It's Not Easy Being a Squib or The Misadventures of Chester B. Humpledincker

The Misadventures of Chester B. Humpledincker

So It Begins...

It started with jam. It would end the same way.

A lorry is making its way down a deserted country lane, the word 'Hartley' painted on its side. The driver we see can only be described as a biological mess; a face not even a mother could love. Nature had indeed broken the mould with Chester B. Humpledincker. It had in fact not just broken it but ground it to little pieces, locked it in the bottom of a filing cabinet, put a 'Danger: Leper Colony' sticker on it, placed the filing cabinet in a cellar, then set fire to the building it was in and walked away whistling to the universal tune of abdicated responsibility. Chester was a lorry driver. It was strange that he could prosper in a world of tattoos, red meat, string vests and excessive facial hair. But he did i.e. no one had tried/succeeded in killing him yet. Although Nature had tried to stamp him out Chester was surviving. Once Chester went to visit his grandmother's farm, aged five. In a strange twist of fate he had been chased into the pigpen by a pack of wild geese, then rounded up by the local butcher and loaded into a livestock truck. Lady Luck was on his side (inexplicably, as all womankind tried to get as far from Chester's side as physically possible) on the way to the abattoir that stormy day. A large oak tree fell across the road just inches in front of the truck and the herd had to be unloaded at the side of the road. Cold and soaking wet from the rain Chester escaped and made his way back home where his family welcomed him with open arms. Firearms that is. An embarrassment to the family Chester was forced to seek refuge with the local undertaker, carving out a career in grave digging before falling flat on his face. Literally. Six feet down, in a grave, he lay concussed. As he looked remarkably like a corpse anyway and nobody really could stomach touching him- too high a chance of lancing a pus-filled boil, as one poor lad knew to his cost, (the last anyone has heard of him he had accidentally bumped into Chester then clutched his eyes screaming "It burns! It burns like acid!" before running out)- they started to bury him. After having to claw his way out of several feet of dirt Chester lost all confidence in the world of undertaking. He became a loner and took to the road, transporting local produce (namely jam) here and there. He didn't exactly enjoy the job but at least it kept him busy. And out of trouble. Until now...

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This isn't Chester's normal route, and at a closer glance we realise he is speeding and constantly looking back over his shoulder in a very nervous manner. Consequently he doesn't notice when a hooded figure appears in the road. Chester beeps his horn to no avail. The figure is twiddling at their neck with their left hand, a curious gesture. As Chester swerves to avoid it this is the only thing he remembers, apart from how frumpy that robe was, "I mean, everybody looks good in black, but this person just looks positively dowdy and oh shit I'm going to die a virgin," (not that he had had much expectations in that department). Meanwhile...

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Introducing Sebastian

Professor Severus Snape is sitting at his desk down in the dark, dank depths of the dreary dungeons (N.B. quadruple word score for alliteration). There is a knock at the door. Enter Sebastian, spotty, an unfortunate shade of ginger, wearing a beret and carrying a second hand copy of Sartre. There is a universal truth rarely acknowledged that the gene carrying flame coloured hair is also curiously located near the gene that dims the wit, notable exceptions being Basil Brush and Albus Dumbledore in his former years. Thus, to put it succinctly, Sebastian is a fool. But at least he is an earnest fool. So that's okay then.

The door creaks open.

Sebastian: Uncle, I...ah...oh. (He looks downcast)

*pause*

Snape: What is it...Sebastian? Can't you see I'm arranging unicorn hairs?

*even longer pause*

Sebastian: I...

*The Pause has become a whole new character in the conversation*

Snape: Yes?

Pause- *Looks at his watch*

Sebastian: I think I'd better go.

Pause- *sigh*

Snape: Yes, I think you'd better.

Sebastian turns and begins to walk away, looking dejectedly at the floor.

Snape: Sebastian...

Sebastian: Yes? (Hope radiates across his face)

Snape: That's a painting of your dead great uncle Spartacus that you're about to walk through, although I will give it to you, he did look remarkably...door-shaped.

Sebastian's pasty face twists into absolute dejection as he reaches the door just in time to hear Sevvy mutter "idiot". He runs from the dungeon, sobbing like the big girl's blouse he is. What an absurd twist of fate it was that the only ginger boy to be born in a family known for its pitch black bouffants and low tolerance levels would then hero-worship the man who made Anne Robinson cry. Seb wasn't that bad really, it was just that the idea that being himself was a terrible thing had been drummed into him at a very early age, so he tried to create a variety of personas for himself, the one of the moment being an arty intellectual. He was something of a twit but you had to feel sorry for him.

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