Tag Archives: Harry Potter

MY BIRTHDAY PARTY IS FUCKING RUINED!

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My birthday party is fuh-king ruined. Period. UGH! What don’t you understand about that? I wish I had never been born. I wish I had been aborted. I wish “Karen” , if that’s even her real name, would have just pooped me out of her sweaty vag right down the toilet and flushed me into oblivion. Into that sarlacc pit of nothingness. That’s how FUCKED my birthday is. period.

You know, you only turn 16 once and you want it to be special. It’s supposed to be the one day in your whole life where everything goes perfect. Everybody is supposed to make you the center of attention. Everybody is supposed to buy you presents. You’re supposed to get a Range Rover and MTV is supposed to video tape you doing doughnuts in the parking lot, while you blast Black Eyed Peas so loud that cum balls squirt out your nose hole. That’s how loud the Black Eyed Peas are supposed to be, loud enough to defy rational anatomical functions. Shooting jizz rockets out your nostril? Shit’s straight retarded, Black Eyed Peas style. That’s what sweet 16 is supposed to be about. It’s supposed to be the first day of the rest of your life. It’s the moment when a girl blossoms into womanhood and lets the cutest boy in school (Gunter Slugsworth) put his thumb in her plum pudding.

The only thing I REALLY needed for my super sweet 16 was an iron-casted replica of Draco Malfoy’s cock-muscle. I wanted to see the look on Liz’s face when she came over for Harry-themed Trivial Pursuit night and I had that thing sitting on my mantle, glistening in the J.K. Rowling approved candlelight, staring her right in her stupid puffy-nippled tits. She thought she was soooo bitchin’ when she brought over the HP collection on Blu-Ray, even though the only reason her Dad bought that for her was because he was cheating on her Mom with Coach Terri, the assistant women’s softball coach, and felt like a total dickwad after she drowned herself in the baby pool in their front lawn on Valentine’s Day. I mean don’t me wrong or whatever, I like Harry and all but I would rather have my mom not be dead. Plus that baby pool is practically ruined now. UGH!

All I wanted was a Twilight themed blood fountain but noooo. Gurgling and spewing that sweet red sauce for everybody’s sipping pleasure. Daddy said he couldn’t get the hospital to agree to shipping 7 gallons of human blood to our house. Total fucking bullshit! Last time I checked, the hospital doesn’t have a monopoly on blood. And I’m not picky, I had Dad even go down to the vet and see if we could just drain our own blood from the pile of dogs that they had put down that day, but the people at the vet are homo’s and said they would “call the cops” if he didn’t “leave the premises.”

And then Tiff shows up with her new haircut with cropped bangs. She god damn knows cropped bangs are my thing! I pioneered cropped bangs in September. I Thomas Edison’ed that shit. I Steve Jobs’ed cropped bangs back when she still had those silly fucking leg braces. She fucking Billy-boy Gates’ed that shit like a poseur supreme. It’s like she is deliberately trying to sabotage my look. She’s going to ruin it because cropped bangs don’t look good on fat girls who can’t walk straight.

And I specifically asked for a sushi bar with a real Chinese person, so I could look sophisticated and Asiatic. But noooo, apparently the Japs are better at making sushi than the Chinese. If I wanted my super sweet 16 to turn into Pearl Harbor, I would’ve invited mole-faced Cuba Gooding III and told him to bring his dad.

Plus, this queso dip tastes like the back of Rosie O’Donnell’s knees.

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

A Letter from Hogwarts

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Dear Herschel Dimpledick,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Congratulations!

However, I feel it necessary to clarify a few things before your full enrollment. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but just in case you have read any of the J.K. Rowling books or seen any of the films: it ain’t like that, kid. Teeeeeechnically speaking, we don’t really have castles or potions or ginger-haired faggers or anything like that because of some minor misappropriations of school funds. Hell, we barely have classrooms. Our beloved shop teacher, Terrence Dairyballs, is even having to teach his classes in a broke-ass FEMA trailer. Recent federal investigation has revealed that former headmaster Albus Dumbledore has been “into the pudding,” and in feats of drunken e-shopping, spent most of the schools money on Justin Beiber tanktops and all-white blue jeans. What he didn’t spend on Beibs merch, he blew on a 72 hour cocaine-fueled bender with Charlie Sheen and two male prostitutes.

We are running short on wands, but we did pick up some Roman Candles the other day. Buy one get two free. So that’s three. And there are like four in a pack. So that’s twelve. That’s more than enough. We’ll just have to take turns. Also, we had to disassemble our Quidditch team after all the ”gang rape” accusations. I still believe team captain Horace Shinkleshack when he tells me that most of it was consensual. Definitely Maria DeLosMuertos. She was a strange Hispanic girl, and I could totally see her asking to be raped, strangled, and fed to the three-headed dog. Now, I’m not saying that her being Hispanic has anything to do with her enjoyment of these activities. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m sure Hispanic people dislike getting raped, strangled, and eaten just as much as non-Hispanic people. I was just telling you that she was Hispanic to help you get the mental picture of the sweaty, chiseled Horace bludgering that Hispanic golden snitch with his throbbing quaffle. Regardless of the consensuality of it all, the broomsticks still smell awful. But, I digress. Just because Quidditch is no more doesn’t mean that we don’t offer a variety of other activities. Our chess team is going to be outstanding as soon as we find those last four pieces someone misplaced, and the men’s gymnastics team almost went to regionals 3 years ago.

Congratulations again and we can’t wait to see you in the Fall!

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

  1. Sunscreen
  2. Your swimmin’ trunks
  3. Your flashlight
  4. Thermometer
  5. Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler
  6. Some Shoes you can run in
  7. A Positive Attitude!

Yours Sincerely,

Squimble Duffendeutcsh

 

Fuck 2011

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Fuck 2011. 2010 4 life. Like the wolfpack. Just toooo sweeeeeeet. All you folks out there flip-flopping like Johnny “The Ketchup Man” Kerry as soon as New Years Eve gets here. Everybody everywhere sayin “Happy New Year!” So willing to just leave 2010 in the past, like yesterday’s hooker. Well guess what dickhead, 2010 has feelings too and it’s so disrespectful that as soon as the clock strikes twelve your pumpkin asses shit all over 2010. Just as a general rule of thumb, shitting all over anything except the inside of a toilet, plastic bucket, or Phil Standen’s lunchbox is disrespectful. I’m not going to flippantly abandon 2010 like a little harelipped baby crying in a dumpster behind my apartment. No sir. Not me. 2010 and me go back like chiropractors.

Here’s some great things about 2010:

  • We elected our first black president. Take that white folks! Right in your white money filled asses!
  • We won the Iraq war.
  • Avatar in 3-D.
  • Blink 182 reunion tour. The boys are back in town.
  • Michael Jackson returned to the promised land. RIP. I know in my heart you didn’t fiddle with those kiddies p-words.
  • Michael Schaivo successfully sued to have his brain-damaged wife Terri’s feeding tube removed.
  • V-neck shirt fashion explosion. KaPLOW.
  • We gave Israel to Palestine. Finally.
  • Took a grand total of 5 stinky dumps in Phil Standen’s lunchbox.

And I know some of you jagoffs are saying “Hey, guy, you’re afraid of change. Why don’t you stop being such a pussy baby, accept the inevitable passage of time and embrace the new year?” Well let me answer your question with a question. Did Abraham Lincoln just accept change when the South seceded? Did Chris Brown just accept change when Rhianna started mouthing off? Did my Dad accept change when I told him I’m not really into women, persay. No. He didn’t, and I’m not going to either. If there is one thing I learned from my Dad, it’s don’t just stand by and watch your son grow into a god-hating hell-bent man smoocher. And change. Don’t accept it.

Fuck 2011. Seriously. Take out that tiny, flaccid, coat hanger abortion of a dick, and fuck it til you cum. I don’t even want to hear it. As far as I’m concerned this is just 2010 2.0 – Round 2. Just like they did to the last Harry Potter movies. Round 2. Ding Ding Ding.