Replacing “Wand” With “Wang” In A Harry Potter Book

Purely in the interests of science, I have replaced the word “wand” with “wang” in one of the Harry Potter Books. Let’s see the results…

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry.

“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year, they snapped me wang in half an’ everything.

A magic wang… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

“Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work.”

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches. “

Harry took the wang. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wang above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wang, tapped the lock, and whispered, ‘Alohomora!”

The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wang had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

He bent down and pulled his wang out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wang, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wang at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them.

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wang very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding…. Any second now, he might hear his mother again… but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to… or did he?

Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wang

Then, with a sigh, he raised his wang and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

‘Get – off – me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wang.

Take this as you want, but I believe that I have found definitive proof that J.K Rowling is a dirty, DIRTY woman, and has been making a fool of us all.

wang

What Kind Of Farter Are You?

  • Vain:  You love the smell of your own farts.

  • Amiable:  You love the smell of other people’s farts.

  • Proud:  You think your farts are exceptionally fine.

  • Shy:  You release silent farts and then blush.

  • Impudent:  You boldly fart out loud and then laugh.

  • Unfortunate:  You try really hard to fart, but you poop instead.

  • Scientific:  You fart regularly but you’re concerned about pollution.

  • Nervous:  You stop in the middle of your fart.

  • Honest:  You admit that you farted but offer good medical reasons.

  • Dishonest:  You far and then blame the dog.

  • Foolish:  You suppress your farts for hours.

  • Thrifty:  You always keep a couple of good farts in reserve.

  • Anti-Social:  When the need arises, you excuse yourself from the room and fart in private.

  • Strategic:  You fart and then conceal it with loud coughing.

  • Sadistic:  You fart in bed and then pull the cover up over your partner’s head.

  • Intellectual:  You can determine from the smell of any fart exactly what food item had been consumed.

  • Athletic:  You fart at the slightest exertion.

  • Miserable:  You would love to let one out, but you are unable to fart.

  • Sensitive:  You fart and then start crying.

Does anyone know of any retail franchises that sales the above pictured undies? I would love to buy some.

What’s Really In A Name?

According to the various historical documents I was leafing through yesterday, surnames originally designated a person’s occupation. They also may have described a particular event that related to that person. For instance, John the blacksmith came to be known as John Smith. Or, Michael Little would be so named because he was small in stature. Tom Underhill lived at the bottom of the hill. Jim Baker was a baker… and so on.

Really makes you wonder what was going on in the Dickinson clan way back when.

I think that guy is related to Ben Dover.

I think that guy is related to Ben Dover.

You Know Who I Hate?

You Fucker

You Fucker

Fuckers. You know…fuckers. Also known in some other cultures as dickheads, assholes, cocksuckers. You’ll find them everywhere as they roam the streets freely, their fuckery going on unchecked. What I hate most about fuckers is what big fuckers they are. A fucker may or may not be aware that he or she is a fucker, but will continue on being a fucker regardless. Because, you see, the most important thing to a fucker is his or her own fucking self. That is a large part of what makes a fucker a fucker, a complete lack of regard for all others–non-fuckers and fellow fuckers alike.

You know what I say? Fuck ’em. Fuck all those fuckers. They probably won’t even notice that we’ve decided to fuck them and their fucking ways, the bunch of self-absorbed fuckers. But I say we fuck them all the same. Serves them right. They chose to fuck us so now we too shall fuck unto them. Oh yes, the fuckers have become the fuckees. Well if they didn’t want to be fucked, they shouldn’t have done all that fucking of us nonfuckers.

Man, I can just see it now…one of these fuckers is gonna come up to one of us and say, “Oh please stop being a fucker to me, I don’t like it. It hurts my fucking feelings.”

If that happens, just say, “Quit whining, fucker.”

And at that moment, the shoe will have officially been placed on the other foot. And the shoe fits, baby.