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[01 Oct 2008|08:17pm] |
I believe a few love notes are in order.
To the world in general: piss off.
To my lovely father: fuck you.
To the unfortunate bitch I got saddled with: I don't like it anymore than you do.
To Ernie and Susan: your presence is demanded for drinks this Friday.
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| 4. |
[13 Mar 2008|10:34am] |
To anyone who actually bothers: Hi there!
Not fifteen minutes ago, I engaged in a discussion with one, Justin Finch-Fletchley, wherein he completely fucking out-queered himself. As Justin was queer as a silver Snitch to begin with, this is an absolutely awful occurrence for gay men and Hufflepuffs everywhere, and I absolutely must stress the utter severity of it. Being that I'm a self-righteous bitch with his head up his own arse, and being that this IS as severe as my wormy, half-delusional after the most recent rounds of Auror training exams mind SAYS it is, I am being forced to issue:
Totally Queer Decree #17: (even though "forced" here is a relative term because I'm doing BACK-FLIPS about getting to do this.)
All gay men of any descent, be they English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, Indian, Spanish, French, African, German, Russian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Iranian, Jewish, anything else, or so fucking hot that it doesn't matter, will henceforth be required to comport themselves with, if not dignity, then some indication that they haven't been castrated recently. Violators will be subjected to flirtation from obnoxiously dim birds who don't understand that "no" means, "Get the hell off me, you cunt." Additionally, the excess buying of pretty clothes, while not yet illegal, is still very frowned upon, as it makes us queers look like complete nances.
Testosterone is your friend, gentlemen! Let's not forget that we're blokes for a REASON, shall we?
Are we all in agreement? Good. I'm going to go torture children and take pictures of my cat dressed up as a pirate now.
[Hexed to Hogwarts Alumni from the Class of '96 and Younger, excluding RF Members; and to Order Members, Supporters, & Residents of 12 GP who'd be interested in Zach's plan to play some Quidditch.]
No, I don't have a pitch yet.
I'm working on it and we WILL be playing Quidditch shortly.
Once Yaxley decides that, really, it's okay for me to not get taken to the medic with three or more broken/sprained/whatever things per day.
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| 1. |
[21 Jan 2008|10:15pm] |
"The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age."
You know, sometimes, I just don't know how I do it. My life is such a mess, it's just absurd. They called us in for a two AM drill this morning, and it doesn't matter that I was awake anyway, I'm going to say that it interrupted my beauty sleep because it makes me feel better to know that I'm the victim of a cruel and unjust system, which is only ever out to get me, don't you know. Not that I need anymore beauty sleep. Because, honestly, if I get any more beautiful, I might start defying all laws of attraction. I swear my boss is just checking me out all the bloody time, but what if it was a Hungarian Horntail -- ew, disgusting, no thank you, let's just not go there, shall we.
...Are there Hungarian Horntails of the limp-wristed and fancy variety? Because, if so, that's amazing. And so much the better for me when I get too beautiful, because if I absolutely must be the object of lust of a Hungarian Horntail, it could at least have the bloody decency to not be female. But where was I? Oh, right.
So my boss is a right old pervert and I swear that I catch him checking out my arse at least three times a day. And I suppose that I can't blame him, because I am so very cursed with such a glorious arse, but it just gets annoying after a while! How am I meant to WORK under these CONDITIONS! It isn't FAIR! It isn't SODDING FAIR, just like my LIFE!!! And to show just how unfair absolutely, utterly everything is to me, I'm going to write in my journal and use some obscure, unsourced quotation that represents my philosophy of life and its utter, total futility.
WHINE.
( Hexed to Ernie. )
( Hexed to Hannah. )
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