Par Ody Goes to a Magical School (working title; Harry Potter parody)
Before I begin; I've decided to try my hand at parody writing. Parodies are some of my favourite things in the world and I've honestly always wanted to create some of my own based on my own favourite novels and movies. This is merely the first, un-edited draft, of the first few pages.
Par Ody was a 37 year old unemployed loser who seemed to attract bad luck his entire life. From falling off a cliff while learning to ride a bike, because his father was drunk off his ass. To being arrested for trying to warm himself while being homeless. All the way to being sentenced to 6 months in jail for writing a book. Par was just that guy no one really wants to see succeed, and everyone loves to see fail. Was he mean-spirited? Cruel? Lazy or stupid?
Not at all. Par was actually the nicest guy you’d ever meet. In fact, he was so nice that people instantly hated him. An odd thing, Par always thought. But it never stopped him from being nice all the same.
We begin Par Ody’s story at 37. Why? Because I’m 37 and I’m the author. Don’t ask stupid questions.
Anyway; We begin Par Ody’s story at the ripe age of 37. Though you wouldn’t know by looking at him, or by observing his behaviour and personality. He looked, and acted, like a man at least a dozen years younger. He had just been released from prison for having written, and self-published, a novel. The thousandth and third attempt of the young man to try and make something of his life. But little did he know that it was forbidden for the unemployed to work in the arts. At least, in his country.
Having no family, being completely friendless and penniless; Par was walking home that night. Though, he did not really know where home would be. He had lost his appartment, a broom closet under the stairs in the home of an angry old woman, her husband and their spoiled fat son. After all, the poor guy had been locked up in prison for 6 months and had been unable to pay them rent. As he was walking he contemplated on where to go. Back to his home village, where all knew him, but also hated him. Or would he go somewhere new? Perhaps the neighbouring village? Or maybe, just maybe, he could finally leave the country and go to a whole new place? Meet new people, and have a new life. A fresh start.
The idea intrigued Par just enough for him to decide to turn around and walk in the other direction. He would go however far his feet could take him. It didn’t matter how far, it didn’t even matter where. As long as it was a place where no one knew who he was, or where he came from. He walked so long that morning had turned into midday and midday into evening. Nighttime fell and the stars coloured the sky with their bright and shiny hopefulness. Par had always loved the night sky. He had arrived in a small rundown town that seemed to be completely vacated; ‘Patrick’s Hollow’ it was called. There stood a small church in the middle, and about a dozen houses formed the entire town around it. It almost looked like a movie set. Several of the homes seemed to even have holes in their roofs, giant holes where snow seemed to trickle in.
Odd, Par thought. Because it was summer, last he checked.
The deeper Par walked into Patrick’s Hollow, the more eerie it seemed to become. As if the little quaint town did not want him there. There was even a wailing, in the wind. A voice, a female voice. Ghostly and scary; gnarly and demanding.
“Leave this place!” The wailing voice whispered loudly in Par’s ear.
“But I need a place to rest my head”, Par exclaimed. “Please, just for the night”, he begged the invisible voice.
“Okay, fine. But I want you gone first thing in the morning”, the wailing voice said as it drifted away in a sudden gust of wind.
When morning came the very next day Par was awoken by a large and hairy man spooning him. He swung his arm around our middle-aged hero and pulled him closer just before he could escape.
“Yer, mi spooning bud, friend”, the man said in a deep baritone voice. His warm stinky breath fell on Par’s neck, sending shivers throughout his entire body.
“Please .. I .. I must be going. I promised the wailing voice I would leave first thing in the morning”, Par said in a panicky voice.
“Hold yer worries, friend” the hairy man told him. “Beargrit’ll protect ya”, and he pulled Par closer once more. As he did, Par felt something poke his back, and felt it search its way even lower.
“No, what are you doing? What is that? Please, don’t rape me .. I … I just came out of prison..”, Par said, with a sad voice.
“I ain’t gon’ rape ya, friend”, the baritone voice of the man named Beargrit said. “That’s jus’ mi umbrella”, he giggled and pulled out a pink umbrella with kitten ears on them. “See?” he said as he released Par from his clutches and our middle-aged hero quickly scurried to the other side of the room. “The name’s Beargrit”, the man said. For the first time Par could get a good look at him. He was tall. Taller than tall, even. The tallest man Par had ever seen. And hairy, so hairy you could barely see his face. Only a big fat nose popped out of his hair and beard covering his face. And a belly so huge it looked as though someone was hiding underneath his coat. “I is the groundskeeper of Porcus Verruca, the magical school for misfits and outcasts”. He said it like it meant something. With such pride that it intrigued Par, even if only a little.
“I .. Porcus what now?” Par asked rather confused.
“Porcus Verruca”, Beargrit said proudly. “We couldn’t use the H word, after all”, he joked and was met with a confused and blank stare from Par. “It’s THE magical school! Best in the world!”
“A magical school?” Par said, sarcastically. His eyebrow raised. “Really?”.
“Oh, a non-believer, eh? Classic Fuggles”, the big man shrugged.
“..fuggles..?” Par asked. His confusion grew with every minute and every word Beargrit told him.
“Non magic folk”, Beargrit told him. “Like yous .. although”, he leaned in closer and removed the hair from his eyes. Revealing two larger than life green eyes filled with wonder. “Ya did hear the wailing voice .. so there must be some magic in ya”, he chuckled. “What’s yer name anyways?”.
“I .. My name is Par Ody”.
“Okay, Parody. Where’s yous from? Where’s ya goin” The big friendly giant asked.
“It’s Par Ody, and I .. I guess .. I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore where I’m from. Because I’m never going back. As far as where I’m going, I have no idea. Away from where I came, I guess?”
“So .. homeless is ya?” Beargrit his the nail right on the head.
“Y..yeah, I guess”.
“How’s ‘bout yous come with me, I’ll hire ye ta be mi assistant”, Beargrit smiled a bushy hairy smile as his beard mixed together with teeth. Par tried to look away, but could not divert his eyes from this new horror he had unwillingly discovered. But, as he had no other options, he meakly said;
“Ok”.
“Good, good! We’ll leave in a jiffy”, Beargrit replied. “I’ll go prepare mi bike before we’s leave, ey?”
“O..Okay”, Par said. And he watched the large man walk out of the room. “Why does his accent keep changing?” Par mumbled to himself.
