During last night’s episode of The Walking Dead (SNOOZE), a commercial for the new Harry Potter movie (EEEEE!) inspired my friends and me to play a spirited round of “Who would you invite to Yule Ball??!!” (My first two choices are either/both Weasley twins, followed by Draco Malfoy, but brooding Draco, not crying-like-a-bitch Draco. I would also like to go on a date with Ron, but not for kissing or anything. Just to hold hands. And maybe he could buy me a butter beer). So that conversation kind of made me feel like a pedophile uber-nerd, but thankfully I just had my own perfectly reasonable levels of nerdiness re-contextualized by the internet. The internet is so good for that.
EXHIBIT A: “Hello. I’m Harry Potter himself.”
EXHIBIT B: “It involves a bunch of magical balls…. The snitch is a tennis ball in a sock tucked into the snitch-runner’s pants.”
Thanks internet, for making me feel normal again. Now, back to Google-imaging the Weasley twins (THEY’RE 24 IT’S NOT CREEPY) until it’s time for tonight’s Deathly Hallows press screening….
New disease:
Hoarder Potter.
A story of three clocks always enlightened me when I don’t know what to do.The childhood dream was moving farther and farther from me, the more hardships and burdens always made me at a loss. The story begins like this: A newly-assembled small clock was put between the two old clocks, which were ticking every minute and second.One of the old clocks said to the small clock,”
I’ve been dressing as Raskolnikov from “Crime and Punishment” for months now, but no one pays any attention to me…