Rowling's Baby Boy's First Public Appearance

Funny story written by Auntie Matter

Wednesday, 29 December 2010


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Commemorative Doll, given to guests after the Christening.

The Christening took place yesterday morning of David Gordon Rowling Murray, son of J.K.Rowling and quiet husband Neil Murray. A select group of family and friends gathered for the ceremony at St. Patrick's Roman Catholic Church in Edinburgh. Rowling's agent and ex-flame Chris Little was godfather.

Papal envoy, Cardinal Pedro Philia, was unable to make it as his Volvo was in a headlong smash with an eighteen-wheeler just outside of Heathrow airport. Ironically, the truck's cargo was fifty tons of rosary beads destined for Uganda. Other dignitaries included some members of the Royal Family, the Labour Party, the National Front and Chelsea football club which is staunchly supported by Mr. Little.

Also in attendance were celebrities and executives from Hollywood's film industry including Tom Cruise. All had to sign contracts with lawyer Neil Blair declaring that they would not take photographs nor report anything to the newspapers. The area around the church was cordoned off. No press was allowed within a mile of the church and air police were alerted to low flying aircraft.

However, we at the "The Vagina Observer" have had tougher challenges in the past. It was we who got the first live interview with Paris Hilton having group sex with Capuchin monkeys on a raft off the coast of Bimini. We also eavesdropped on Oprah Winfrey during a private séance conducted by David Letterman at Hugh Hefner's mansion in Los Angeles where she was visited by her ancient relative, Chief Salami of "The Howfuckedarewe Tribe". The experience inspired her to write the best-selling book for children - "Dat Ole Harry in de Pot, with Onions" that is soon to be made into a film by her own company.

Rowling sent word to her to say how flattered she was that she had used "Harry" in the title but would have preferred it if she had asked permission from Warner Bros first to whom she had sold copyright of the word "Harry" and all its derivatives for a folio of shares in munitions factories in Detroit and Baltimore. Oprah is to play a Cordon Bleu chef, Fatty Watkins.

This was just another challenge to us therefore. Our brave reporter, disguised as film star Johnny Depp, to whom he bears an amazing resemblance, braved Edinburgh's winter rain and winds to gate-crash the event. He was able to slip past Blair who was posted at the baptistry doors with Little and some representatives from Schillings, Rowling's legal firm, who were acting as body guards.

After the ritual was over, our man managed to gain the confidence of Rowling's publicity manager Ms Nicky Stonehill who is known to be an obsessive fan of the great actor. What follows is the unedited report as he relayed it to us. The interview took place in the front seat of Ms Stonehill's Porche as rain lashed the windscreen.

Q: Gee. It was freezing in that church!

A: I'll turn the heater on.

Q: I like women with auburn hair.

A: Thanks. At least it's not bloody blond!

Q: Why did Rowling choose St. Patrick's? Is she religious?

A: Is she fuck? Likes to have a go at the Irish. Don't ask me why. Tell's me nothin'. Except of course when she rings me up all hours to get Schillings to silence some nosey reporter from the arsehole of China or somewhere. Rowling "chooses" nothing by the way, except the occasional cheese sandwich. (PAUSE). I've seen all your movies Johnny. You really suit black.

Q: Nice dashboard. Smooth to the touch.

A: Ask me anything.

Q: I don't understand though… the Catholic Church…

A: Ah, that's just for show. Catholic elements in Potter and all that twaddle. You'd think the bitch was born in Ireland or something. Puts hands on books and bums on seats, in that order. The real ceremony will take place in the Scientology Temple outside of town. That's why Tom Cruise is here. He will be officiating. Did you see him at the baptismal font staring at the baby ?

Q: Yea, a baby with horns. What's with the horns, Nicky?

A: Cute aren't they? They will disappear after a while. They start off red and then they turn green and then they just drop off, like a snake shedding its skin. It's some sort of genetic thing handed down from the Rowling line. Quite common, they tell me, in Haiti and certain parts of Washington. Gordon Brown laughs hysterically every time he sees them.

Q: I didn't think it right for the dad to show up wearing the Harry Potter scarf...the blazer and specs, and all that.

A: Neil's just a harmless idiot. Believes whatever he's told. But he's a real qualified anaesthetist... unlike the barman I used to go out with. Thought he was a fucking alchemist because he could tell Vodka from nail-polish remover. Neil knows all about his magic potions. Knows all their Latin names too.

Q: And what about the fist fight that broke out in the pews?

A: Oh, that was between the lawyer Blair and Patrick Walsh who used to work at the agency before he took his slice and split. Long story. They are always fighting over what parts of the books belong to them. This time it was over the famous dining-hall scene in Book One.

Q: Yea, I remember….the long tables, chandeliers. Some school in Edinburgh, I believe.

A: Sure Johnny. It's your innocent eyes that do it. (PAUSE). Yea, well, Walsh said it was Cambridge where he took his degree and Blair said it was his Oxford. Goes on all the fucking time. All the males at the agency, you see, had to supply Little and Rowling with detailed accounts of their lives and education because Rowling knows fuck-all about boys and the worlds they live in. That's not all they supply, let me tell you. Little pastes it all together and gives it to Rowling. Works like a charm. Little figures he's a real writer because he can cut and paste. They all do.

Q: Who was the guy holding the candle in the Groucho Marx mask?

A: That was Jorge Arantes, Rowling's first husband. He owns a casino in Monaco called "The Jo Hoover". A dope addict unfortunately, but good friends with Neil. I like Jorge. He did well out of it, and got out clean too.

Q: What about the son? What plans has his mother got for him?

A: He is heir to the Potter empire. The endless royalties in a word. They have already booked him on a flight to Mars when the world gets driven into terminal depression by Potter and decides to destroy itself. Richard Branson is going to have himself cloned so that he can be the pilot. They are all big on cloning.

Q: What about you?

A: Wasn't asked. Nor was Bryony Evens who fucked off out of it too like Jorge and Walsh. Blondes Johnny, they're all the same; and the rich ones are the worst. Greedy, cunning, possessive. Rowling could peel a grape under a blanket wearing dark glasses and boxing gloves.

Q: What will happen next?

A: I can't say.

Q: The leather in this car has a nice smell... like Vodka and Coke. It's getting warm. Mind if I loosen my tie.

A: They're all flying down to Portsmouth to get on Little's private yacht. Heading for Sicily to link up with some Hollywood friends who are holidaying in Palermo.

Q: I see. And why are you telling me all this?

A: Cos it doesn't matter a fart in a phone-box Johnny. I would simply deny everything if you mention it to anyone. And Schillings would have your ass in a sling and you would be pub crawling with Mel Gibson in less than a week. Mel has about as much chance of getting into a movie as the "National Enquirer" has of getting into Rowling's garbage bins. Media rules - and lawyers rule the media. Where have you been Johnny? (PAUSE). The eyes, definitely the eyes. Lawyers, my child, tell the newspapers what to print. We have the best. By "best" I mean "ruthless". There are child serial killers banged up on Death Row, mad scientists torturing small rodents to death in underground labs run by the CIA who are more kindly disposed towards their fellow man than our boys. What do you know about Rowling?

Q: Only what I've read.

A: Wrong. Only what you have been allowed to read. Get it? I'm the publicity manager. Take my word for it. I can get us a cabin on the yacht.

Q: I'm not Johnny Depp.

A: (LONG PAUSE):Jesus Christ! Do I know any-fucking-body who is not a fucking fake!!!????

Q: Stop the engine Nicky!

A: You'll do, fuckit! Sicily here we come, Johnny!

The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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