Well, I’m almost six pages into the seventh and final Harry Potter book, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” and I am here to reveal the big secret, which can be read by highlighting the white space below:
Harry and his friends have a great time, Voldemort changes his ways and nothing bad happens to anybody.
*spoiler alert over*
Now that we have that out of the way, I want to discuss something else that comes up in the book that I don’t think can be considered a spoiler: Harry was born in 1980! For a long time, J.K. Rowling, or “J.K.” as she is known to her fans, has been cagey about placing an exact date on the series, so this is a pretty big deal to me and all the other Pot-heads around the world.
That means that the events of the book take place in or around 1997. For me, it adds a weird dose of reality to the whole thing.
I was around in 1997 (I’m not as young as I look – LOL!), in fact I took a class trip to England that year. Perhaps I was strolling down some cobblestone street and Harry and his chums brushed my elbow under their invisibility cloak and I never noticed, or passed it off as my mind playing tricks on me?
Weird, huh? I just creeped you out a little bit, didn’t I?
Indeed, one of the things I ponder as I try to get past Chapter 1 is that if Harry lives, where the hell was he and what the fuck was he doing while 9/11 was going on? Huh? Answer me that, you motherless prick?
Let me get this straight: this piece of shit can fly around on a broom and shoot spells out of a piece of wood, but he can’t spare a little magic to protect this country from the greatest tragedy we’ve ever experienced?
Is it because we’re not Limeys, like you?
Thanks a lot, dick. Still pissed off about 1776, huh? Get over it. You lost. It’s our country now.
Maybe you’re thinking I’m too hard on ol’ Harry. “But Eric, he saw his parents get murdered when he was a baby,” you say. Well guess what? I did too. To be honest, it wasn’t that bad. Because I was a little baby. Babies don’t remember shit. And then I got adopted by what I was told were my real parents (who vehemently deny that I am not their offspring) and didn’t remember any of these events until I started writing this blog like 15 minutes ago.
So there. Take your nutsack out of Hagrid’s mouth for a few seconds (if he’s not dead too) and try and do some good in the world, like me, an important internet writer, you selfish butthole.
In conclusion, I think that Harry Potter is a pussy and he better have fucking died at the end of that book, because if he didn’t, it means he just sat around and did nothing to stop Osama Bin Laden when he easily could have and I will be so pissed off, I will demand that the internet file-sharing site that I illegally downloaded the scanned copy of the book off of for free gives me a full refund.