alright folks, let's face it: it is the end of an era. a dynasty, she ends. the sun, it sets upon the edge of the literate sea. this saturday, the bookstores will throw open their doors and prepare for one final record-blasting day of hardcovers flying off the shelves and into the hands of addicts everywhere. pages will flip so rapidly that many a paper cut will undoubtedly spawn upon a myriad of knuckles from reckless page turning at breakneck speed. there will be laughter, there will be sobbing because jk probably totally kills off one or two of our favorite characters, and i mean seriously if any of the trio dies i will die inside and then probably slice my wrists. also, we will lose the ability to geek out over HP conspiracy 'omg what happens next?!' podcasts and somehow reading all the essays on character theory and the tiny details that just. may. add. up! suddenly won't seem as important once we know how it all ends.
at long last, after ten years of wishing we received our own invitations to hogwarts (i'm convinced dad threw mine out because he also threw out my girl scout camp acceptance placements and party invites because he was absent-minded even before he became a professor), we will tear through several hundred final pages of the canon and weep really sodium-rich tears because, frick, that was seriously one of the last vestiges from childhood, or at least not-yet-quite-adult life and we loved it ever so dearly. it was a security blanket, a piece of wonder (not the bread, which was way too flattenable so far as bread goes), and a source of endless joy. yes. joy. if a heartless cynical bastard girl can admit it, so can the rest of you.
alas, after this weekend it will finally be time to put the boy wizard to rest, provided he of course doesn't croak in the last pages, because if so then jk rowling will have some serious therapy bills to pay 'round this world of ours. and so my friends, chew your droobles, swish your cloak, and prepare to say goodbye to harry potter. yes, he of the unfortunate (yet life-altering) scar that apparently came into being in the age before mederma and the amazing friends and the quidditch skills and the amazing heart and the love that will defeat evil. he of snowy owls, misguided romantic attempts (you can't spell 'cho' without 'ho', y'all) and proof that even if you're really only barely decent in school you can still rock the world. he whose happiness and defeat of the dark lord means the world to us.
we, the millions upon zillions of squeeing fans, have already poured our piggy banks into scads of movies, books, scarves, bags of bertie botts and posters and will undboutedly do for years- but not without lamenting the end of the original books themselves. we have fanficked, filked, and flibbertigibbeted (and oddmented and nitwitted, too) whilst wishing for timeturners and totally hearting luna lovegood's radish earrings. we've sorted ourselves into our own houses (if you didn't figure out that i'm a slytherin, i take 50 points from your own house, you obvious hufflepuff), we've cheered for the weasley twins, hated on draco for being such a pansy (and hated pansy too, that cow), wished for our own house elves, and totally rooted for OBHWF. (that's 'one big happy weasley family' for those of you who don't know, and if you're a harry/hermione shipper, u r dum.) we have, in short, invested in these books and this world and jk's masterful storytelling because it has defined a decade of our lives. a decade, folks. for a lot of potter fans, that's more than half their span on this green and blue earth thing we call home.
and yet? there are people out there who are meaner than i am. there are asshats who would wish nothing more than to take this incredible final seventh piece in an epic story arc and shove it up our asses without lube, and then give us a swirly afterwards. if they could, they'd rape the children's lit section of the library (and probably every other literature section, or more than possible, any section of any building that contains books of any kind) with a cave troll's mallet and then set fire to it, only to put it out with pee that smells of asparagus.
i'm talking, of course, about book spoilers. this breed of abortions-that-weren't prey upon those who find happiness (much like dementors, but without the kicky cloaks or ability to actually drain your soul via a kiss, though, talk to me about some of my exes and they might be comparable) in books, which they really can't handle. these numbnutted jizzgobblers lurk around barnes and noble parkinglots, spying on the harry potter midnight parties, waiting to strike with maddening speed and unfortunate accuracy. mind, they have taken the time to pre order their own copy of the coveted tomes so that at the stroke of midnight, they might run into a crowded hall of children, teenagers, twenty somethings, parents, grandparents, and totally exasperated b&n/borders/waldens staff (who are already probably pissed bc a) being open til midnight honks, b) they know they're gonna be working double shifts on saturday and will undoubtedly be spoiled on the book before they get to read it, even with their 30% discount, and c) fuck the screaming children at the HP parties, seriously. put those things in bed. it's midnight.) and scream something akin to:
"______ DIES!! HAHAHAHA!!!"
"THE PROPHECY ______!! _____ WAS _____!"
"_____ KICKS THE BUCKET AFTER KILLING _____!"
"OMG, _______ WAS TOTALLY _______ THE WHOLE TIME!"
and so on. i just pulled these out of my head by the way, folks. i'm not intimating that i know anything about the damn book. hello, if i did, i'd be selling my secrets on ebay for $50 a pop. shit son. i'm as clueless as the rest of you. and you know what? i goddamn like it that way. i want to go into this book knowing only what i do of the past six books. i want nothing spoiled. i want a fresh slate, i want to go through it as harry and co goes through it, not knowing the future, but only knowing it has to come to an end sooner or later. you know, cause the book covers kind of say so.
but there are these nutjob crackmunchers who think it's fun to spoil a decade's worth of waiting, hoping, and wondering. there are assholes bigger than the state of texas just waiting to spring the spoilers on the harry potter friday night parties and saturday morning book buyers. their five seconds of glee as they ruin it for countless people who have waited ten years is supposedly justified in 'eh they're just tards, get over it kids' that non hp-readers bandy about. well, fuck them. know why? because they don't know how to get to platform 9 and 3/4, that's why. and so, without further ado, i bring you:
10 things i will not at all hesitate to do to anybody who even attempts to think about spoiling harry potter and the deathly hallows for me or my friends or ANYBODY AT ALL, and i'm seriously not a legitimately violent woman (why do you think i write it all instead) but i will be bringing a swiss army knife and a can of mace with me to my HP party on friday, so all you ballgobblers are WARNED:
1. i have a wand. you have a urethra. i'll arrange for them to have a meeting.
and it's 15 inches long, baby. just say the word.
2. i will slash your tires.
you're only as powerful as your getaway vehicle, my absolutely fallible friends, and without that? i challenge you to survive a swarming sea of angry potter fans who have just found out you're the reason they hate life and can't enjoy the climax of the series. you're as good as AK'ed. (if you don't know what it stands for, you shouldn't even be reading this anyway. get out and leave the bandwidth for the fans.)
3. i will force every nastyass flavor of bertie botts down your gullet in one fell swoop.
good news! they've upgraded the disgust-o-factor. not only do you have the luxury of sardines, dirt, pepper, vomit, earwax and boogers, but you can now add to the glut with sausage, pickles, rotten eggs, earthworm, and soap! and don't even try to escape me, i've got a very strong grip. my hands, they may be dainty, but i wasn't the all-school champion in mercy for nothing. you utter a single word of how the story goes down, and i guarantee you a night's worth of culinary orifice pain unlike any that was ever designed to be bestowed upon mere mortals. these wrists don't break against your foolish attempts at escape, motherfucker.
4. i will strangle you with my slytherin tie
bonus: it's silk, which means the strangling will be smoother with less skin irritation. bad news for you as you're dead, but, good news for me as the cops'll have a harder time pinning it. go go potter merch.
5. i can break bones.
seriously. don't mess with a fat girl on a mission. she breaks shit just by falling on it. better watch out or your skull/thigh/femur/foot/kidneys might wind up underneath my considerable heft. and, much like option number two, if you can't flee, you can't fend off the hordes of pissed-the-fuck-off potter fans who will fillet you even more thoroughly than i have. after all, i'm just the sentry.
6. i will inform every girl in your life that you have herpes.
for real. after strangling and/or breaking your bones or vital organs, i will steal your phone, call every girl on your contacts list (provided that there are any, seeing as anyone this asstastic couldn't possibly attract any thing with two x chromosomes, not even pansy parkinson, bc you're spoiling her story too, you shitfuck) and tell them all that you've just gotten the herp tests back and they're positively stunning. if there are no girls on the list, i will proceed to step seven.
7. i will also use your cell phone to get your home phone number, do a reverse look up on the internet to find your name and address, and post it all over the internet labeling you as a spoiler.
as an added bonus, i'll say you want chris columbus back to direct the seventh movie.
8. i will train a legion of 11-year olds to bite your ears and nose off at the training noise of "_____ DIES!"
believe me. i'm quite persuasive, and children are so very impressionable. promise them candy and anything is possible.
9. sodomizing via harry potter vibrating broom.
oh i'm not kidding. at all.
10. remember the disgruntled bookstore employees? they have access to book palette forklifts.
and i think, if i know my retail slave brethren at all (and i do, because really, no matter what we sell, we're one and the same heart of hatred towards humanity), if you are the type of bastard who makes everybody angry and especially someone who makes children cry, we will not stop until you are crying and begging for mercy from our fists/mallots/gigantic 500-book, 600-pound palettes fresh from the publishers, just waiting in the stockroom for a giantic spoiler dump-upon. the crunch of your bones beneath heaps and heaps of potter would be a fitting end for the jackhole who decides the series was at all to be messed with. spoil our end and we'll spoil yours, motherfucker.
and there you have it, folks. this is but the tip of the iceburg in terms of my wrath and undying loathing for anybody who dares ruin books of any sort, but i think you get the idea. fuck with me and the ending of potter, and i fuck with your bodily functions and personal safety. now, with that warning firmly out in the open, i will bid you adieu and most likely will be back tomorrow with ten things i will miss most about the series. oh that's right. this topic is so special it gets two posts. hot damn.