Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Giant Laughed, the Centaur Cried
Old & Bad Jokes, Chapter I
Three Drunk Cannons
Revised & ‘Potterized’ by Dr T
Note: I do not own these very old and often very bad jokes. I do not own any part of the Harry Potter empire, other than copies of the books and movies. I have, however, smashed them together.
To the great surprise of many people in the British magical world, the Chudley Cannons won their second game in a row . . . for the first time in several years, bringing their season record to 2-5, their best start in decades.
That night, the team went out and celebrated heartily.
‘Heartily’ was not a term which could be used to describe how the players felt when they arrived at practice the next morning. That was particularly true of three players, who sat on the bench in front of their lockers, their heads in their hands, each looking very miserable.
Anyone who had known these three at school would have been surprised at their proximity, for two of them had been antagonists then. However, six years as teammates had made them fairly tolerant of each other.
“Bloody hell,” one muttered from one end.
“Weasley, that’s at least the fifth time you’ve said that. Please, stop it,” the wizard on the other end said softly, and somewhat gently.
“Just stop shouting you two,” the wizard in the middle whined.
“We aren’t shouting, Greg, it just seems that way,” Draco retorted. “We were all intoxicated last night and have hangovers.” He snorted. “None of us thought to take a hangover potion.”
“Lavender had me sleeping on the sofa, and Hermione and Harry are mad at me. That’s how drunk I was when I got to Grimmauld,” Ron moaned.
“We weren’t just intoxicated, we were blind stinking drunk,” Greg complained. “At least I was.”
“I was probably even more pissed,” Ron claimed.
“No, I have to admit I probably was,” Draco confessed.
“No way,” Ron retorted.
Draco snorted.
“Prove it,” Ron dared.
Draco sighed. “When I flooed home, I fell out on the floor. I managed to crawl over to a cushion, and then blew chunks.”
“Puking all over your parlor is embarrassing, but it’s not that bad,” Ron claimed. “How about you Goyle?”
“When I got home, I was so drunk, I screwed my wife.”
“So? You married Millicent.”
“Yeah, but I never screwed her face-to-face before. I love her, but you know what she looks like. The faces she made. . . .” He shuddered.
“Okay . . . bad images there,” Ron admitted. He sighed. “If you tell anyone, I won’t be the one who comes after you, just remember that.” The other two merely nodded, now curious. “I was horny, too, so I stripped off my clothes, rushed to the bedroom, leapt on the bed, scored a perfect insertion, but finished in about three strokes.”
“Embarrassingly quick, but not that bad,” Draco stated. “Impressive leap, I have to admit.”
“Wish I had finished that quick,” Greg muttered.
“Well. . . .” Ron had to admit, red face, “the problem was, I was so drunk, I went to the wrong bedroom. Hermione was upset. . . .”
“Upset? I’m surprised she didn’t kill you!”
“She would have, except Harry was on top of her. . . .”
If their heads hadn’t hurt so much, the other two would have howled in laughter.
“Anyway, I was the drunkest,” Ron told them, more than a bit embarrassed. He was just glad Harry had just wandlessly banished him out of the bedroom instead of killing him.
Draco was the one who sighed now.
“No, Draco was the drunkest,” Greg told the redhead.
“How can you say that?”
Draco sighed again, and admitted, “Chunks is the name of our house elf.”
Three Drunk Cannons
Revised & ‘Potterized’ by Dr T
Note: I do not own these very old and often very bad jokes. I do not own any part of the Harry Potter empire, other than copies of the books and movies. I have, however, smashed them together.
To the great surprise of many people in the British magical world, the Chudley Cannons won their second game in a row . . . for the first time in several years, bringing their season record to 2-5, their best start in decades.
That night, the team went out and celebrated heartily.
‘Heartily’ was not a term which could be used to describe how the players felt when they arrived at practice the next morning. That was particularly true of three players, who sat on the bench in front of their lockers, their heads in their hands, each looking very miserable.
Anyone who had known these three at school would have been surprised at their proximity, for two of them had been antagonists then. However, six years as teammates had made them fairly tolerant of each other.
“Bloody hell,” one muttered from one end.
“Weasley, that’s at least the fifth time you’ve said that. Please, stop it,” the wizard on the other end said softly, and somewhat gently.
“Just stop shouting you two,” the wizard in the middle whined.
“We aren’t shouting, Greg, it just seems that way,” Draco retorted. “We were all intoxicated last night and have hangovers.” He snorted. “None of us thought to take a hangover potion.”
“Lavender had me sleeping on the sofa, and Hermione and Harry are mad at me. That’s how drunk I was when I got to Grimmauld,” Ron moaned.
“We weren’t just intoxicated, we were blind stinking drunk,” Greg complained. “At least I was.”
“I was probably even more pissed,” Ron claimed.
“No, I have to admit I probably was,” Draco confessed.
“No way,” Ron retorted.
Draco snorted.
“Prove it,” Ron dared.
Draco sighed. “When I flooed home, I fell out on the floor. I managed to crawl over to a cushion, and then blew chunks.”
“Puking all over your parlor is embarrassing, but it’s not that bad,” Ron claimed. “How about you Goyle?”
“When I got home, I was so drunk, I screwed my wife.”
“So? You married Millicent.”
“Yeah, but I never screwed her face-to-face before. I love her, but you know what she looks like. The faces she made. . . .” He shuddered.
“Okay . . . bad images there,” Ron admitted. He sighed. “If you tell anyone, I won’t be the one who comes after you, just remember that.” The other two merely nodded, now curious. “I was horny, too, so I stripped off my clothes, rushed to the bedroom, leapt on the bed, scored a perfect insertion, but finished in about three strokes.”
“Embarrassingly quick, but not that bad,” Draco stated. “Impressive leap, I have to admit.”
“Wish I had finished that quick,” Greg muttered.
“Well. . . .” Ron had to admit, red face, “the problem was, I was so drunk, I went to the wrong bedroom. Hermione was upset. . . .”
“Upset? I’m surprised she didn’t kill you!”
“She would have, except Harry was on top of her. . . .”
If their heads hadn’t hurt so much, the other two would have howled in laughter.
“Anyway, I was the drunkest,” Ron told them, more than a bit embarrassed. He was just glad Harry had just wandlessly banished him out of the bedroom instead of killing him.
Draco was the one who sighed now.
“No, Draco was the drunkest,” Greg told the redhead.
“How can you say that?”
Draco sighed again, and admitted, “Chunks is the name of our house elf.”
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