"Fear and Loathing in New Jersey"
a.k.a.
"Moony and Padfoot Hit the Road"
a.k.a.
"An Inquiry into our Author's Sanity"
~*~
by s1ncer1ty, who indeed grew sick of the traffic out on the road this morning...
~*~
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony quietly observes that Mr. Padfoot is one cranky prat today.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot notes that Mr. Moony is not the one behind the wheel in this deplorable
Muggle traffic.
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony states that Mr. Padfoot would not want him to drive in this tangle
of magic-fearing humanity. He drives, as Mr. Padfoot so delicately puts it,
like a "wrinkled old biddy."
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot wholeheartedly agrees on both points, and notes that, with all those
grey hairs, Mr. Moony is indeed beginning to look like said "wrinkled old biddy."
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony objects on the grounds that his grey hairs make him look distinguished!
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot tries to contain his peals of derisive laughter at such a notion.
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony finds it dismaying that Mr. Padfoot can find such amusement at another's
expense.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot would like to voice his objection to this American weather! It's
too bloody flipping hot! Argh!
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony suggests, as he has several times already, that Mr. Padfoot needs
only to turn on the 'air conditioning' in this primitive Muggle transportation,
and he will be cooler than if he'd cast an ice storm spell.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot once again reiterates that turning on this 'air conditioning' does
little to assist in the 'gas mileage' on this horrid Muggle vehicle. Why couldn't
we just apparate in the first place?
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony notes that the amount of Muggles in the state of New Jersey is almost
triple that of any other area in the United States. Additionally, Mr. Moony
points out that it is summer, leaving this road susceptible to what the locals
call 'Shore traffic.' There is too much of a chance that we'd be seen if we
were to apparate.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot requests that we at least change the music in the vehicle. He has
listened to Mr. Moony's music long enough. Wailing Muggle bint.
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony asserts, with pointed emphasis, that Tori Amos is indeed not a wailing
bint. She has a beautiful voice and is a brilliant poet.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot thinks that you just want to get into that Muggle Amos' pants.
Mr. Padfoot,
So what if Mr. Moony does?
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot would not blame his lovestruck, if deluded, counterpart, as Miss
Amos is one fine bird, but does warn said counterpart of the perils of wizard-Muggle
relationships. She may be pretty, but she's still a Muggle. And she's about
to wail her last wail.
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony threatens no end to bubotuber pus-filled Howlers if you dare
to touch that CD player.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot asks who is being a cranky prat now?
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony notes that it is only one day past the height of the full moon. Mr.
Moony is still on edge.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot objects that Mr. Moony's 'time of the month' should give him the
right to be a cranky prat.
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony suggests as a compromise that his own 'time of the month' give not
only him, but also his counterpart, the right to become a cranky prat.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot agrees, provided Mr. Moony stop his incessant complaining about
his ability to drive. If the shoulder weren't meant to be driven upon, why put
it there in the first place?
Mr. Padfoot,
Mr. Moony concurs, and closes his eyes for the remainder of the journey.
Mr. Moony,
Mr. Padfoot wonders if we are there yet...
Mr. Padfoot,
Alas, no.