Around the House with the Dark Lord

In the Laundry Room with the Dark Lord

"A Dark Lord´s work is never done," grumbled the most evil wizard known to man as he placed the hamper full of dirty clothes on top of the washer. He looked inside the container and wrinkled his nose with disgust. As he feared, Peter had neglected to separate the darks from the whites. What did he think, Voldemort groused, that the clothes would magically sort themselves?

(Well...he could have at that. Wands could be very useful sometimes...)

Voldemort began to sort: "White, dark, dark, white, white, white--Criminey, Wormtail how many pairs of smalls did you go through this week, and have you lost belief in toilet paper entirely? That`ll teach you to buy low-grade toilet paper--dark, dark, spotted..." The Dark Lord´s eyebrow would have raised quizzically had he actually had one as he picked up a pair of white boxers with red spots. "Dear me, where do I place these? They´re white, but yet they´re red...dark pile? White pile?" Finally he solved his dilemma using the time-honored method of eeny-meeny-miney-moe. The questionable boxers sailed into the white pile.

He came across a set of his own robes, which were smeared with the blood of an unfortunate Death Eater--in this particular case an errant fool who had the audacity to destroy on of the Dark Lord´s favorite doilies. It had taken our terrible overlord months to crochet the thing--one lost a lot of precious spare time when one was busy ridding the world of Muggle filth, you know. The Death Eater in question had attempted to dunk a piece of Wormtail's homemade peach brioche into a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain. The outcome hadn´t been pretty, and Voldemort knew that because the item hadn´t been soaked in detergent the stains were going to be murder to get out! As he geared up to throw a hissy fit the likes of which would shame a toddler, Wormtail sidled to his side.

"You know, Voldie, it´s stains like those that make me really glad that you didn´t choose a nice, supple taupe or a seductive cobalt blue for the Death Eater colors. At least black robes hide the blood stains well," Wormtail said in soothing tones as he passed his master the Cheer™ (the official stain remover of the Dark Side) and pointed at the robe.

"Do you work for the Department of the Obvious? I know about bloodstains," Voldemort said with a theatrical eye roll as he continued to scrub the stubborn stain. He picked up the robes and inspected them to see if he had managed to get the stain out. "I just hate these black robes so bad! They´re hot, they´re itchy, and black just isn´t my color!" Voldemort threw the robes back onto the empty washer and placed one slender hand on his hip. "I am sooo a summer! That's what Cosmo says, anyway!" he added for emphasis.

Wormtail grimaced painfully. If the Dark Lord had it his way, the Death Eaters would all soon be wearing paisley prints! Wormtail was not a paisley kind of man, preferring instead a nice muted olive! Besides, floral patterns made his hips and ass look enormous. And, at the end of the day, if the only thing that those you tortured and maimed could remember about your attack was the size of you ass, you really hadn't instilled in them the sense of awe and fear you were attempting to impart.

He watched his Master open the washer door, look inside and proceed to swear colorfully, his words melodious and fluid in their range of crassness and overall crudeness. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Wormtail smiled. He didn't realize one could use a wand that way...

Wormtail's nose told him right away why Voldemort was angry: There were clothes in the washer ALREADY! Judging by the ripe, organic smell, someone hadn´t moved them to the dryer. He watched with a sinking sensation as Voldemort opened the dryer and saw that clothes were in there as well. The Dark Lord regarded him with a contemptuous glare.

"Wormtail," he hissed, his red eyes bulging slightly, "Why did you not take care of the laundry yesterday?"

Wormtail frowned. "The figure skating finals were on last night, and Kristi looked so pretty on the screen, My Lord. I simply forgot! She has this power over me, and--" He looked to his Master with terrified eyes and stopped mid-rant. "I will make it up to you, I swear! I beg your forgiveness!"

Voldemort sighed then frowned as he looked on the shelf that housed all of the laundry aids. "Wormtail!" simpered the Dark Lord in a whiney voice, "Where´s the SnuggleÔ ?"

Wormtail sighed. "Sir, we´re out," he said. "I´ll buy some the next time I am in town!"

"But you know how much I like the scent of Snuggle," Voldemort said in a sulky voice. "I like my evil robes to be fluffy soft and cuddly-fresh."

The Dark Lord muttered something about good help being so hard to find. He pulled the dry clothes out of the dryer. Then, without warning, he stopped, his shoulders tense with anger, the hairs his neck hairs standing on edge. Voldemort held up a yellow T-shirt with a picture of a constipated-looking man wearing a cardboard crown emblazoned with spoons and the words, Support the Real King Vitamin--Renounce the Cartoon Usurper across the front.

Author's note

: King Vitamin Cereal was the Dark Lord's favorite--it kept him "regular," which was incredibly important when fighting those who didn't support his cause. Nobody ever wants an intestinal "surprise" during battle, after all.

"Wormtail," he intoned without looking around, "you placed my one hundred percent cotton T-shirt in the dryer and set the dial to 'hot'."

"It was wet, sir," Wormtail offered.

"You placed my nearly-new, one hundred percent cotton King Vitamin T-shirt that I love more than my own life into the DRYER?" Evil personified whirled around and showed his remarkably contrite second in command the object in question. Once comfortably large, the shirt was now so shriveled and tiny that Mr. Sparkle wouldn't have even be able to wear it.

"You have to read the tags on ALL my clothes, you miserable container of pan drippings!" Voldemort bellowed. "Some clothes are wash cool. Some are wash cold. There is a difference there, don't try and play lazy! Some clothes you can't wash with others, and some you need to wash before wearing. Some you can only wash on alternate Wednesdays during the full moon and while singing 'It's Raining Men!' This particular item is hand wash, drip dry with a cool iron. How can you be so dense, honestly? If I could find my wand, I would to Crucio you into next Tuesday--"

"I know, sir, I know," Wormtail said. "Tell you what I´m going to do. Why don´t you go and take a nice bubble bath and I will finish the laundry for you?" He waved his wand and winked suggestively at his Master; the act ended up looking like a cross between having something painful underneath a contact lens and a facial tic. "I bought some Mr. Bubble for you!"

Voldie clapped his hands and jumped up and down. "Did you? Mr. Bubble? The pink kind?"

"Is there any other?" smiled Wormtail.

Voldemort grinned wider than any sane man should, showing his perfectly capped, dazzling white teeth (courtesy of Crest White StripsÔ , the official tooth-whitening product of the Dark Side). "Oh Wormie, you are too good to me!" He swatted his second in command playfully across the ass.

"Woo!" shrieked Wormtail like a little schoolgirl.

Lord Voldemort stepped into the bathroom, where, much to his satisfaction, Wormtail had already conjured him a bath. Wonderfully large bubbles filled the tub, just waiting for someone to step in and relax. Voldemort noted the hemp-scented candle flickering on the sink. The scent was therapeutic, and, quite frankly, made him feel a little hungry.

He looked to the bath and saw to his amazement that Wormtail had been extremely thorough in the bath preparation. Dear Wormtail, he thought with a feeling of warmth that tingled through his very soul, he remembered the submarines! Voldemort had a bit of an obsession with submarines. He enjoyed holding them and playing with them, dipping them under the water and letting them bob back up to the top. It was almost hypnotic to watch...sort of like a lava lamp. He laughed softly. Wormtail wanted something and he wanted it badly! Voldemort was fairly sure he knew what...

IMPORTANT AUTHOR NOTE:

Now, I find it important to tell you, friendly reader, that our favorite Dark Lord was a bit of a shower singer. He had discovered at a young age, as many of us are wont to do, that, although he couldn´t sing his way out of a paper bag in real life, he was better than any opera star in the shower. His particular passion was country music, namely Pam Tillis, although when he was properly stimulated, he could hit the high notes of "I Will Always Love You," the classic Whitney Houston tune. The heady combination of herbs, mingled with the pleasing scent of pink bubble goop and the image of Wormtail wearing nothing but a smile and a tiny SpeedoÔ (you guessed it--the official swimwear of the Dark Side) caused him to launch into the song with gusto:

"And I-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII will always...love yoooooooou..."

Meanwhile, everyone's favorite evil henchman was immersed in his own work. He folded the clean clothes from the dryer with gusto, even taking the time to fluff the towels and match the socks correctly.

At the same time, Voldemort turned on the shower. He found that the resulting steam did wonders for his vocal range. He began to sing in a falsetto voice:

"I will always love youuuuu..."

At that exact same moment, Wormtail decided that the moldy clothes in the washer were going to have to be run again. He turned on the washer, which began to fill. This did not bode well for the individual in the shower. The sudden, cold water struck the Dark Lord at the climax of the song:

I will always love, ah, YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!"

Voldemort shrieked and leaped out of the shower, tripping on his submarine and falling on his face. "WORMTAIL I AM GOING TO CRUICO YOU SO BADLY WHEN I FIND MY BLOODY WAND--"