Voldemort, This! (Part 2): Lent in Casablanca, Night 25

Emil the Croupier spun the big roulette wheel.  A dashing gent uttered the words, “All on twenty-two.”

Yvonne the bar floozy pushed a small mountain of chips onto 22.  The little marble spun around, bounced into 22 briefly on its journey, then settled in 1.

“Une!” cried Emil.

“MERDE,” growled the ragged voice of Francois Truffaut.  Being dead, Francois Truffaut was not in the room.  The voice came from the Wonder Collar around the neck of Sam the Wonderdog. “Va te faire enculer, Emil!”

Emil laughed croupierically.  Sam switched to the powerful Welsh tones of Richard Burton.  “Yvonne, duke Emil a 100, and carry me back to the bar. ” Sam smacked Yvonne on the ass, and she picked him up, carrying him past Abdul at the door.

Back in the bar side of the cafe, Lucius Malfoy had sat down at the table with Hermione and Annie the Soapmaker.  The tall gaunt bastard known as Lord Voldemort stood impatiently as Annie and Lucius downed a shot of Jägermädchen.

“Good Lord, Annie. What’s in this?”

“It’s good for you, Lucius. It will put hair on your–”

“Manners, Annie.”

“Oh, bollocks your manners.  Do you have my payment?”

Lucius Malfoy slid a drawstring pouch across the table.  Annie counted out 12 gold coins, a small vial of glowing green powder, and a petrified monkey paw.

“Very good.  Thank you.” Annie handed over the brown bag Testarossa Ferrari had gotten from under the table.  “And here’s your order.”

Lucius Malfoy opened the bag and peered inside. “You’re sure this will work?”

“Lucius.  Of course I’m sure.”

“But my t-zone gets so dry in the winter.”

“We’ve been through this, you suave metrosexual bastard.  ERDA Studios hemp oil and rosemary soap will clean your face without drying it out. ”

“And the other?”

“Yes, Lucius.  The creme will help with your cystic butt-acne.”

There was a knocking sound from under the table, followed by a loud “MERDE!” and a spate of giggling.  ‘Rossa climbed back into her chair, her pupils the size of dinner plates.  Hermione laughed.

Voldemort snapped.

“YOU’RE HERE BUYING SOAP? And I have to stand next to this laughing MUDBLOOD?” Voldemort whipped out his wand, and managed to proclaim “AVADA KEDA–” before Testarossa Ferrari kicked him square in the nuts.  Voldemort’s high, clear voice grew three sizes higher that night. 

Lucius took his bag of moisturizing soap and hand creme, and walked outside, where he disapparated the hell out of there.  Rick growled, and got up from the table, where he and Lisbeth were in a furious chess battle. “I don’t like disturbances in my bar. You either lay off blood purity, or get out,” he snarled at the whimpering mass on the floor. Voldemort’s left hand still cupped his seriously bruised bludgers; his right  hand tightened again around the Elder Wand, and he aimed it at Rick. 

He never saw the small, somewhat androgynous girl zap him with the powerful taser.  Voldemort dropped the wand and spasmed out of consciousness.  Annie the Soapmaker cackled gleefully, and poured a round of Jägermädchen for everyone at the table: Rick, Yvonne, ‘Rossa, Lisbeth, Hermione, and Annie clinked glasses. “To tasering jackasses!” Sam the Wonderdog lapped his Jägermädchen from a lowball glass.  His eyes started glowing, like the sankara stones in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.  The WonderCollar switched to Jeff Spicoli.

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAA,” said Sam.  Small sparks flew from his paws, and he began to hover, at first a few inches above the table, then higher still.  He began drifting around the room, maintaining about eight feet above the floor.  Every time he flew by Annie the Soapmaker’s table, he giggled.  Kelly Vision rolled her eyes as he floated by.  Hermione looked down at Voldemort and asked, “What should we do about He Who Must Not Be Tolerated Anymore?”

Lisbeth smiled her lopsided smile at Annie, who cracked open another bottle of Jägermädchen.  “I had to deal with a bastard a couple years ago. ” Everybody drank.  Hermione burst out giggling, as Lisbeth took The Elder Wand and “Advokat Bjürmaned” the unconscious Voldemort with it. 

Rick winced.  Lisbeth gave Hermione a long kiss, smiled, and walked back to the chessboard with Rick.  Sam floated by.  ‘Rossa held up a glass, which Sam managed to descend sufficiently to drink.  Then with a “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, Putain de merde! Je suis totalement bourré!” he went zooming around the bar singing “Smoke From A Distant Fire.”  Sam did a touch & go on Kelly’s head, woofed affectionately, and dropped a slobbery $100 bill in Kelly Vision’s margarita.  Liz Lemon smiled at Kelly.  “Friend of yours?”

 “Yeah.  This happens whenever he drinks with Annie the Soapmaker.” Kelly smiled, and rolled the dice on Trivial Pursuit: Maven Edition.  “As long as he doesn’t pee on the roulette wheel or catch nargles off Yvonne, we’ll call it a good night.”

A very good night indeed.


6 Responses to “Voldemort, This! (Part 2): Lent in Casablanca, Night 25”

  1. Sam knows more French than I do. I guess that’s what he does when I’m not home.

  2. Flying Sam! That’s exactly what this joint needed.

  3. snoringKatZ Says:

    croupierically – best. word. evar.

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