and write my own version up, so we can get this out of the way. Merry Christmas, Livejournal.

OK, I admit, I've never read any of the previous books, except for the one time I cracked open the copy of OoP my boss brought to work, because I wanted to see what the fuss was about, then quickly closed it again. And I've never been exposed to any of the movies, except for that fairly in-depth synopsis of the first one that my brother gave me over the phone. I'm not even entirely sure which one is Ron. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that I'm one of these "insiders" with "credentials", who knows how to "spell" the characters "names". I winged this, and I'm man enough to admit it. It's not even finished yet, to give you an idea of how much effort I put into this. But let's be honest about this, do you want to wait EIGHT MONTHS for the real deal? Maybe this isn't the best version of HP&tHBP you can get, but it's a version, right? Do you want it done right, or do you want it done fast? Well, I think we're all for the latter.

Besides, I like to think I know my way around a keyboard and a blank page. And the title seemed pretty self-explanatory. Really, the story kind of writes itself, so I'm betting when the real deal finally hobbles over the finish line, it'll look a lot like my version anyway. So, without any further hubub, grab a snack, and please feel free to enjoy my version of...

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince(s)
by M. P. Smith
In fabulous SCRIPT-O-VISION

PART ONE: Today We Kill, Tomorrow We Die!

[Scene opens in the WOODS, where our heroes are marching intrepidly by moonlight through the forest.]

RON: Crikey, Harry! Just think, only a few more furlongs, and we'll be face-to-face with... The Half-Blood Prince.

HARRY: Just like the title of this cartoon!

HERMOINE: (carrying a heavy backpack on her shoulders) Hurry it up back there, you little twits. We haven't got all night.

RON: Relax, Hermoine. Remember what the ancient inscription said? Once we find our man, all we'll have to do is give him twenty pounds, and he'll grant us a copy of any term paper we choose! The third floor boys' room stalls haven't failed us before, and their words of wisdom won't let us down now.

HERMOINE: They bloody better not. And by the way, I've got a ten page essay on English Lit due Monday morning, I've pulled three all-nighers in a row, and now I'm lugging this blasted sack around in the middle of the night with you two wankers. You relax.

HARRY: Ten pages? That's bullcrap, is what that is.

HERMOINE: Too right. It's like half of the bleeding faculty is pure evil or something. Who did you get for English Lit?

HARRY: Oh, don't even ask. You know that guy with the metal teeth from James Bond. Jaws?

HERMOINE: Your teacher looks like Jaws?

HARRY: No, he really is Jaws. Every class he chases us all around the room, tries to eat us until the bell rings at nine-thirty. I don't even know what my assignments are anymore; he chewed up all the textbooks. Sometimes he throws that razor sharp hat at us, too. I know one fellow, he lost an arm that way.

HERMOINE: Maybe it's the caffiene pills talking, but if it weren't for the magic superpowers and all, I'd totally burn down the whole school. How much further is it to this blighter's place, anyway?

RON: According to the map, we're just a few paces away, everyone, so let's stay in good spirits!

HERMOINE: I hate you, Ron. Wait, I think I see something up ahead. All right, watch my back, you two, and try not to do anything stupid.

RON: (whispering) Say, Harry, about that class of yours. I thought Oddjob was the one with the bloke with the hat.

HARRY: (also whispering) Now that you mention it, I do believe you're right. Perhaps he killed Oddjob and stole it from him. I'll have to ask him about that in class next time.

RON: And Xenia Onatop was the lady who could suffocate men with her legs during intercourse.

HARRY: You know, during one of those free minutes when I'm not fleeing in terror from him.

RON: She was also Phoenix in the X-Men movies. Saucy little crumpet, that one is.

HERMOINE: (looking back at them) I thought I told you two to shut up. Wait, what was that--?

TRUNKS: BWAARRR!

(all three of them recoil in horror at the sight of TRUNKS, standing there in the middle of the woods like an idiot.)

RON: Bly me! It's the Half-Blood Prince! Just like the inscription said!

TRUNKS: (suddenly nervous) That was a close one!

RON: Then that means... I really will have a good time if I call 555-...

HERMOINE: Hold on a damn minute. This is the guy we're looking for? Prince of what, the Vanilla Ice Backup Dancers?

TRUNKS: Finish!

HARRY: Hold up a minute, I recognize this chap. He's the guy from Dragon Ball Z. That'd probably explain his oversized forehead and non-sequitor dialogue.

TRUNKS: If this mother does as my legend says...

HERMOINE: Oh, right, the poncy time-travelling guy. Hey, the year 2000 called, they'd like their anime sex symbol back.

TRUNKS: BWARR!

HERMOINE: Stop SHOUTING AT US, WE'RE STANDING RIGHT HERE!

TRUNKS: What a miscalculation on your part!

HARRY: Maybe we should give him a chance, Hermoine. Not that I'd trust any homework from this chap, but if we could borrow his time machine, we could use it to back to before your assignment was due, and you'd have more time to work on it yourself.

RON: Or we could go back in time and interview Chaucer and Thomas a-Beckett!

HERMOINE: OR we could go back in time to before homework was ever invented! Cripes, it's so crazy, it just might work... All right, freakjob, let's have that time machine.

TRUNKS: Bojack, you will not take this planet!

HARRY: I'd be careful, Hermoine, he's got a sword and all.

HERMOINE: True. Ron, you speak Stupid. You ask him.

RON: Hello, Your Majesty.

TRUNKS: (SFX: BWOW! fweefweefweefweefwee!) You're about to fight a real Super Saiyan.

HERMOINE: Well, what's he saying?

RON: Uh, I think he wants to marry me.

TRUNKS: YOU'RE GOING TO DESTROY THE WHOLE PLANEEETTT!! FATHERRR! YOU'VE GOT TO STOP IIIT!

HERMOINE: Oh, that's it. (she hauls off and decks Trunks square in the jaw)

TRUNKS: (whimpering on the ground) BWAR!

HERMOINE: BLOODY SHUT THE HELL UP!

TRUNKS: No! It wasn't supposed to be like this!

HERMOINE: Dammit, stay down!

(the kids all surround Trunks and beat him to death with their wands. And one of those brooms you use to play Quidditch. Yeah, those look like they could leave a bruise or two. Or whatever. The point is Trunks is dead.)

HERMOINE: (panting) Finally. Bastard sure took long enough to die.

HARRY: Well, that's another thirty-six hours we three have been unable to go without murdering someone.

HERMOINE: Oh, there'll be plenty of time for you to whine about it later. Right now we've got to hide the body. Red, you grab his legs and start dragging. I think there's a beach not far from here. We'll let the tide take it from there. Four-Eyes, you go through his pockets and see if he's got any future-dollars on him. That way, when we're old enough to drink we'll be all set.

HARRY: (kneeling to plunder the corpse) I thought we agreed my new nickname was going to be "Thunderface".

HERMOINE: And I thought you were going to get that LASIK surgery done. Now get to scavenging, Four-Eyes.

[LATER, at the coast...]

HERMOINE: Well, this is officially our worst adventure ever. Traipsing around the woods all night, just so we could find some maniac and drag his dead body all over the bloody countryside, nothing to show for it but fifteen lousy bucks we can't even spend until 2024. I've got a tension headache like you wouldn't believe, and that paper is still due tomorrow.

RON: (dragging Trunks' cadaver) Huff... puff... now, now, let's not be down in the dumps about it. After all, no matter how things might have turned out, our friendship is stronger than ever, right?

HERMOINE: I still hate you, Ron. Well, at least we're finally here. I may flunk English Lit, but at least there's one less dead body to be traced back to me. Harry, help Mr. Cheerful dump that in the surf, and see if it strengthens the bonds of your comraderie or whatever.

HARRY: Firstly, Ron gets two nicknames and I don't? And secondly, this chap's rather heavy. Shouldn't we use magic to toss him in, instead?

HERMOINE: Oh, that's your solution to everything. You probably use magic to zip your fly after you go to the loo.

HARRY: Well, as a matter of fact...

HERMOINE: Ugh. And it's that one-track attitude that confines you to the rank of One-Nickname. Now go help out Ron before I decide to tell Professor Jaws where you live. Oh, wait, he's already done. I may hate him, but he's reliable, I'll give him that.

RON: (from the surf) Guys! Guys! I dumped him in just like you said! You think anyone will find him out here? We'd sure get in a lot of trouble, huh?

[Suddenly, the waters begin to churn with a tremendous force, and a figure shoots up out of the ocean like a missile. Wait, like a torpedo! Yeah, that's it, because they're like missiles only for in the water.]

HERMOINE: Oh, swell, now what?

NAMOR: By Neptune's Trident! Who dares intrude upon the borders of proud Atlantis?! What wretched manner of landwalker thinks he can pollute the oceans with his misdeeds, without drawing the incandescent ire of Namor The First, the One True Sub-Mariner!?

HARRY: Aw, hell. It's gonna be one of those nights, isn't it?

{TO BE CONTINUED}




back to the little yellow room...