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    J.K. Rowling Uses Magic to Turn Transvestites Into Serial Killers
    J.K. Rowling Uses Magic to Turn Transvestites Into Serial Killers
    J.K. Rowling Uses Magic to Turn Transvestites Into Serial Killers
    Ebook87 pages1 hour

    J.K. Rowling Uses Magic to Turn Transvestites Into Serial Killers

    By Asi Hart

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    About this ebook

    J.K. Rowling checks her e-mail while drunk, and finds it full of hate mail because of her strange idea that women are actually women.

    She decides to take revenge on the people who sent her all the hate-mail, and for this purpose she used magic to turn transvestites into serial killers.

    Of course, things don't quite go so smoothly...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAsi Hart
    Release dateOct 10, 2020
    ISBN9798201377731
    J.K. Rowling Uses Magic to Turn Transvestites Into Serial Killers
    Author

    Asi Hart

    Asi Hart is the best Sci-Fi author south of the North Pole.

    Read more from Asi Hart

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      Book preview

      J.K. Rowling Uses Magic to Turn Transvestites Into Serial Killers - Asi Hart

      Rowling reads her e-mail

      J.K. ROWLING RELAXED as she poured herself a glass of bubbly.  She had a wonderful idea for a new story.  She had sent her butler and her two maids on a two week holiday, so she was sure to have peace to hack away at her idea until they returned.  Actually the idea was just a character name and some minor details about the setting – the new character would be named Ffynnon Uberwald, and lived in New Zealand with his pet dragon and grew acorns.  Or was Ffynnon a girl's name?  Rowling wondered.  She shrugged, sipped on her bubbly and turned on her word processor.  Maybe she should google it?  She turned on the internet.  Best check out social media while at it, she thought to herself.  Big mistake. 

      Her feed was a never ending stream of you ruined my childhood!  You're dead to me!  How could you! and some thinly veiled threats like: some men have periods, some transphobes have no front teeth.  That was a classic.  There were three variants of that last one, one with a selfie of a rotund woman... or Rowling guessed it was a young woman... with a mask covering the lower half of her face, cat eye glasses, pigtails coming off each side of her head, one green and one red; wearing what appeared to be some outfit cobbled together from a bedsheet, a wedding dress and a T-shirt, and holding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  Classy.  Rowling immediately thought she looked like a hybrid land-whale and a scarecrow.  She shook her head.  There was no reason to body-shame the person, even though he or she was clearly intent on violence.  Gorka, the violent land-whale... that sounded good.  She wrote that down, in case she could work that into her new novel somehow. 

      One person had gone to the trouble to make a little two panel cartoon.  One with a made up cover for a new Harry Potter novel: Harry Potter and the transphobic TERF, and the second panel a close-up of Hagrid, with a speech bubble that read: you're a bigot, Harry. 

      Rowling frowned, and closed the window.  She yearned for the days when all she had to deal with was erotic fanfiction.  She didn't admit it to anyone, but that My Immortal story had amused her a little. 

      She poured herself another drink, and checked her e-mail.  That turned out to be mistake number two.  She had more hate-mail.  Usually she had someone to go through her e-mail and sort out the wheat from the chaff, but she'd given that person a holiday, and she thought it was only healthy for her to see what showed up there from time to time.  It gave her a sort of reality-check.  She had one e-mail from her publisher, one from her agent, a couple of obvious scams and about fifty hate-mails.  She knew them by the headers with Bigot! or TERF or random words ending with phobe in them.

      She was disheartened as she turned off the internet, and wondered what she had said this time that angered them so much.  Clearly people had been angered when she made the claim that women were in fact women.  How that was in dispute confused her.  She recalled back when she had put that information out there, someone had come in the cover of darkness and sprayed the words TRANSFOBIK TERF on her neighbor's car.  Probably thinking it was hers.

      Rowling poured herself another drink.  This was depressing.  And the day had started off so well.  She thought that she should have taken the money she had raked in from her books and all those movie deals, and moved to the Caribbean and had a palace there and an individual servant to paint each one of her toes.  She should have moved to New Zealand and changed her name to Ffynnon Uberwald and started growing acorns.  And had some scientists put together a pet dragon out of DNA somehow.  She was the richest woman in the world, why didn't she behave like she was?

      She decided to stop checking out the internet.  What was it good for, anyway?  Cat videos?  She wanted to listen to music.  It is always good to listen to some tunes to clear the head.  To make her forget that armed land-whales were threatening to kill her.  Maybe some ABBA, or some Leann Rhymes, or the soothing tones of Anaal Nathrak.  It was all conveniently on the internet, just a touch away, so she went to the music-web and hit random.  She was feeling lucky.  And a little drunk.  She poured the last of the bubbly, and chugged it.  Then she looked at the first thing that had popped up on her random search: The Great Northern Whalekill by obscure rock group Mínus.  She looked at the cover image for a few moments, mulling it over.  That definitely looked like someone who would threaten her with a bat.  And she had an idea.  The idea made her anger subside, as hope will do.  She'd kill them.  Somehow, she would kill them all.

      Rowling stood up and walked to her book-shelf.  She knew she had the right book up there.  She had never found any use for this particular book before, so it was on the high shelf with all those books she'd been given and either never planned to read.  And those books she'd only read once, way back, and never thought she'd look into again.  Most of them were useless ancient grimoires she'd acquired while she was in school.  She never read them.  She just winged it, or relied on other people's notes.  And

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