| 008: january 28, 1998 |
[28 Jan 2012|10:55pm] |
WARDED TO DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY:I'm bored. I want a mission. Can I seduce someone from the I.S. and spy on them? I feel like what all this shit is lacking are some good, old-fashioned, cold-war era spy tactics. And me in a trench coat.
A sexy trench coat.
Thoughts?
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| 007: january 12, 1998 |
[12 Jan 2012|07:37pm] |
DEAR TOMMY CRESSWELL: THANKS FOR THE BOOTS. I MAY HAVE FALLEN EIGHT TIMES, BUT I LOOKED REALLY GOOD ON THE WAY DOWN. LOVE FOREVER, ME!!!
By way of thanks, a blue fox from the blue fox.
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| 006: january 11, 1998 |
[11 Jan 2012|08:39pm] |
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I'm not sure what the Carrows' big plan is. They took away our muggle literature and all it did was cause a frenzy, made us want it even more. They make us cast Unforgiveables on our friends and all I want is a blanket, some coffee, a cigarette and my Jeff Buckley album. The Carrows: making me love muggle shit more since 1997.
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| 005: january 9, 1998 |
[09 Jan 2012|10:19pm] |
So, while the rest of the school goes to hell, the Carrows decide to give us an assignment tearing the shit out of literature.
Congratulations. You now have Ravenclaw to contend with too.
WARDED TO MICHAEL:You're wonderful. For the record. One day, I'll say you're not, but you are. Thanks for rescuing my book for me. Means a lot, pal.
I hope the Carrows know I don't fuck around with literature. This is one paper I'm willing to get bitch-slapped over.
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| 004: january 8, 1998 |
[08 Jan 2012|05:52pm] |
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Hogwarts has officially gone to the dogs -- pugs, specifically, I'd say. When even Filch can't clean up properly, that's when you know you're in real trouble. I'm personally appalled by the staff's inability to clean up this place. SHAME!
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| 003: january 6, 1998 |
[06 Jan 2012|08:41pm] |
Between the Dark Arts classes, the rampant rumours of Lovegood's death and the fascist prefect system, I think my little sister will be in therapy for the rest of her natural born life. Excellent pedagogy, Hogwarts! You've broken a 14-year-old! That seems cause for celebration, doesn't it? Ah yes, the sweet smell of victory. Today: little girls; tomorrow: the world!
WARDED TO LITTLE BOOT, TOMMY AND ANDREW:I heard about what happened today. Normally, I'd offer you all some contraband vodka, but I didn't risk it this year. When we're all on the outside, consider this an IOU. Well done all the same. The pain goes away faster if you try to think about something else. Like kicking Alecto in her balls.
Or like vodka.
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| 002: january 3, 1998 |
[03 Jan 2012|10:48pm] |
Fuck what my mother says, I'd rather have yellow teeth from drinking too much coffee than serve another week of detention with the Carrows.
WARDED TO THE DA:So, that's me done again. I guess this pretty much makes any future career as a hand model obsolete.
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| 001: january 3, 1998 |
[03 Jan 2012|08:18am] |
Really? That was really necessary? At least I took a picture before it was slashed.
Yesterday's hope. Mixed media photography and painting. July 2, 1997.
I have a fun game. Let's come up with other dictatorships that censor, destroy and otherwise mishandle art! Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure it was an accident during your terribly necessary search. Apologies!
WARDED PRIVATE:FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!
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