Blog Name: Harry Potter

Found another pimple yesterday, SOD IT. So much for Hermione's pimple-zapper potion, I might as well have washed my shoes with it.

Thoughts of the Dark Lord have been preying on my mind. No one else UNDERSTANDS what is going on in my head. I wrote a poem about it:

I am alone in a black room
the Dark Lord fills me full of gloom
He is evil personified
Like the very best food, badly fried.

I think that says it all. He (the Dark Lord) is just like a good meal - pizza or something - which has been RUINED. I mean, if you fried a pizza, that would ruin it, right? Which is what happened to Him. I mean, he started off good, like a raw pizza, but it all went wrong. It's like someone sprinkled him with really nice stuff, like ham and pineapple chunks, then fried it. I mean Him.

I tried explaining this to Ron. As usual, Ron didn't have a clue as to what I was talking about. He just said I was talking bollocks. He doesn't understand me. No one does.

Ginny is ignoring me at the moment which is SO UNFAIR. Just because I drew a willy on her "Necromancy for Dummies" book. I mean, that was MONTHS ago and she only just found it so that shows how much she reads her text books, I think. Hermione says I should apologise and I said why should I, as willys go it's a pretty good likeness and she said how would you know, are you gay or something, so now I'M not talking to HER.

Ron wasn't talking to anyone last week, but that's because a bludger whacked him in the gob and knocked all his teeth out. He had to sleep with his head in a bag of bone-gro powder which meant he was in a stinker of a mood and tried to punch me when I called him "Gappy".

Had a fight with Malfoy in the Quad, actually. It was cool, I got him in a head-lock and stuffed mud down his shirt. He elbowed me in the ribs and whacked me and gave me a black eye. Then Hermione kicked him in the nadgers and we ran for it. I like Hermione, she's well cool and she's got LETHAL boots. I just wish she'd stop going all soppy over Ron, I mean, he's a great bloke and he can make fart noises under his armpit but WHY doesn't she get herself a pet hamster or something?

Well, best not advertise this blog around the school, if that loser Snape found out I'd be in trouble AGAIN which is NOT FAIR. He is such a LOSER he floats around the place like a bad SMELL and Ron says he's only miserable all the time because he's constipated which explains that look on his face so why doesn't he drink some liquid dynamite potion and SORT IT OUT.

Blog Name: James May - and another thing...

It's a sad fact that Britain is not the country it used to be. We live in a country that is just a shadow of its former self. And who should we blame? Teenagers, that's who.

Now, I appreciate a good tune just like anyone else. I'm quite happy to tap a foot to any beat combo which knows how to get down on it. However, the recording artists of today are just a bunch of lazy yobs. They spend all day pushing cocaine up their noses, then once a month they nip into the recording studio to see if the engineer has finished programming their drum machine so that they can add the vocals. And the lyrics don't make any sense anyway, because they were written on the back of a groupie whilst having intimate relationships in the back of a stretch limo on the way to yet another dance hall where they'll spend all night pushing cocaine up their noses and then jumping up and down to unearthly howling noises known as 'acidic bungalow' music.

It is a fact that dress sense is a skill that must be learnt, and it takes time and practice before a chap can dress himself with any degree of style or flair. Clearly, this is a skill which the youth of today have all but abandoned. I often see young chaps sporting multi-coloured hair, their faces skewered by various items of cutlery, shuffling along the street in trousers that could well have been used to deliver a cubic yard of gravel from a DIY superstore. None of them own a sensible pair of shoes, preferring to encase their feet in orthopaedic boots or possibly sandals made of recycled lentils. I also weep at the sight of so many young chaps failing to grasp that on a baseball cap, the sticking-out bit goes at the front.

Cars, of course, are very important to a young chap and always have been. But whereas in my day, a chap would take a nice young girl into the country for a stroll by the river, the grunting youth of 2009 can only assemble the strength, and indeed the intelligence, to steer his plastic-encrusted monstrosity of a hatchback to the local burger shop where he meets with other like minded simpletons to eat greasy food and listen to unearthly howling noises pumping out of stereo systems that are only slightly smaller than the plastic-encrusted monstrosities that house them.

I don't like to complain, however. Teenagers, no matter how repulsive, often grow up into charming young people. Just occasionally it goes horribly wrong, and then you end up with Margaret Thatcher, or maybe Hitler, or Jeremy Clarkson. Sometimes, owing to all the greasy food, they don't grow 'up' at all, and then you get Richard Hammond. Personally, I blame the Government, which is why I started smoking pipes, so that I could prod people with them in the public bar, whilst blaming the Government. Then they banned smoking. Bastards.

I should keep this anonymous, or else Clarkson will get wind of it, and then get very annoyed because he didn't think of it and now he can't put it into another of his flaming 'best selling' potboilers about bugger all. Oh well.