I was out for a smoke, eh, and suddenly I saw someone apparate in the wrong place. Death by fence is pretty fucking bloody. Makes me not want to apparate for the next hour or something, but I doubt I'd be able to live without apparition anymore, eh. Here in this book, I, Sturgis V. Podmore, declare that if I were to die so stupidly, I would
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Anyway, Fevermont asked me to write his obituary, since apparently nobody else wanted to. All I had to do was remember all those fond words spoken at the Atrium. This was also the only time I had a reason to write the word "perspicacity". I just hope I don't become the official obituary writer. Eh, unless I cash more money, that is. If so, then Nondescript Apparition Victim, you're next!
One more thing, streaking? Do you do that during Christmas too?
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Except the bloke on the fence. You should write a real gory one for that bugger. OHO. Pick up one of those romance novels from a Muggle shop and use the descriptions in there for the fence bloke. It'll be interesting to say the least.
When I was a kid I did all the time. Didn't discriminate against Christmas.
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It's hard to describe someone's hair in the wind when their hair is actually wet and dripping blood, though, isn't it?
OH FUCK. From now on, we will only communicate through these books, all right?
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Drops of blood flying off in the wind? Oh that's disgusting.
NOT ANYMORE, PODMORE.
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I can look at a rainy scene for help, eh?
THAT'S REALLY GREAT, BUT YOUR TRADITION OF CELEBRATING NO ONE'S FUNERALS DURING CHRIS TMAS MAKES ME THINK OTHERWISE
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