Parry was raised by his Uncle Cactus and Aunt Dinkleberry. They treated him poorly, and kept him in a bottle on a cabinet shelf.
They fed him leftover cat feces, and only emptied him from the bottle when they wanted to use him to entertain their son, Tubby.
One time, when they forced Parry to dance “the Maccarena,” Parry became so angry that he brought the Plague upon Tubby.
A few weeks later, Tubby died, and Parry was no longer allowed out of the bottle.
It wasn't really Parry's fault. He didn't even know what the Plague was, let alone how to cast it from nowhere. “And anyways,” he shrugged, “shit happens.”
Parry was a blizzard. His mother and father had been blizzards too, but they were killed by a change in the weather.
The night of his parents' death, he obtained a questionable growth on his forehead that he needed to get checked out, but his aunt and uncle wouldn't pay for a doctor's visit.
By the time Parry was a teenager, it grew so large and ugly that it became nearly impossible for him to get a girlfriend.
Not that this mattered much, since his only chance to pick up women was when the housekeeper opened the cabinet door to reach for a mop and cleaning liquid, every other week.
One fateful day Parry got a letter. It was from the Blizzard King. It said: I'm sorry that you are stuck in that bottle for the rest of your life. That really sucks.
A week later, Parry noticed a crowd of owls outside Uncle Cactus and Aunt Dinkeberry's kitchen window.
In the morning there was a lot of owl shit around the windowsill.