The other day the neighborhood boys were having one of their epic battles. If you have boys you're probably familiar with this sort of play scenario. A troop of little boys treks around spouting lingo from their favorite movie or video game and pointing imaginary weapons, plastic light sabers, or sticks at each other. There are a lot of sound effects and arguments over who is immune, immortal, or invulnerable.
This particular battle happened to be of the Harry Potter variety, so the group of little boys brandished imaginary wands and shouted spells and curses at each other.
“Avada Kedavra!” (which in most of their cases came out sounding like “Avacado!”)
Kory and I, who were out cheering Chunky’s transition from four wheels to two, had all but tuned out the magical skirmish. Until one little boy pointed his wand and shouted, “Gluteus Maximus!”
You know, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hit with the big bottom curse.
I’m pretty sure, when I was a baby, the dark wizard, Lord Voldemuffin, marked me with the Gluteus Maximus curse. And I've suffered. Oh, how I've suffered.
But little did Voldemuffin know that the day he cursed me with extreme bootyliciousness he also bestowed the very power I would need to someday defeat him. If I ever come across Voldemuffin again, I’ll simply sit on him and end his reign of terror forever!
Now, to write a best-selling series about my adventures...
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