Yis'll be wantin a spell, eh?
Over at the Guardian there is a competition wherein entrants write Dumbledore's death (note: begun when the press were speculating their arses off about Book 6. Just convenient speculation, folks) in the style of another author/publication. The Irving Welsh one is by far my favourite:
The sweat wis lashing oafay Ron; he wis tremblin. Ah wis jist sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, focusing on ma new Choaclit Frog jizz mag, tryin no tae notice the cunt. He wis bringing me doon. Ah tried to keep ma attention oan Wendolin the Weird, who wis takin oaf her bikini toap.
- Potts. Ah've goat tae see the Professor, the boy Weasley gasped, shaking his heid.
Ah wanted the radge tae jist fuck oaf ootay ma specs, tae go oan his ain and jist leave us wi wee Wendolin. Oan the ither hand, ah'd be needin a Cheerin Charm n aw before long, n if that cunt went n scored he'd haud oot oan us, the sick basturt.
Doonin the Great Hall, some a they shitey wee Slytherins were hingin aboot.
- Square go, then, speccy cunt! C'moan ya crappin basturts! one ay thum shouted.
- Fuck oaf, ya plukey-faced wee pureblood! Ron snarled as we piled up the spiral staircase wi the wee Slytherin cunts flinging hexes eftir us.
Ah wisnae chuffed at Ron. - Fuckssake, ya fuckin radge. That wis wee Draco - he hings aboot wi they Death Eatin casuals frae Hogsmeade, ah sais
- Harry, the ginger fucker snaps, clenchin his wand tightly - ah want tae see the Professor n ah dinnae give a fuck aboot any cunt or anything else. Goat that?
'The Professor' wis Albus Dumbledore, a teacher whae supplied the Hogwarts scheme. Ah preferred tae score ma tricks fi Albie or his sidekick McGonagall rather than Snape and the Slytherin mob. Better gear, usually.
Big Albie wis bombed ootay his box when we goat up tae his office.
- Evenin, boays, he sais wi a shrewd twinkle. Yis'll be wantin a spell, eh? Ah think Miss Granger might just have something tae interest youse.
Hermione wis there awready, and she wis castin over a cauldron. Ron went over tae her, dipped the pointy end of his wand in the potion n brought it up tae her airm almost tenderly.
She tensed up, then relaxed suddenly, giein us aw this beautiful big blissed-out buck-toothed smile.
- Aw. That's better than any exam result. That beats any fuckin book in the world, she sais.
Ah ken whit the lassie means. Life's boring and futile. We start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. Magic cuts through aw that. Wi magic, whin ye feel good, ye feel immortal. It just gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being.
Ah wis waitin fir ma turn, fir ma spell, ma fix, when ma heid started nipping me. The door opened, and in stormed Volders, Lord Voldemort - one of ma pals.
Ah wouldn't say ma best pal, ah mean sometimes the boy goes over the score, like one time when we were having a laugh and all of a sudden he's fucking gubbed me in the face, right - still goat the fuckin scar, likesay. He wis with some of they really mental Death Eater casuals - the Azkaban boys.
- Dumbledore ya fuckin basturt, the red-eyed freakboay is screamin. Ah heard you called me a fuckin halfblood buftie!
Big Albie stood up. - Tom, he sais, aw reasonable, wi that wee twinkle in his eye.
- Ah'm gonnae fuckin do ye, ye doss cunt! Volders shouted.
Thir wis this toatally massive green flash, n aw of a sudden the bearded boay's slumped forwards over his gear. Ye jist cannae reason wi Voldie when he's in that kindae mood. Now he wis glarin aboot the room, darin one eh us tae say sumhing. Sometimes that cunt really gits oan ma nerves.
- Whit? It wis fuckin obvious thit that cunt wis gonnae fuck some cunt! Ah wis daein us aw a favour! Eh?
Wi that, him n his hoody-wearin amigos turned and stormed back doon the stair. Aye, Volders is fuckin psycho, like, but he's a mate n aw, so whit can you do?
As mah scar stopped burnin, ah turned tae Hermione n the boy Weasley, reached fir ma wand n did the oanly thing that made sense. - Ah'm castin, ah sais.
Although the Sun one has a certain succinct charm:
Tuesday July 5, 2005
Old git dies!
Helen Fielding rip-offs never get boring.
Wednesday July 13, 2005
Hermione Granger's Diary
16th July 2005
Spells cast:
33 (bad, but v. extenuating circumstances)
Number of deaths:
1 (v.g. except note v. v. key character)
Portents of doom:
12,204 (& counting) (v.g. all things considered)
V. bad day. Dumbledore keeled over right in middle of Gryffindor turkeygriff buffet. Everyone being v. British, milling about discussing Hagrid's chrysanthemums, until Neville came out with what all were thinking: Old Dumbo had "kicked bucket".
Draco Malfoy wandered over, all sympathy. Rather outrageously tried to chat up yours truly over corpse of dearly departed mentor. Note to self: must not be attracted to charming, rakish but doubtless somewhat evil Slytherin types, especially DM. Been there, done that, got commemorative broomstick.
Harry looked v. v. distressed re Old D. Is v. unlucky w/ father figures (e.g. see previous diary entry Summer 2003 re Sirius Black, previous diary entry near beginning somewhere re fate of HP's actual father, etc etc). DM noted HP is magnet for sudden tragic deaths. HP v. angry, threatened to knock DM's pureblood block off, etc etc. Had to cast multitude of restraint spells on HP to prevent HP throwing DM in lake. Sometimes HP v. v. infuriating!
DM v. good about whole thing, suggested dinner at little coven by coast. Took deep breath & was v. empowered & questioned appropriateness of dinner invitation with grandfatherly wizard headmaster still lying amongst buffet, barely as cold as turkeygriff slices. DM referred to longstanding ability to cheer up grieving witches such as self especially when witch as damned bewitching as self is. Almost persuaded but took v. deep breath & declined & told DM busy this evening washing cape.
Note to self: must remember DM is Slytherin scoundrel! V. v. important not to fall for charms of servants of evil (remember New Year's resolutions!)
Also: must select appropriate length skirt for Dumbo's funeral. Wonder if DM will be there?
The sweat wis lashing oafay Ron; he wis tremblin. Ah wis jist sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, focusing on ma new Choaclit Frog jizz mag, tryin no tae notice the cunt. He wis bringing me doon. Ah tried to keep ma attention oan Wendolin the Weird, who wis takin oaf her bikini toap.
- Potts. Ah've goat tae see the Professor, the boy Weasley gasped, shaking his heid.
Ah wanted the radge tae jist fuck oaf ootay ma specs, tae go oan his ain and jist leave us wi wee Wendolin. Oan the ither hand, ah'd be needin a Cheerin Charm n aw before long, n if that cunt went n scored he'd haud oot oan us, the sick basturt.
Doonin the Great Hall, some a they shitey wee Slytherins were hingin aboot.
- Square go, then, speccy cunt! C'moan ya crappin basturts! one ay thum shouted.
- Fuck oaf, ya plukey-faced wee pureblood! Ron snarled as we piled up the spiral staircase wi the wee Slytherin cunts flinging hexes eftir us.
Ah wisnae chuffed at Ron. - Fuckssake, ya fuckin radge. That wis wee Draco - he hings aboot wi they Death Eatin casuals frae Hogsmeade, ah sais
- Harry, the ginger fucker snaps, clenchin his wand tightly - ah want tae see the Professor n ah dinnae give a fuck aboot any cunt or anything else. Goat that?
'The Professor' wis Albus Dumbledore, a teacher whae supplied the Hogwarts scheme. Ah preferred tae score ma tricks fi Albie or his sidekick McGonagall rather than Snape and the Slytherin mob. Better gear, usually.
Big Albie wis bombed ootay his box when we goat up tae his office.
- Evenin, boays, he sais wi a shrewd twinkle. Yis'll be wantin a spell, eh? Ah think Miss Granger might just have something tae interest youse.
Hermione wis there awready, and she wis castin over a cauldron. Ron went over tae her, dipped the pointy end of his wand in the potion n brought it up tae her airm almost tenderly.
She tensed up, then relaxed suddenly, giein us aw this beautiful big blissed-out buck-toothed smile.
- Aw. That's better than any exam result. That beats any fuckin book in the world, she sais.
Ah ken whit the lassie means. Life's boring and futile. We start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. Magic cuts through aw that. Wi magic, whin ye feel good, ye feel immortal. It just gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being.
Ah wis waitin fir ma turn, fir ma spell, ma fix, when ma heid started nipping me. The door opened, and in stormed Volders, Lord Voldemort - one of ma pals.
Ah wouldn't say ma best pal, ah mean sometimes the boy goes over the score, like one time when we were having a laugh and all of a sudden he's fucking gubbed me in the face, right - still goat the fuckin scar, likesay. He wis with some of they really mental Death Eater casuals - the Azkaban boys.
- Dumbledore ya fuckin basturt, the red-eyed freakboay is screamin. Ah heard you called me a fuckin halfblood buftie!
Big Albie stood up. - Tom, he sais, aw reasonable, wi that wee twinkle in his eye.
- Ah'm gonnae fuckin do ye, ye doss cunt! Volders shouted.
Thir wis this toatally massive green flash, n aw of a sudden the bearded boay's slumped forwards over his gear. Ye jist cannae reason wi Voldie when he's in that kindae mood. Now he wis glarin aboot the room, darin one eh us tae say sumhing. Sometimes that cunt really gits oan ma nerves.
- Whit? It wis fuckin obvious thit that cunt wis gonnae fuck some cunt! Ah wis daein us aw a favour! Eh?
Wi that, him n his hoody-wearin amigos turned and stormed back doon the stair. Aye, Volders is fuckin psycho, like, but he's a mate n aw, so whit can you do?
As mah scar stopped burnin, ah turned tae Hermione n the boy Weasley, reached fir ma wand n did the oanly thing that made sense. - Ah'm castin, ah sais.
Although the Sun one has a certain succinct charm:
Tuesday July 5, 2005
Old git dies!
Helen Fielding rip-offs never get boring.
Wednesday July 13, 2005
Hermione Granger's Diary
16th July 2005
Spells cast:
33 (bad, but v. extenuating circumstances)
Number of deaths:
1 (v.g. except note v. v. key character)
Portents of doom:
12,204 (& counting) (v.g. all things considered)
V. bad day. Dumbledore keeled over right in middle of Gryffindor turkeygriff buffet. Everyone being v. British, milling about discussing Hagrid's chrysanthemums, until Neville came out with what all were thinking: Old Dumbo had "kicked bucket".
Draco Malfoy wandered over, all sympathy. Rather outrageously tried to chat up yours truly over corpse of dearly departed mentor. Note to self: must not be attracted to charming, rakish but doubtless somewhat evil Slytherin types, especially DM. Been there, done that, got commemorative broomstick.
Harry looked v. v. distressed re Old D. Is v. unlucky w/ father figures (e.g. see previous diary entry Summer 2003 re Sirius Black, previous diary entry near beginning somewhere re fate of HP's actual father, etc etc). DM noted HP is magnet for sudden tragic deaths. HP v. angry, threatened to knock DM's pureblood block off, etc etc. Had to cast multitude of restraint spells on HP to prevent HP throwing DM in lake. Sometimes HP v. v. infuriating!
DM v. good about whole thing, suggested dinner at little coven by coast. Took deep breath & was v. empowered & questioned appropriateness of dinner invitation with grandfatherly wizard headmaster still lying amongst buffet, barely as cold as turkeygriff slices. DM referred to longstanding ability to cheer up grieving witches such as self especially when witch as damned bewitching as self is. Almost persuaded but took v. deep breath & declined & told DM busy this evening washing cape.
Note to self: must remember DM is Slytherin scoundrel! V. v. important not to fall for charms of servants of evil (remember New Year's resolutions!)
Also: must select appropriate length skirt for Dumbo's funeral. Wonder if DM will be there?