12:47pm: For those who wondered what a Harry Potter Trainspotting would be like...
"Choose Life. Choose a wand. Choose a house. Choose a Weasley. Choose a fucking big Patronus, choose House Elves, Ford Anglias, The Wizarding Wireless Network and high speed Floo connections. Choose Horcrux destruction, Basalisk fangs, and Madam Pomfrey fixing your teeth. Choose Triwizard prizemoney. Choose joke shop start-up loans. Choose Gryffindors. Choose emerald green dress robes and mis-matching socks. Choose the sofa by the fireplace in the common room and throw off all the fucking cushions. Choose Felix Felicis and wondering who the fuck you are in a Chamber of Secrets. Choose sitting in that armchair staring into mind-numbing, spirit-crushing crystal balls, stuffing fucking chocolate frogs into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable afterlife waiting room, nothing more than a flayed baby, spawned by a date rapist to replace the Muggle who rejected her. Choose to trust your enemies mother. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got the elder wand? "
"It's SHITE being a Weasley! We're the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some hate the Malfoys. I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are PATRONISED by wankers. Can't even find a decent family to be patronised BY. We're mocked by effete arseholes. It's a SHITE state of affairs to be in, Harry, and all the destroyed lockets in the world won't make any fucking difference!"
"Picture the scene: The other fuckin' week there, down the fuckin' Hogshead wi' Grawp, playin' gobstones. I'm playin' like Albus-Fuckin'-Dumbledore by the way. Givin' the boy 'ere the tannin' of a lifetime. So it comes to this, the last shot, the decidin' stone of the whole tournament. I'm on the stone and he's sittin' in the corner looking all fuckin' biscuit-arsed. When this hard cunt comes in. Obviously fuckin' fancied himself, like. Starts starin' at me. Lookin' at me, right fuckin' at me, as if to say, "Come ahead, square go." You ken me, I'm not the type of cunt that goes looking for fuckin' bother, like, but at the end of the day I'm the cunt with the gobstone and he can get the fat end in his puss any time he fucking wanted like. So I squares up, casual like. What does the hard cunt do? Or the so-called hard cunt? Shites it. Puts down his drink, turns, and gets the fuck out of there. And after that, well, the game was mine!"
Current Mood: 
amused
Current Music: Top Gear