(no subject)
S. Black: HALLO LADIES AND GARGOYLES! Now, Christmas holidays are right around the corner. There are fewer groups of people in the world who love Christmas as much as the Marauders [TM]. We fucking love it all. The pudding, the gifts, the anatomically correct gingerbread men, the gifts, the snow, did I mention the gifts? Christmas is a time of giving, my dear eehtarwebly friends. And because the Marauders [TM] love Christmas so very much, my esteemed beantlered comrade and I have decided to give to YOU. James?
J. Potter: In the Spirit of the Season, Padfoot and I figured there were several ways we could spread our own special brand of Christmas Cheer, and today we do so through the majesty of song. But all those traditional Christmas carols are a bit boring, don't you think? Lyrics such as "Fa la la la la la la la la" just don't cut it, so we've taken matters into our own hands.
S. Black: "Fa la la la la la la la" is a bit ridiculous. Its simply trying too hard to be deep and thoughtful.
J. Potter: That's the song with the "gay apparel" too, you know.
S. Black: Is it? Well bugger me. Thats slightly hilarious, but you know what is more hilarious, my darling Prongsy pie?
J. Potter: What is that, Pads?
S. Black: Us. We are deeply hilarious. Worlds applaud our cheeky, endearing antics, and give us lots of bellyrubs in appreciation.
J. Potter: But of course we are. And not only are we hilarious, we are ridiculously good-looking. And clever. And you get bellyrubs. You've got a Bellyrub Monopoly, you know. But that's not the point. The point is our ever-impressive wit. Yes?
S. Black: Yes! You read into the depths of my very soul. Kiss me, you fool.
J. Potter: Maybe later. Right now I'm a bit busy talking to the interwebly people. I'm fairly certain there was a point to all this blather.
S. Black: Oh right! My mistake. The POINT, my little pollywogs, the ever elusive point, is that James and I have applied our cleverness and aforementioned ever-impressive wit to a time honoured classic christmas song. Just for YOU! You lucky little sods!
J. Potter: And we picked a long one, with tons of lyrics, for maximum enjoyment. Unfortunately, that much hilarity and amusement at once might leave you with a stitch in your side that could leave you incapacitated for several days on end. We're understanding, benevolent Marauders, though, so we'll dole out the goods in small doses, so that even the faintest of heart can enjoy, free and clear.
S. Black: We're so noble and majestic I could just cry. Or save a bunch of orphans from a burning building. Not the slytherin ones, though.
J. Potter: Most Slytherins have large, inbred, pureblood families, though, (no hump meant, Padfoot) so there aren't many Slytherin orphans, I should think. You'd only be saving non-Slytherins anyway. But! I digress! And so do you! We've gotten a bit sidetracked, methinks.
S. Black: With brains as large and full of information as ours are, Prongs, we cannot help but get sidetracked by things. The meaning of life, the true meaning of happiness- these things distract us.
Nevertheless, to further ensure your safety as per literally laughing your guts out [and what a lovely mental image, am I right?], we have decided to put the first half of our lovely song on my eehtarwebly journal thing, and the second on Prongs'. Thats slobberymongrel and prongsykins, for the slower ones in the audience. You are jealous. They are formidable journal names.
J. Potter: ...Yes. Formidable. Especially mine. Anyway, the point is, that if I were you I would keep an eye out, because this isn't the sort of entertainment that comes along just any old day. You'll want to pass this along to your grandchildren (and technically I'm passing it on to mine, as a few have journals on this thing. Isn't that fecking weird?).
S. Black: Stop playing the proud if somewhat unexpected Grandpappy, James.
J. Potter: But they're my GRANDSONS, Padfoot. They've got impossibly messy hair, and are ridiculously good-looking and probably have a weakness for redheads. I approve of all of those things.
S. Black: Your progeny's oepdipus complexes aside, I think we should start the Christmas Joy and Merriment! Now, Ive been told my singing voice is akin to a manticore mating call, so I shall leave the singing to my best mate in all things, James Harold Potter. James, if you would.
J. Potter: Why thank you, Sirius. So! Without further ado, here is the first verse of our very special version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, Marauders style. Ahem.
ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME,
AN ANIMAGUS PISSING ON A TREE.
J. Potter: In the Spirit of the Season, Padfoot and I figured there were several ways we could spread our own special brand of Christmas Cheer, and today we do so through the majesty of song. But all those traditional Christmas carols are a bit boring, don't you think? Lyrics such as "Fa la la la la la la la la" just don't cut it, so we've taken matters into our own hands.
S. Black: "Fa la la la la la la la" is a bit ridiculous. Its simply trying too hard to be deep and thoughtful.
J. Potter: That's the song with the "gay apparel" too, you know.
S. Black: Is it? Well bugger me. Thats slightly hilarious, but you know what is more hilarious, my darling Prongsy pie?
J. Potter: What is that, Pads?
S. Black: Us. We are deeply hilarious. Worlds applaud our cheeky, endearing antics, and give us lots of bellyrubs in appreciation.
J. Potter: But of course we are. And not only are we hilarious, we are ridiculously good-looking. And clever. And you get bellyrubs. You've got a Bellyrub Monopoly, you know. But that's not the point. The point is our ever-impressive wit. Yes?
S. Black: Yes! You read into the depths of my very soul. Kiss me, you fool.
J. Potter: Maybe later. Right now I'm a bit busy talking to the interwebly people. I'm fairly certain there was a point to all this blather.
S. Black: Oh right! My mistake. The POINT, my little pollywogs, the ever elusive point, is that James and I have applied our cleverness and aforementioned ever-impressive wit to a time honoured classic christmas song. Just for YOU! You lucky little sods!
J. Potter: And we picked a long one, with tons of lyrics, for maximum enjoyment. Unfortunately, that much hilarity and amusement at once might leave you with a stitch in your side that could leave you incapacitated for several days on end. We're understanding, benevolent Marauders, though, so we'll dole out the goods in small doses, so that even the faintest of heart can enjoy, free and clear.
S. Black: We're so noble and majestic I could just cry. Or save a bunch of orphans from a burning building. Not the slytherin ones, though.
J. Potter: Most Slytherins have large, inbred, pureblood families, though, (no hump meant, Padfoot) so there aren't many Slytherin orphans, I should think. You'd only be saving non-Slytherins anyway. But! I digress! And so do you! We've gotten a bit sidetracked, methinks.
S. Black: With brains as large and full of information as ours are, Prongs, we cannot help but get sidetracked by things. The meaning of life, the true meaning of happiness- these things distract us.
Nevertheless, to further ensure your safety as per literally laughing your guts out [and what a lovely mental image, am I right?], we have decided to put the first half of our lovely song on my eehtarwebly journal thing, and the second on Prongs'. Thats slobberymongrel and prongsykins, for the slower ones in the audience. You are jealous. They are formidable journal names.
J. Potter: ...Yes. Formidable. Especially mine. Anyway, the point is, that if I were you I would keep an eye out, because this isn't the sort of entertainment that comes along just any old day. You'll want to pass this along to your grandchildren (and technically I'm passing it on to mine, as a few have journals on this thing. Isn't that fecking weird?).
S. Black: Stop playing the proud if somewhat unexpected Grandpappy, James.
J. Potter: But they're my GRANDSONS, Padfoot. They've got impossibly messy hair, and are ridiculously good-looking and probably have a weakness for redheads. I approve of all of those things.
S. Black: Your progeny's oepdipus complexes aside, I think we should start the Christmas Joy and Merriment! Now, Ive been told my singing voice is akin to a manticore mating call, so I shall leave the singing to my best mate in all things, James Harold Potter. James, if you would.
J. Potter: Why thank you, Sirius. So! Without further ado, here is the first verse of our very special version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, Marauders style. Ahem.
ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME,
AN ANIMAGUS PISSING ON A TREE.