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26 August 2004 @ 07:00 pm
Some buckets are just more loved  
Out walking with my parents today, listening to my Discman. It has made a miraculous recovery, and you will be pleased to note that there does not appear to be any fatal injuries. Well, apart from the radio. That is dead as a dingbat, just fizzles obstinately at me like my brother blowing raspberries (his standard response, when someone tells him an inalienable truth like: ‘You need a shower/brain transplant‘).

MUM: I will worry about this innocent when she goes out in the big bad world.
ME: *during break between songs* What innocent?
MUM: Oh, you.
ME: *indignant* ME? What the hell?
DAD: Well, there are a lot of nasty people out there, you know.
ME: Yeah - I’m one of them!


Mr Dursley is not blonde. Mrs Dursley is. Therefore, Warner Bros, in their ineffable wisdom, through the genius of Steve Cloves and their blind casting director, decides to make Mr Dursley blonde and Mrs Dursley a brunette. We pity them that their multi-million dollar budget could not stretch to a little hair-dye.

The Dursleys have everything they want. This explains why they have to show off Vernon’s company car in book three, as there is no sign of an inferiority complex or a keeping-up-with-the-Joneses complex anywhere in their family tree.

They shudder to think what would happen if their relations, the Potters, turned up on Privet Drive, disregarding the fact that its one of those estates that look like they were built of Lego and that any sane person would regard as the seventh ring of hell.

We wonder how Mr Dursley can pick out a most boring tie when all of his ties, judging by his personality, have to be boring. This intrigues us for far longer than it should and probably explains why we keep reading.

Mr Dursley’s Boring-O-Meter later sells for a record price at Sotheby’s.

In the face of all evidence to the contrary, the Dursleys think their son is worthy of affection.

Mr Dursley is shown to have little experience with magnificent creatures like cats and does not realise that they ALL stare. We think that he should have swapped Dudley for a pet cat and a vasectomy.

Mr Dursley plays with drills and does not look at owls. A man clearly in the prime of his sanity, and not a bird-watching fanatic.

Mr Dursley thinks there are many people called Harry Potter. According to JK’s website, this is indeed the case. Furthermore, when the time comes for fandom members to reproduce, there will be a hell of a lot more.

Mr Dursley’s later slanders against wizards seem to be backed up when he knocks down a wizard - and the wizard likes it.

We learn of Mrs Next-Door’s daughter. The seeds of a million next-door Mary-Sues are planted in fanfic writers’ fertile minds.

Mr and Mrs Dursley do not acknowledge the existence of her sister. They have this in common with 100% of the world’s in-laws, including mine.

Mr Dursley fears a cat is stalking him. We think he should be so lucky.

When the Dursleys go to bed, Mrs Dursley falls asleep quickly. We commend her survival tactics, and note the root of Mr Dursley’s anger problems.

Dumbledore makes his entrance, dressed a la Flower Power.

(Put-Outer - a possible link between magic and cigarette sponsoring?)

Professor McGonagall has black hair. This explains why it is grey in the film.

Dumbledore’s predilection for sweets makes a first appearance, and is seized upon by fans repeatedly to a) define his character or b) as a cover-up for his drug problem.

Dumbledore does not spot the link between saying ‘Voldemort’ and his sweets sticking together. Somewhere in an Albanian forest, a bodiless voice cackles: ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, da dum…’

Dumbledore denies his great power. We later realise it consists of twinkling and making ambiguous statements, which would make him a god among politicians. In addition, he can lie convincingly, and McGonagall never suspects that he knows the truth about why the Potters died or that it will lead to more deaths and Harry’s taste for angry rock music and speaking in capital letters.

McGonagall, demonstrating an iota of commonsense, points out that the Dursley’s house would be the worst place to leave Harry, as they have never heard of discipline.

Dumbledore denies this, and is proved right when their treatment of Harry proves to be of the ‘spare the rod’ variety.

Conclusion: Dumbledore is a dumbass who needs to stop trusting careless people and get a Hotmail address.

The famous flying motorbike makes its first appearance, and sparks off a storm of furious debate over what the hell happened to it.

Dumbledore wishes Harry luck and goes back to his tin of sweets/ stash of crack, and later to his secret society meeting with Bertie Ahern.

People toast the Boy Who Lived, and it becomes the chapter title that launched a thousand spin-offs.


It's nearly a year to the day that I discovered the fandom, and I finally think I have got all the strange abbreviations etc down, because last night I discovered Fandom Wank! Yes! And I looked upon it, and I saw that it was good. Or at least, v. v. bitchy. Which is the same thing, in my world where the camels dance.
Current Mood: bouncybouncy
Current Music: 'Bloody Valentine', Good Charlotte
gabbysun on August 26th, 2004 02:55 pm (UTC)
*snicker* That is the most fantastic thing I have ever read. Excellent.
The Light Snarktasticsnarkophagus on August 26th, 2004 09:48 pm (UTC)

Very nice.

I marvel at how innocent parents think their offspring are. My mother would have a heart attack if found out half the things I got up to, in spite of her efforts to keep bad influences away.

I can't believe parents haven't figured out by now that telling their kids they can't do something is a surefire way of getting them to do it post-haste...
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on August 27th, 2004 11:20 am (UTC)
My mother once saw me reading a Mills and Boon. (Oh the shame, but I was bored.)

She was Shocked.