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Random lnsanity / To the Enraged Lobster.
« on: September 07, 2007, 03:54:56 pm »
To the awesomest Enraged Lobster in the world, I give you more awesomeness. <_<
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Quote from: ShamedmonkeyHoly shit, it's Bruc.
How goes the Margrave Fan club?
Did you know, apparently I'm a memeber of that. =/
I didn't say your choice is bad. o_o Unless Facism shows up on someones results here I won't care. I've never had a problem with ideals like yours.
also, I'm more radically socialist than you guise.
Wait a second. Shamed, Moth and I are exactly the same. @_@ At least on a Governmental level. Nice.
By this matrix we have completely different ideas and views, Monkey. o_o Well, you're way to the left of me.
“Dammit,” Harry swore loudly after the healer gave him the news.
“What?”
“My bloody wand hand has seven hairline fractures. Any one of them could snap and tonic right through the skin. He’s gotta vanish the bones and I’ve gotta regrow them.”
“Don’t trust him,” an old woman called out loudly. “He’s a dark wizard. This may all be a charade manufactured by the Dark Lord.”
“There’s the close-mindedness the Wizengamot is famous for,” Harry cheered. “Finally a voice for the voiceless incompetents.”
“I’m sorry,” Sirius asked with mock sincerity. “But who are you?”
“Hmph,” the woman huffed refusing to answer.
Albus interjected, “Madame Edgecombe’s family owns one of the buildings in Badgin Alley that sustained damages.”
“I make no secret of that,” Edgecombe snapped. “But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a dark wizard.”
“Yeah well…” Sirius shrugged. “You’re a werewolf.”
Madame Edgecombe stiffened at the accusation. “I most certainly am not.”
“So? What does that matter?” Sirius asked in confusion. “I thought we were just making up random shit because we’re irritable from all the sores on our crusty old vaginas.” Sirius finished while quite obviously scratching himself.
“Lord Black, please,” Amelia tiredly answered. “A little decorum while you mock and insult us would be appreciated.”
“Well I never…” Madame Edgecombe’s complexion was beginning to cycle between shades of anger and embarrassment. “I am making nothing up. He’s a parseltongue.”
“No, I’m not,” Harry said while trying to gesture with his hand. The healer had just finished vanishing the bones so his arm appeared to be flapping like a flesh-filled glove. “Nice work,” Harry commented towards the healer while waggling his hand.
“You deny that you’re a parseltongue?” she asked with a conniving smile. “That you weren’t seen hissing at the Dark Mark before your staged little duel?”
“I’m not a parseltongue,” Harry tiredly explained. “I’m a parselmouth. The language I can speak and understand is parseltongue. And if you’ve ever seen an anaconda you can understand why I sometimes get called a parselcrotch.”
EL.
Why.
Did.
You.
Get.
So.
Retarded.