Harry, the Mad Magician and the weather machine

“This must be it” Harry thought to himself. He was looking at a giant tower in the middle of the forest. Clouds were circling around the top. *Knock knock* Harry knocked on the door to see if the Magician was home. After a few seconds, the door flew upon and the Magician stood in front of him. “Good day, mister Magician,” Harry said with the best friendly-voice he could do. “How are you doing?” The Magician inspected Harry from head to toe, with a stern face. After some more inspecting he finally erupted: “PERFECT! Thou shalt do great!” The Magician grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him inside. Harry was flabbergasted by the sudden action and it took a while, after a lot of stuttering, before he could deliver a sentence. “What do you mean, Magician?” The Magician was browsing through a gigantic cabinet, five meters wide, and eight meters high. He picked up all sorts of bottles, filled with glimmering and shining liquids; scrolls and books, scribbled with all sorts of unreadable hickwacks and buckwucks; and herbs and plants, some with a lovely odor, others.. not so. “Cometh! Followeth I!” yelped the Magician. He was smiling widely, but his left eye was half-closed and his right eye was completely opened; in fact, it almost popped out of its socket. This image, once again confirmed why people called the Magician mad. After following the Magician on what looked like a million steps, they reached the top floor, where a enormous machine stood in the middle of the room. “Weather machine 2.0”, the sign, attached to it, read. There was no roof, it was completely open and a fresh breeze danced through the tower, sending a shiver through Harry’s spine. The Magician didn’t flinch. His beard was so long and thick, it looked like a coat made from a hundred sheep. The Magician began throwing all the objects and items he took from the cabinet into a large funnel, which made a loud, clunking, clanking, and cluttering noise. The Magician pressed a big, red button, which in term, started the machine. The machine made a noise that sounded like a tune. It was a low, humming noise combined with an ice-cream truck song, combining it into an opera-like circus song. The Magician turned to Harry and without saying anything, plucked a hair from Harry’s head. “AUWCH! That hurt, Mag’!” Harry was always very quick in social connection, be it with friendly, unfriendly, sane, or insane people, thus abbreviating their names rapidly after a first encounter. “Why do you need a pluck of my hair?” Harry asked the Magician. “Well, see, I needeth ‘one plucketh of the hair of a gingereth’, this scrolleth says” the Magician stated. Harry nodded, and shrugged his head in acceptation. The Magician dropped the hair in the machine, and after some sputtering and stuttering, humming, and drumming, the weather machine started shooting animals into the clouds. Cats and dogs, in lots of different colors: pink and purple, black and blue, lots of colored animals the machine did threw. Harry and the Magician rushed to the window and looked at the clouds. Eventually, the clouds changed from being white and grey into all the different colors the animals wore, and they started pouring. Cats and dogs, in different colors, falling from the clouds.

Harry looked at the Magician. “Hey, Mag?”

The Magician looked at Harry. “Yes?” he answered.

“I think,” Harry scratched his head. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

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