Mister Puffy Puff

The telly clicked on at precisely four o’clock in the afternoon as Dudley Dursley, four years old, began to watch his favorite show: Mister Puffy Puff. The theme song began as Harry Potter, also a little four year old, snuck in the living room to watch it.

"Mister Puffy Puff! Mister Puffy Puff! The world is better because of Mister Puffy Puff! He’s your best friend. He’s my best friend. He’s the best friend for everyone. He’s Mister Puffy Puff. Mister Puffy Puff . . ." the telly sang (as did Dudley and Harry) as an animation of Mister Puffy Puff sliding down a giant water slide into a pool was aired.

Now Mister Puffy Puff is to British children as Barney is to American children. The only difference is that Barney does not sell marshmallows. Mister Puffy Puff is also not a dinosaur either. Mister Puffy Puff is a marshmallow, or rather a marshmallow man who was put together like a snowman.

There’s a giant marshmallow at the bottom, and his little legs come from under it. In the middle there’s a skinnier marshmallow with his little chubby arms sticking out of it. Then there’s the head of Mister Puffy Puff, the smallest marshmallow with his black eyes, a nose full of sprinkles (the rainbow kind), and a mouth that was quite large. If one said that Mister Puffy Puff had a big mouth, they might consider changing that to "Mister Puffy Puff, overlord of children’s programming in England, has the largest mouth on any marshmallow, and for that matter on anything this side of the Atlantic with the exception of Petunia Dursley." They would be very much correct; but the thing about Petunia was definitely a hyperbole, while the comment about Mister Puffy Puff was easily true.

"Hey, kids!" said Mister Puffy Puff, waving his arm and jumping around. Mister Puffy Puff was one happy marshmallow.

Harry and Dudley, each sitting on bean bags waved to the telly and replied "Hey, Mister Puffy Puff!" in their four year old voices. Every child (with the exception of the few, the proud, the serious) in England always greeted Mister Puffy Puff when he said "Hey!" Mister Puffy Puff (or the writers) knew this; and so Mister Puffy Puff always greeted the children when the show began.

Mister Puffy Puff did not live in a very realistic world. Of course, he wasn’t real; but on the television show Mister Puffy Puff had the surroundings children only thought of while trying to make it past nap time awake. (Let’s face it, not having your naps can cause hallucinations. That’s why little kids–as well as people over the age of seventy-nine–take naps. Well, that’s why they’re supposed to take them . . .)

Sun, as is it was called, was a supporting character; it always gave Mister Puffy Puff extra sunlight when he needed it, or whenever Mister Puffy Puff wanted snow, Sun would make clouds appear and disappear behind them while Mister Puffy Puff danced in the snow. Kids make-believed they were playing in the snow with Mister Puffy Puff. Of course, sometimes the snow would be marshmallow snow; and Mister Puffy Puff’s old marshmallow friends would return. They only appeared when it was marshmallow snow. (Apparently they were his friends when he was growing up who had gotten jobs as marshmallow snowballs. According to Mister Puffy Puff, you had to go to school in a special place to be able to be a marshmallow snowball.)

The sky was almost always blue, and it never rained . . . the only form of precipitation was snow. (And if you want to count the marshmallow stuff, that as well.)

"Today is a special day," Mister Puffy Puff said. Harry and Dudley waited in anticipation for why the day was so special, though their small minds could not comprehend the fact that Mister Puffy Puff always said that today was a special day.

"Today we have a special friend here! His name is Mister Lifeguard."

Harry and Dudley clapped and cheered as a buff, blonde, shirtless man in yellow swimming trunks stepped next to Mister Puffy Puff. He looked more like a man in a suit than a real person, but let’s face it: no man is that big nor buff, and kids didn’t care. It was all real to them.

"Mister Lifeguard is going to teach us how to play safe in the pool or on the beach. It’s gonna be so much fun!" Harry and Dudley cheered once more.

"And this is all going to happen right after a word from my special friends," Mister Puffy Puff said as the first commercial started.

The first commercial was a commercial for Puffy Puff Marshmallows. Yes, Mister Puffy Puff has his own brand of marshmallows. As one can guess, they are rather puffy; but not puffy enough.

On the back of every Puffy Puff Marshmallow bag is a recipe to make the marshmallows even puffier. It’s very hard to do. In fact, there’s a warning on the recipe: "If this does not work, do not be disappointed. Go buy another bag and try again!" These words came out of a bubble next to a picture of Mister Puffy Puff.

In reality, the recipe just plain does not work. It’s all a marketing ruse to get more marshmallows; and it works rather well on the Dursleys, who want their Dudley to have everything he possibly can.

Dudley loved his parents, though he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He had a tendency to call his mother "Daddy" and his father "Mummy." How one could get these confused is hard to believe, though it may be contributed to Dudley accidentally catching Vernon’s late night television viewing when he was two years old . . . things like that tended to stick out in a child’s mind.

However, Vernon couldn’t quite put his finger on it. And his late night television viewing had ceased as well after Petunia caught him watching Diaries of the Street 2: Jane’s Story.

After a few more commercials (one a piece of anti-American propaganda that showed a picture of Jimmy Carter and said "Who else would elect a peanut farmer president?" before showing Reagan and saying words that should not be spoken on children’s television) Mister Puffy Puff was back on the air.

"Welcome back, kids! I’m sure my special friends were happy to show you some new things, and maybe remind you of some old ones. But today Mister Lifeguard and myself are going to teach you about pool safety." Mister Puffy Puff smiled and jumped with glee. Harry and Dudley’s eyes widened as Mister Puffy Puff and Mister Lifeguard began to sing a song about how to put on your bathing suit.

"Harry Potter!" Petunia Dursley yelled, "what are you doing watching that?!" Petunia Dursley was Dudley’s mum, a tall woman with a neck longer than you’d find in an African tribe. (And it was all natural.) Her light brown hair was pulled back in a bun, and she seemed to brighten up the room with her blue dress. The extra light, however, was unwanted. Her face was a look of pure evil to Harry Potter, with her teeth gritted while her eyes seemed like the could cut a whole through the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry looked rather innocent and rather scared. Vernon Dursley, even at his most supreme bouts of anger, had nothing on Petunia at her smallest expression of anger.

"But it’s good for me . . ." Harry said. "It shows me how to be safe ’round the pool and all kinds of stuff."

"Lord knows you can’t be safe as it is in your cupboard. Go there right now!" Dudley watched in awe, and he wondered how his parents could treat his cousin like that. Dudley sometimes felt sorry for him; and despite his friendship with him, his parents were still rather cruel to Harry Potter. "You don’t wanna go hanging around with white trash like that," Mummy (the female one) had told him. Harry left, holding his tears to himself, as he wanted to continue watching Mister Puffy Puff’s show. But it was no time for argument. Harry left for his cupboard.

"Go back to the telly, sweetums . . ." Petunia said in her soft, gentle voice that she used for Dudley. She left the room, and Dudley refocused his blue eyes on the telly.

"Don’t smoke fags," Mister Puffy Puff said.

Vernon Dursley was an extremely successful man. He made his money in the workplace, sitting around and doing nothing, like most successful men. There was the occasional office meeting; but high-ranked officers like Vernon were guaranteed their salary (quite a few pounds) was a lot more than the chaps in the mail room, who ironically did far more labor in a day than Vernon Dursley had ever done in his association with the company.

He looked like an overgrown version of Dudley, just he was bald and weighed a few more tons, though Dudley would be catching up with him soon. While Dudley was growing his second chin, Vernon somehow had been able to keep one. He had a pinstripe suit on, making him look like a mobster from the American Chicago Mobs from the 1920s.

"Dudley!" Vernon Dursley yelled to the four year old as he opened the cedar front door.

"Mummy!" Dudley replied.

Petunia, close behind the piglet, called, "Yes, sweet–oh, you mean Daddy. Right, Dudley-Pooh?"

"Yeah, Mummy," Dudley said, stumbling through his words for a moment.

Vernon Dursley stepped inside, nearly throwing his expensive briefcase on the ground. "Gimme a hug, my future business leader of the world." Vernon was kneeling down, his arms spread open for Dudley to wrap himself inside against. Dudley instinctively knew what to do, and his father squeezed his son, whose nose sat against Vernon’s mustache.

" ’Atta boy," Vernon said, releasing his grip and returning to full standing position. Dudley ran away, but not before slapping his mother’s leg.

While other parents would scold at their child doing such a thing, Petunia Dursley had a never-changing opinion of her child, no matter what he did:

"He’s so adorable."

Dudley Dursley’s father was bent over paperwork in his office, studying some kind of contract. "Shareholders’ meeting, construction guy . . ." he said to himself while jotting a note down on his organizer.

"Daddy!" Dudley said, hugging his father. He called me by my right name . . . gotta tell Petunia.

"Hello, son."

"Daddy, I got a question." Vernon knew it’d be nothing deep, and it would require a simple answer that Dudley’d partially understand.

"Daddy, what’s a fag?"

Dudley had gone to sleep early last night, and Harry’d been fed his rations: whatever was left from Dudley’s share of the food, but since Dudley hadn’t had any food tonight due to his sleep the Dursleys decided to give him some. They’d pick his tray up at morning, when they delivered him breakfast. And due to his punishment, he was banned from all other areas of the house besides the cupboard until 10:00 AM each morning.

And due to this punishment, it gave the Dursleys a quiet dinner alone.

"I swear, Vernon, those two women just won’t shut up. They’re in that house all afternoon, and it’s just constant noise. It’s not the kind of noise our precious little Dudley should hear at such an age. Two women doing such an act . . . atrocious, rude, appalling–completely against God. Sometimes I just want to shoot those stupid women; they’re going to give themselves AIDS, I swear. They never shut up, not even while Dudley watches Mister Puffy Puff. In fact, I’m sure they smoke the Puffy Puff, if you know what I mean, honey." Vernon Dursley nodded to his wife as he cut a piece of steak. It was overcooked, a piece of rock.

"Honey, just go tell them to shut up. Works every time, and you wonder why people ’round here are scared of you." He managed to cut it in half, a jagged cut that would be dangerous if it was glass. However, it was Petunia’s steak. It had more in common with rock than glass. Though one could argue that glass is sand so thus the steak and glass must have similar molecular structures (if not the same) thus making them relatives, second cousins of sort.

"And then there’s that man from the cable company, Vernon. He comes here and says he’ll fix our cable every single morning–precisely quarter till ten in the mornin’–even though I do believe it works. But why should I care? After all, the telly’s just full of junk. Don’t you agree, Vernon?"

Vernon looked up from his steak (now divided into quarters) and nodded.

"You haven’t been watching anything at two in the morning, have you, Vernon?" Petunia asked. Vernon shook his head as he tried to cut one of the quarters of steak.

"Honey, don’t you think this steak is a bit overcooked?" Vernon asked before scratching his ceramic plate with his steak knife, sending chills down his spine like nails on a chalkboard.

Petunia looked up at him, her ostrich-like neck extending over the table. "Yours looks pretty rare, Vernon. But then again, so is mine."

That next morning, the phone rang at about 9:30. Dudley reached for it in the kitchen, its ringing always lured him to it.

"No, no," Petunia said in her sweet voice as she picked it up. "Dursley residence."

"Petunia, this is Margie."

"Hi, Margie. I hope Piers isn’t giving you too much trouble today." At the name Piers, Dudley reached for the phone. Piers Polkiss was Dudley’s best friend; Piers’s father and Dudley’s father had gone to school together. They’d also managed to have married very similar women.

"Aw, Piers is wonderful. He had a little cold a few days ago, but he’s perfectly fine. Anyway, Piers asked me if Dudley and Harry could come over this afternoon to swim. It’s a lovely July day, Petunia. Come bring them over to swim." Petunia thought about Potter’s punishment. Well, it only applied till ten; and Piers had requested both . . . she decided it would be okay if she let Harry go.

"What time?" Petunia asked, shaking off Dudley’s leaps for the receiver.

" ’Bout four or so."

"We’ll be over there, Margie. Bye."

"Bye, Petunia." The other line went dead, and Petunia hung the phone up.

"Guess where you’re going today?" she asked Dudley. Dudley shrugged.

"You’re going swimming!"

A few minutes later, a man knocked on the door. Petunia, remembering her fears, checked her watch. It was 9:45. Almost exactly.

A large blonde man stood at the door, knocking on it. He was especially buff, and his smile on his face was rather suggestive. He had a red jumpsuit on with his name embroidered on a patch: "Fred."

Petunia groaned as Dudley ran to the door. "Mummy, Mummy, I’ll get it!"

"Go to your room, Dudley. This is a very important person who needs me to open the door to them." Dudley, though a bit saddened, nodded and obeyed his mother, running off as fast as he could . . . a few centimeters per hour faster than his walk.

Gosh, what does that man want? Petunia asked herself as she opened the door.

"Oh, Petunia," the man said, falling down to his knee. "You are the flower of my love, blossoming among that which is wilting."

"Now, now," Petunia said, noticing the rolled-up shirt sleeves, "I’m flattered."

"This is not flattery," the man said, flexing his biceps, "but the mere truth. You are the loveliest flower in the garden, my love." He flexed his muscles a bit more.

"You are quite the fellow," Petunia said, smiling. "How old are you, Fred?"

Suddenly the phone began to ring. "Hold on a moment, Fred." Petunia ran to the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Petunia, this is Vernon. I’ve got to go out of town today; I’ll be gone till Thursday . . . problems in London."

"Okay, honey. I love you." Vernon didn’t reply; his line went dead, and Petunia could gather that he was in a rush. She rushed back to the door.

"Fred, you’re quite a handsome man," she said. Fred nodded. "And if you absolutely want to come by and see me, come by tomorrow at nine in the morning. I’ll make sure the kids are gone, and the husband’s out of town." Fred nodded.

"Mrs. Dursley, have you been working out?" he asked. Petunia nodded.

"After being pregnant with Dudley, it’s been taking me forever to work off this weight. A session with the weights is wonderful for the body; and when Dudley’s our number one rugby player, he’ll be using them every single day."

"So Wednesday at 9:00?" he said, pulling out a pocket organizer from his back pocket. Petunia nodded, and her frame graced the doorway.

"I’ll be expecting you."

The Polkiss family lived in the next neighborhood–it was called Manor Estates–so Petunia had to drive about five minutes to get there. They braked at the stoplight; and Dudley watched it carefully, as did Harry.

"What do you think makes it go like that?" he asked Harry. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe like little bitty people inside it. They press the buttons for the different lights."

"Like midgets?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I always thunk that was how they did it."

"Seems about right," Dudley said.

"Hush, boys!" Petunia yelled. "You’re making me nervous.

"Yes, Daddy," Dudley replied. Petunia smiled to herself and made a mental note to find a psychiatrist for her sweet little Dudley.

Margie Polkiss was a woman with frighteningly tall hair. It was tall and red, unhumanly thick as well.

She stood outside the door to the large Polkiss house, waiting for Petunia and the children. The brown station wagon pulled into the driveway, the Dursleys (and Potter) in tow.

The car stopped; and Petunia Dursley stepped out, running out of the car to greet Margie.

"Petunia!" Margie said, hugging her friend. Harry and Dudley made their way out of the door and ran inside, yelling and screaming for Piers.

"Precisely on time, Petunia. I’ve got some tea made if you’d like."

"It’s in the back near the pool, right?" Petunia asked. Last time Dudley’d gone swimming, he’d nearly drowned playing Marco Polo after employing a new strategy: stay underwater as long as you can and wait for a person to bump in to you. It had been a horrible failure, not to mention that the Dursleys–even the Potter–were banned from the swimming pool. (The owners do not like to mess with insurance folks or lawyers and ban those who do stupid things.) Needless to say Dudley nearly died, and while a crowd formed outside the pool Harry had the entire Olympic-size pool to himself.

"I’ve made the tea in the kitchen, so you’ll have a perfect view."

"Good, Margie. By the way, can you watch Harry and Dudley tomorrow? I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at nine, and I need someone to watch them."

"Sure thing, Petunia. Drop ’em off at around 8:30."

"Is eight okay?"

"Sure, Petunia. I’ll fix ’em breakfast as well." Petunia nodded. "Now would you like to go inside?"

Harry, Dudley, and Piers had their shirts off and jumped in the pool, each yelling "Cannonball!" at the top of their lungs. Dudley’d made it into the pool first, seeing that he didn’t jump that high to begin with. Harry and Piers–a little skinny boy with brown eyes and black hair–followed.

"Hold on," Piers said, "Mummy said I have to clean the strainer basket." Harry and Dudley nodded as Piers proudly swam to the deep end of the pool and pulled open the plastic cover to the strainer basket.

"Hey, come here!" Piers said. "You’re not going to believe what’s in here!

Vernon Dursley’s client was a squat man with brown hair braided into a ponytail. He owned a construction company, and Vernon was offering him a wholesale deal on nuts, bolts, and screws.

"Look, the way I see it is that you’re building a house for one of the richest families in London; but you can’t afford the hundreds of accessories that come with building a house."

"We were the lowest bidder," the client said.

"And for two-thirds the cost of the competitors, we will sell you everything you need."

"You know, I don’t know anything about business; but this a bloody good deal."

"I know, Sir. I did come up with it," Vernon replied. "I need you to sign this contract . . ."

Harry, Dudley, and Piers each knelt around the strainer basket.

"A dead frog!" Piers said.

"Don’t those give you warts?" Dudley asked. Harry shook his head.

"Those are toads."

"You sure?" Piers asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered.

"What’s the difference?" Dudley inquired.

"Toads give ya’ warts, and frogs don’t," Harry answered.

"Man, some people just get all the luck," Dudley said. "Dead frogs in their own swimming pool. I’d kill to have a dead frog."

"Me, too," Harry said. Piers reached into the water, grabbing the frog by its stomach.

"We’ll share it," Piers said. The three stood up and formed a circle, each of them admiring the frog in Piers’s right hand.

"It’s so ugly," Dudley said.

"This is great," Harry said.

"We should do something with it," Piers said. The other two nodded.

Suddenly there was a noise from behind them, behind the fence in the yard behind them. There was a splash, and a man slid down a slide into a pool.

"They’ll love it," Harry said. Piers and Dudley nodded in agreement.

Vernon looked at his client, who had just happily signed his contract.

The male adult Dursley extended his hand to his client. "I’d just like to–"

A secretary popped her head into the room. "Mister Dursley, you have a phone call from your employers."

"Thank you," Vernon said. "Excuse me for a moment please?"

"Yes, thank you," Vernon Dursley said. "I’ll see you tonight. What’s the number again?" Vernon jotted a number down in his organizer. "Thanks. Yes, I’ll see you tonight."

He hung the phone up and thanked the secretary, stepping into the meeting room with the client once more.

"Where were we?"

"What are they doing?" Petunia asked, looking out the window at the circle of children.

"Probably just looking at a leaf," Margie said, taking a sip of her tea. "I’m giving Piers that new Mister Puffy Puff game if he does it.

"Good way to bribe him," Petunia said, turning back to Margie. "They’re fine."

"How are we going to do this?" Piers asked. Harry shrugged.

"It’d be funny, to see them running away from a dead frog," Dudley said. "Lemme hold it, Piers."

Piers shook his head. "I found it."

"You said we’d share," Dudley said.

"Yeah," Harry added.

"I changed my mind," Piers said. "Besides, I’m the expert frog holder here; he’s fragile and dead, so we must treat him carefully."

"Okay," Dudley said. "I get what you’re t-t-talking about."

"Whatever," Harry said.

"Okay, who wants to throw the frog over?" Piers asked. Harry and Dudley looked at each other.

"I think you should, Piers, seeing that you’re the expert on this and all," Dudley said. Harry nodded.

"Harry, why don’t you do it?" Piers asked. Harry nodded.

"Lemme hold it before you throw," Dudley said. Piers sighed and handed Dudley the frog.

"Don’t squeeze it now," Piers warned. Dudley nodded.

"Wow . . . it feels so . . . I dunno . . . it’s all smooth and stuff."

"Hand it to me, Dudley," Harry commanded. Dudley obeyed. The frog was now in Harry’s hand.

"One, two–" Piers began.

"Wait, lemme get the feel for it first," Harry said. Piers waited while Harry tried to "get the feel for it."

"Get in the pool," Harry said. "Act like your swimming or playing or something."

"Righto," Dudley said, falling backwards into the deep end. He sprang up, doggie paddling to the side as Piers fell into the pool and waded to a bench at the end of the deep end. Harry’s arm was behind him, ready to launch the dead frog into the swimming pool.

"One–" Dudley and Piers began.

"Don’t do that," Harry whispered. "Start swimming away. Don’t let them think you’re out here, or they might arrest us."

"Is this a crime, Harry?" Dudley asked, becoming a bit scared. Harry shook his head.

"I don’t know if they arrest four year olds."

"Or fans of Mister Puffy Puff," Piers said, standing up to show off his boxers.

"Man, we missed it!" Dudley said.

"It was an old one," Piers said. "I watched it in the morning."

"Good," Harry said.

"It must be the one I missed!" Dudley cried. "Oh no, I’ve seen every single one but that one."

"Now, Dudley," Harry said, returning his arm and frog to his side, "that is impossible. There are a billion zillion jillion episodes of Mister Puffy Puff. I don’t think it’s the one you missed."

"But what if it is?"

"Then you’ll have missed it," Piers said, swimming over to the side next to Dudley. "Come on, let’s get to the other side of the pool so they can’t see us when Harry throws it."

Dudley and Piers each held onto the edge and moved themselves to the shallow end. Harry’s arm went back as he threw the frog over the fence. He walked on the concrete–"Don’t run around the pool" says Mister Puffy Puff–and jumped into the shallow end.

There was a scream from behind the fence.

"My God, Petunia!" Margie said, dropping her tea cup on the floor. "What was that?"

Petunia looked outside. "It wasn’t the boys."

"You little brats!" yelled a male voice.

"Are you sure it wasn’t the boys?" Margie asked. They ran outside.

Swears flew at the boys, who appeared to be guilty of something.

"You no good, ignorant, sons of–"

"Excuse me!" Petunia Dursley yelled. "But if you’re going to swear at my children, come do it to where we can see your faces!" A man struggled over the fence, but made it over and walked over to the two adults.

"Those three kids–well, one of them–threw a dead frog into our swimming pool."

"I highly doubt that," Margie said. "My Piers is a little angel."

"And Dudley’s perfect as well. You’ll never met a sweeter child," Petunia said.

"Well, who’s the third kid?" the man asked. Harry, Dudley, and Piers looked at each other.

"He did it!" Piers and Dudley said, both pointing at Harry.

"Potter!!!" Petunia yelled.

The Dursleys (and Potter) were in the station wagon, driving back to the Dursley home. Harry had promised he’d never touch a frog again, and that he would (for the most part) never go swimming again.

"I just can’t believe you’d do that, Harry. I know you’re a bit of a–how do I say this–disturbed child, but that behavior was completely uncalled for. You’re grounded: no Mister Puffy Puff, no nothing! You are to be in your cupboard except when we allow you out. I just can’t believe this."

Dudley looked at Harry and stuck his tongue at him. Harry laughed, and Petunia was shocked.

"Don’t you ever laugh at me, boy!" Harry shut up, and Dudley stuck his tongue at him again.

The next morning, Petunia sat alone in the house, romantic music playing on the stereo. The record had a few scratches–Dudley loved records when he was a baby–but for the most part it played well. There was a knock at the door, and Petunia knew who it was.

She ran to the door and opened it, looking as seductive as she could. Fred smiled, and they went back into the house.

Two minutes later, a man who did not belong in the house stepped inside. He’d gotten through the lock; and he thought it odd the shades were shut at this hour.

He walked through the kitchen, making his way to the living room.

Petunia Dursley looked up, as did Fred.

"Petunia, what’s going on?" Vernon Dursley asked.