Hairy Peter and the Writer's So Stoned: Chapter Three
<css>
/*-------------------------------------------------------- Remove title from top of pages; displays lower in the template
*/
h1.firstHeading { display:none; }
</css>
Chapter Three
The Letters From Nobody… who is the only one who really loves Raymond
LIFE was actually quite pleasant for Hairy, unless you count getting beaten up by a fatso and getting cursed by your stepparents all the time as being “unpleasant.” But hey, that’s what happens in most redneck families anyway, and nobody cares! But with one British boy, everybody makes a fuss and fangirls rush to the book stands!
Anyway, Hairy was beginning to notice some strange things going on. Quite peculiar, actually. First, he realized that the scab on his forehead looked similar to the form of currency they use in the United States of America, or the dollar.
Secondly, when he was being chased by his greedy cousin Glockenspiel and other bullies at the school that his parents forced him to go to, he fell over, but when he thought he was about to get the living crap beaten out of him, he instead heard a strange sound, opened his eyes—and there he was, on the bridge of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701. For this obvious copyright infringement, he was sent to the principal’s office, along with Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, Scotty, Lieutenant Uhura, and Pavel Chekov.
Thirdly, and most importantly of all, one night he wet the bed in his closet underneath the stairs, but it was sticky and not at all yellow. Also, he was dreaming about babes in bikinis when it happened. Odd.
Of course Glockenspiel told on him, and Uncle Albert and Aunt Dramatica sent him to his closet, saying he’d “peed on his bed,” and Hairy, having never learned sex ed. in school, just wet along with it.
But then came a strange day, as told by the prophecy of the Lizard King: “Strange days have found us, strange days have tracked us down.”
Hairy had received his first letter ever. Well, first, not counting all the spam mail he got, most of which being false penis enlarger ads. Okay, fine, his 101st letter ever. But get this: Predictably, Glockenspiel whined his ass off about wanting to read it, but Uncle Albert wouldn’t let either of them read it. Matter of fact, he threw it away.
So Hairy had gotten his first non-spam letter, and Uncle Albert wouldn’t let him read it. He wouldn’t let him read his second letter, either, nor his third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth—does everybody get the idea? Mean guy, lots of letters, yadda yadda? Okay then. Let’s move this plot along.
One of these days, about ten letters must have arrived, and, of course, Uncle Albert ripped it up into a bajillion or so little pieces. One of these days, OVER 9,000!!! letters arrived, and Uncle Albert burned every single one. But that’s when Aunt Dramatica asked Uncle Albert:
“Albert, dear, have you seen my paycheck? I was supposed to get a bunch of pounds in the mail today.” Oops…
So in order to distract Dramatica from the fact that he probably just burned her paycheck, Uncle Albert took them all on a vacation. Now, when you think vacation, you think Hawaii or Acapulco or Venice or maybe a Caribbean cruise or even camping. But where that moron Albert took them was a complete hellhole. And I’m telling you the truth. Spın̈al Tap wrote a song about it called “Hellhole.”
Hairy conveniently remembered just then: his eleventh birthday was coming up in about a few seconds. It was about eleven seconds and counting…
10…
9…
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…
Suddenly, the doors swung off their hinges and in stepped a giant whose face was mostly covered with a huge beard. Uncle Albert held up a gun to the giant, but with one sniff of the giant’s garlic breath, the gun melted right in Albert’s hands like the clocks in that Salvador Dali painting.
“ ‘Ello ‘Airy!” said the giant. “My, how ‘ou’ve grown! Last time I saw you, ‘ou was a wee baby!”
“Uh…” said Hairy, “…do I know you?”
“M’name’s Haggis. Rubiks Haggis. Oh, an’ by da way, happy birthday!” Haggis pulled a slightly squashed birthday cake out of his jacket. There was green icing all over it. Hairy was happy. He’d never gotten a birthday cake before.
“Oh, an’ I wouldn’t eat da cake if I was you,” said Haggis. “It’s yicky. That’s not green icing on top.”