The following is an extract from the latest book by J. K. Rowling. Reader discretion is advised as it contains explicit content. Certain words have however been edited to prevent extreme offence.
Harry sat in the dorm at Hogwarts school and stared down at the table. Taking from his top pocket his Galleon credit card he scraped the white powder into a thin line.
Rolling a crisp piece of paper into a tube he lent forward and inhaled the substance quickly and crashed back in the chair.
'I feel like I am f***ing flying on a broom, man!' he yelled as he fell off the chair.
From the floor he looked up at Hermione, who sat in the chair alongside him. She had a worried expression on her face as she looked down at him.
'Hey babe', Harry said from the floor. 'Wanna bit of fun?' and he grabbed her thin panties between her legs.
'Feels nice and wet there, you must be ready for my magic wand, luv!'
He tore at them and Hermione gave a strangled scream of distress and got up to run for the door. Grabbing her leg, Harry pulled her to the floor and rolled on top of her as she screamed for help.
Just at that moment as Harry fumbled with one hand in his trousers to get his c**k out and keeping a finger of his other hand in Hermione's c**t, the door burst open.
'Get off her Harry, what the hell are you doing!' cried the flame haired Ron Weasley from the doorway.
Harry stared up at him as he lay on his side across the prostrate Hermione his erect penis visible to all.
'Keep f***ing out of it you ginger haired c**t, can't you see she's f***ing begging for it?'
At that same moment the door burst open once again and ducking through the door came Hagrid.
'Hey Harry! Call that a d**k, this is a d**k' he cried as he dropped his trousers.
'Oh my!' cried Hermione.
'Yeah babe, some of us are big in every department...'
The full book Harry Potter And The Casual Vacancy is not available in any good or even bad bookshops.
Thursday 27 September 2012
Wednesday 12 September 2012
Open Wide - A Dental Odyssey
I went to the dentist yesterday. It was a happy experience for a change. No work required so I scampered away with my booking nine months hence.
However it got me thinking about the trials and tribulations of visits to the dentist through the years. I have the bizarre experience of having reached three and a half decades on the planet and in that time I have only ever had the services of just two dental practitioners. I can't help but think that it quite surprising.
Only two people have delved into my mouth that I have directly paid them too (well those that I am sharing with you, mind). My old dentist who served me well for about thirty years retired to some such place about four years ago. He was a great guy in the old style. Worked at lightning pace, filled where needed and pulled forth my wisdom, teeth that is, from the "comfort" of his chair. He was old school.
Now however after he left me after thirty years, I have a lady from some far-flung place in Europe. Highly efficient, but very much in the new school of treatment. First and foremost its all about hygiene. I go into the room and she goggles up, masks up and puts those rubber gloves on. For a minute I always have to check I have come to the right place, and not that other "establishment" I might be known for visiting.
However, it is my dentist and masked up as if I have some sort of bubonic plague she attacks me with her implements.
Yesterday, like I said, I got away with it lightly. No work to be done. However in the past when she has had to repair some of my fillings (brush your teeth kids) it is a test of endurance. Mouth open for minutes as she sprays, pokes, and nudges away. Jaw ache like never before, as if I have been sucking on a football for an hour. Its ironic that now injections are common place which removes a lot of the pain from the actual work, a new form of pain arrives.
Bruised and battered, jaw aching and drooling down your chin. You look like Ricky Hatton after an all-nighter at the local pub.
There is also the small matter of the money you pay for the privilege for all this as well. Why do the NHS prices offer a buy one get half a dozen (or more) fillings free? Are they some kind of supermarket or something? It makes me want to pick the other darn fillings out if I need one, so that I get value for money.
However I am sure I have wrote enough of this waffle. If you have made it this far, you are probably more than able to survive the stress of the dentists chair.
Next time you are in the chair however, just lay back and thank god that Steve Martin ain't your dentist.
However it got me thinking about the trials and tribulations of visits to the dentist through the years. I have the bizarre experience of having reached three and a half decades on the planet and in that time I have only ever had the services of just two dental practitioners. I can't help but think that it quite surprising.
Only two people have delved into my mouth that I have directly paid them too (well those that I am sharing with you, mind). My old dentist who served me well for about thirty years retired to some such place about four years ago. He was a great guy in the old style. Worked at lightning pace, filled where needed and pulled forth my wisdom, teeth that is, from the "comfort" of his chair. He was old school.
Now however after he left me after thirty years, I have a lady from some far-flung place in Europe. Highly efficient, but very much in the new school of treatment. First and foremost its all about hygiene. I go into the room and she goggles up, masks up and puts those rubber gloves on. For a minute I always have to check I have come to the right place, and not that other "establishment" I might be known for visiting.
However, it is my dentist and masked up as if I have some sort of bubonic plague she attacks me with her implements.
Yesterday, like I said, I got away with it lightly. No work to be done. However in the past when she has had to repair some of my fillings (brush your teeth kids) it is a test of endurance. Mouth open for minutes as she sprays, pokes, and nudges away. Jaw ache like never before, as if I have been sucking on a football for an hour. Its ironic that now injections are common place which removes a lot of the pain from the actual work, a new form of pain arrives.
Bruised and battered, jaw aching and drooling down your chin. You look like Ricky Hatton after an all-nighter at the local pub.
There is also the small matter of the money you pay for the privilege for all this as well. Why do the NHS prices offer a buy one get half a dozen (or more) fillings free? Are they some kind of supermarket or something? It makes me want to pick the other darn fillings out if I need one, so that I get value for money.
However I am sure I have wrote enough of this waffle. If you have made it this far, you are probably more than able to survive the stress of the dentists chair.
Next time you are in the chair however, just lay back and thank god that Steve Martin ain't your dentist.
Saturday 8 September 2012
The 2012 London Paralympic Games: In Review
The London 2012 Olympic Games had been amazing. The Paralympic Games however were truly remarkable.
Combining the power of highly competitive sport with the power of the human stories behind each and every competitor. From the very beginning with the albeit less powerful opening ceremony following the Olympics masterpiece, we knew we were in for a tremendous ride.
The Opening Ceremony was never going to match Danny Boyle's stunner, but with some truly amazing imagery from the likes of Baroness Tanni Grey-Thompson flying through the air to the arrival of the flame in the hands of Soldier Joe Townsend descending from the Orbit Tower. Perhaps the moment of the ceremony however had to come from the inspired idea of performing the once banned song Spasticus Autisticus by Ian Drury. An amazing moment.
However the truly amazing moments were to come in the days following the ceremony as the athletes took centre stage. A story behind every disability, and a power and determination to succeed at everything. These people were not blocked by anything, other than things that were out of control.
Together we marvelled at swimmers with no arms. Long jumpers with no sight. High jumpers with one leg. Archers holding their bows with their feet. These people had nothing in their way to prevent them performing.
On the day that Wayne Rooney gave an interview in the press about the trials of his injury, weight, and hair loss. I watched a tennis player in a motorised wheel chair catching the ball with his feet and tossing the serve with them. If the likes of Rooney and the sickness of their monstrous pay packets whining wasn't bad enough at the best of times, during the Paralympics, it belied belief.
The only dull part of the event came from the Channel 4 coverage. Never up with the blanket delight the BBC offered, coupled with the glaring need for advertisements, it came a very poor second. Presenters and commentators were inadequate also, with the only quality coming from those that had been stolen from the BBC. When watching the running in the Olympic Stadium, there is something quite wrong when in the background of Rob Walker's commentary you can hear someone feeding him his lines.
London 2012 in both Olympic and Paralympic form has hopefully taught us many things. The true role models lie in these people, not in those that take home thousands of pounds a week for kicking a football, or those monsters that enter the Big Brother house, or those that are made into stars on the likes of The X-Factor.
These people have worked hard, dedicated their lives to their chosen sport, for little or no return. They also, through their broad smiles throughout, looked like they wanted to be their, unlike the constant sour looks of those other stars.
They were there for pride in their sport, pride in their country and pride in their performance. We all should learn a lot from that.
Combining the power of highly competitive sport with the power of the human stories behind each and every competitor. From the very beginning with the albeit less powerful opening ceremony following the Olympics masterpiece, we knew we were in for a tremendous ride.
The Opening Ceremony was never going to match Danny Boyle's stunner, but with some truly amazing imagery from the likes of Baroness Tanni Grey-Thompson flying through the air to the arrival of the flame in the hands of Soldier Joe Townsend descending from the Orbit Tower. Perhaps the moment of the ceremony however had to come from the inspired idea of performing the once banned song Spasticus Autisticus by Ian Drury. An amazing moment.
However the truly amazing moments were to come in the days following the ceremony as the athletes took centre stage. A story behind every disability, and a power and determination to succeed at everything. These people were not blocked by anything, other than things that were out of control.
Together we marvelled at swimmers with no arms. Long jumpers with no sight. High jumpers with one leg. Archers holding their bows with their feet. These people had nothing in their way to prevent them performing.
On the day that Wayne Rooney gave an interview in the press about the trials of his injury, weight, and hair loss. I watched a tennis player in a motorised wheel chair catching the ball with his feet and tossing the serve with them. If the likes of Rooney and the sickness of their monstrous pay packets whining wasn't bad enough at the best of times, during the Paralympics, it belied belief.
The only dull part of the event came from the Channel 4 coverage. Never up with the blanket delight the BBC offered, coupled with the glaring need for advertisements, it came a very poor second. Presenters and commentators were inadequate also, with the only quality coming from those that had been stolen from the BBC. When watching the running in the Olympic Stadium, there is something quite wrong when in the background of Rob Walker's commentary you can hear someone feeding him his lines.
London 2012 in both Olympic and Paralympic form has hopefully taught us many things. The true role models lie in these people, not in those that take home thousands of pounds a week for kicking a football, or those monsters that enter the Big Brother house, or those that are made into stars on the likes of The X-Factor.
These people have worked hard, dedicated their lives to their chosen sport, for little or no return. They also, through their broad smiles throughout, looked like they wanted to be their, unlike the constant sour looks of those other stars.
They were there for pride in their sport, pride in their country and pride in their performance. We all should learn a lot from that.
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