Well, that's why I was so surprised by Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I read this book, even though it is going to be made into a movie, eventually, because someone convinced me that I had to read the parts that would be cut out of the film. "Why can't I just wait for the deleted scenes on the DVD?" I asked. They--okay, let's face it, she--then gave me a look that said If you read this book then there's a possibility that you might get a little. And if you're a man, or know one, you know that a look like that can get a man to learn to read, so of course it got me to read one. However, before I could even read a page, tragedy struck: I was at the Zoo, peering over the rail down into the snake pit, mocking them, like I do every Thursday, by waving my arms and jumping up and down on my legs and shouting things like "Limbless fuckers!" and "Evolve, belly-slidin' bitches!", when the 9,000-page volume I was standing on slipped from beneath me and tumbled down amongst the Pythons and RatSnakes and Fox Executives. The slimy bastards immediately engulfed it in their writhing mass, and, possibility of trim or no, I wasn't going down there. So I appropiately slinked back home and pondered what to do while watching my favorite show, Celebrity Foreskin Piercings. For a while I simply lamented my potentially snatchless future, and then, against the sonic backdrop of Corey Feldman's agonized screeching, I had an idea. I could just go buy the book! And then I remembered something else: I hadn't bathed in weeks! And then yet another thing: There was a new book store just around the corner from my apartment, right above the All-Soup Buffet and below the Liposuction Clinic.

I wandered into "Manny's Adult Books and Plastics", and even though I knew that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was technically a children's book, I had read in the little AOL NewsBrief that more adults were actually reading it than kids, so I figured there was a good chance that Manny would have it. And lo and behold, there on the table in the front of the store, next to a George W. Bush mask with a gaping mouth and very red lips, was a copy of the very book I was looking for. I would have stayed to chat with Manny, who seemed a very nice man for a convicted pederast, but suddenly my dad walked in wearing assless chaps, so I surreptitiously paid and skedaddled.

When I got home it turned out that this version must have been abridged, because it was only like thirty pages long, and there were typos on the cover. At first I was worried, but then I figured if I at least read enough to sound like I read the whole thing, I might still get some booty. After all, it worked all through High School and on my Citizenship Test. And so I began to read...

And, Ladies and Gentleman, let me tell you that this is the best book I have ever read. Not only has Ms. J.K. Rowling outdone herself (or, as she is apparently nom de plume-ing it these days, "Rimjob Larry") she has battered down the last taboos in Children's Literature. At first I was surprised that Harry had aged so much since the last book--er, movie--but I soon understood that it was necessary for Harry to be of the legal age for these particular exploits to be palatable. I don't want to give too much away, but suffice it to say that Harry is "all grown up" and getting it three ways from Sunday. And not only from the cute blonde, either, who in this book, in a bold pomo bit of literary wordplay, is alternately referred to as 'Hymeneye', 'Hairpieyoni', and--during a very scary scene at the end of the book--'Snatchzilla', but from other sources as well. Harry--or 'Hairy', as he is called in this abridged version--also finds himself in a world of voluptuous vixens known only as the O-Zone, where a group of witch-like vixens calling themselves the Suckcockus Seven challenges him to find the mysterious Man In The Boat before their world is devoured by a kind of ambulatory black hole known only as the Orrin-Hatch. Once again, I don't want to give too much away, but let's just say that the Hatch is no match (ha-ha!) for Hairy's Magical Meat-Wand. And not only has Rowling/Larry brought the series into the realm of Adulthood on a purely licentious level, oh no. She has included plenty of current political material, as well, such as when the spirit of Dead Abdul the Virginfucker helps Hairy to navigate the realm of the Taints, a nebulous span of swampland between Gloryville and Stankopolis, all the while extolling the virtues of peaceful Islam. Not to mention the four-page treatise on the benefits of Social Democracy by the mysterious Steely Dandalph Outre, Hairy's helpful wizard friend who pops in from time to time to rescue him and, once, to sodomize an elephant.

Thanks to Rowling's newly adopted economical prose style, there is far too much in these thirty pages to describe here, although I have not even mentioned Hairy's ultimate nemesis, the dreaded STD Martha and her army of flying monkeyhumpers (the captain of which I've heard is to be played by Kenneth Branagh in the film) and Hairy's final, soulful inner struggle with dick-cheese. But rest assured, there is a sequel due out in a week and a half, and I have no doubt that the Smegma King's curse will not be the curtain call for our valiant hero. I must say I am glad that I finally read a book, and I am glad it was this one. Don't give up hope, Illiterates! Reading is fundamental, and sometimes messy.

And now I'm off to find that girl from that club, Sappho's, who made me read the book, and claim my reward. It's going to be a proud moment when I can look her in the eye and tell her that I have finished Hairy Puta and the Odor of The Penis, and I can only imagine that all those other women who routinely pack the club will want a piece of the action, as well. Wish me luck, you Mugglefuckers!

(D.P. Roberts would like it known that the preceding was written during a period when the author was suffering from a 106 degree fever and apparently delirious. It was originally written in crayon on the walls of his partially submerged home in the Everglades, then copied and later transcribed by Mahfouz, the 12-year-old Indonesian boy who cleans up D.P.'s vomit, models the latest fashions from Milan, and transcribes the former Pirate's occasional febrile rantings. It is not in any way connected with the actual Harry Potter canon, the books of which are far too long for Roberts to read.)