The Darkhelm Clan meeting had come to order.

The Darkhelm Clan meeting had come to order. Sixteen of the most powerful wizards in the world sat around an oak table, wands concealed but always within reach. Nobody trusted

balsa wood anymore, but the exotic woods of the 16 wizards' concealed wands revealed more vanity than know-how. Wizard 17 arrived wandless and sat at the oaken table

clumsily, dazed and confused. His disheveled wizard hat was partly pulled down to half-conceal his glazed, vacant stare. The head wizard tried to direct attention away from him as

he brought before the students of Hogwarts. "Introducing our new professor for the protection against the dark arts, Mr. Wizard of Oz." Flumoxed, Oz waved his hand and hoped

none of the students would laugh at him. Chavs were a lot more disrespectful than mere ghetto trash, but he had left Canada to teach wizardry here for a reason. That reason was

Pork. He was a Pork Wizard. Only his family knew the ancient rites of Pork Magic. They had mad the hog their totem and learned its secrets. As such he had Pork Wizard powers

- the ability to coat anything with Shake 'n Bake, for example, at will, with nary a flick of the wrist. To do so though required an enormous expenditure of energy - 1.21 gigawatt

hours later and I had cooked Greenwich Village to a crisp. It was immediately converted to a penal colony. I, Snake, master chef, had to find a way out. But 3 Japanese shefu were

frying the last of the diners in the Upper East Side in freshly pressed soy oil after dipping them in a wasabi & yuzo seasoned tempura batter. I vowed to win the greasy chick wars

if it killed me. Determined, I rushed around the kitchen, sweat pouring down my ashen face. The heart attack struck suddenly, they said, as I floated serenely above, observing...