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Ok, here's this week's start at the attempt at something of length that will inevitably fizzle out, but hopefully not this time, but hey, I thought to myself, "how do I teach these kids magick and the true nature of reality to make them less tarded?" And I thought, why don't I tell a story about learning magick? But then I realized that existed, before I came to conclude a spicy parody that directly teaches exactly what I set out to do would be dynamite, and so I give you the first few paragraphs of Hairy Dickhead and What the Philosopher's Stone Actually Fucking Is:
The Boy Who Lied
Mrs. Sharp-Shetman and Mr. Shetman of the vocally feminist household at number six-seven Denilo Lane were the most astute of all rational-minded people. Nothing whimsical addled their senses! Unlike so many mad hatters and dim dogmaticisms pretending to be human, Mr. Shetman particularly prided himself on having his booted feet firmly on the ground and his head even lower than that.
Mrs. Sharp-Shetman would usually comment about how his head was up his arse, as that's what these eleventh generation English immigrants called a fanny, and they'd be right to tell you what words mean, because words were absolute, as was the nature of the godless world, the mechanical deterministic universe, and everything that could possibly be as that's all they could think of!
Mr. Shetman told people he was a code jockey at Initech. He said he worked with data structures, and sometimes there were problems he had to fix on the double. Mrs. Sharp-Shetman was the vice administrative coordinator and executive director of analytics at an animal shelter. She had a lanyard, and when she wasn't playing with the puppers n kitties, she managed the front desk, drafted a few emails a day, sending one, all while attending a few zoom meetings a week.
Combined, their salaries afforded them a two bedroom, one bath apartment in the suburbs by a toxic landfill and polluted lake, but safely far away from any churches, temples, mosques, and ESPECIALLY anything Buddhist! Mrs. Sharp-Shetman's sister got roped into a cult, y'see? Nasty group, meditating all the time. What a waste! They could be trading stocks, or keeping up with the news!
That was this happily married with a prenup couple's biggest secret: what had become of her sister, Daisy Sharp. As the elder of the two, Peach was secretly jealous out the ass that her younger sister seemed so much happier than her. It repulsed her, in the manner a rapist taking pleasure in their demoncy may evoke vile emotions in the morally sound, and it repulsed her for the exact same underlying reason: there was no female Buddha, and thus her sister was being raped by the patriarchy!
Of course, rape is horror at the extreme precipe of a human being's ability to comprehend, let alone survive, which is why Daisy had been tirelessly reaching out to her sister and her family, sending them a nice Christmas present of a large jar of their community's homemade applebutter every year which Peach threw out immediately simply knowing it was laced with LSD, because Daisy wanted to bring them into the fold and let them know that the battle is already won.
...
That's what I got for now, and it's a good hook to spice the marketing, but y'know, the boy who lied is Mr. Shetman who actually works as a telemarketer. Hairy will literally chained to the wall at the start of chapter two. The cat you think will be Professor Magnanimous Pussy is actually just a normal cat that gets smushed by the flying motorcycle. Dumbledore smokes weed in every scene. And obviously, I teach these kids about what it means to be a child of God. I think this may be a good idea sapling that bears fruit.
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