Long ago there was this thing called Horrid Henry. It was about a wizard or some shit, I dunno. Anyway, the creator of that series asked me to make an alternate history book featuring Horrid Henry. I did my best, I created a Horrid Henry book where he was set in Russia, but they didn’t like it and burnt my work. So here I’m going to present to you the bits of the book that I managed to salvage for all to see. Enjoy.
Commissar Battleaxe was angered when potato farmer Henry hadn’t produced his fair share of potatoes. “What is the meaning of this Henry?”. Commissar Battleaxe looked sternly towards the bag, it was filled to the brim with the finest potatoes. “What do you mean Commissar? The bag is full!”. Henry pointed towards the bag that was brimming with potatoes. “No it’s not” said Battleaxe, kicking the bag over and allowing the dogs to eat the raw potatoes.
Comrade Ralph looked towards the horizon. He turned to the group behind him and yelled at the top of his voice. “They’re here! The Capitalists are here!”. He was right, over the hill they came, brandishing clean swords and novelty hats, a mockery of the Russians. “Take aim!” Commandant Battleaxe cried at the top of her voice. The lines of Russian slave soldiers swung their arms in a forward motion, the potatoes bouncing off of the Capitalist Tanks. “Retreat! We brought the fucking potatoes” Comrade Ralph cried, turning on his heel and fleeing from the massacre of his fellow farmers.
And as Henry rounded the corner of the sheet metal factory, he saw a man he hadn’t seen in many years. The Safety Inspector.
The ground began to rumble, the doors smashed open, it was Dick and Dom, making a cameo appearance to make themselves relevant again, like a more annoying version of The Chuckle Brothers.
As Henry approached the pole, he realised his time was up. The white rope was put around his eyes, his wrists tied together and a cigar shoved into his mouth. The men he once called comrades brought their rifles down, aimed, and waited for their mark. The rifles fired, breaking the silence of the field. Everyone rejoiced, as this was the end, and they knew that there would be no more Horrid Henry, and that a sequel to that piece of shit film was now impossible.
And that was all she wrote. Well, by she I mean me, so that’s all he wrote. I couldn’t find any more of it, pretty sure the original creators of Horrid Henry have poured acid on the rest.
Oh no, by publishing this they’ll find me. THE RUSSIANS, THEY’R-