Marcus Flint

( Application for Marcus Flint )

WARDED TO THE NAMELESS GROUP:

OY, bitches and hos. Taint ticklers and salad tossers.

WHAT ARE WE DOING THIS WEEKEND TO CELEBRATE MY EXPLUSHIO EXPULSION FROM THE UTERUS? and I guess Terence's too. BUT REALLY MINE.

My fucking fireplace vomited a fuck ton of Christmas crackers last night. Time for a fucking bonfire. I fucking hate Christmas.

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK WAS THAT GODDAMN RACKET LAST NIGHT

IT WAS LIKE EVERY GODDAMN NOISE EVERY MADE BY A FUCKING THING THAT MAKES NOISE

I COULDN'T GET BACK TO SLEEP FOR A FUCKING HOUR

AND NOW MY HEAD IS POUNDING

AND I WANT TO SMASH EVERYONE TO BITS

You know what's fucking ridiculous? Whiny little bitches complaining about the cold in Quidditch practise. SUCK IT THE FUCK UP DUDE. You fucking KNEW this was going to happen.

But what's up with these fucking pumpkins everywhere? I mean, I got a great fucking work-out tossing the fuckers off my damn balcony (HA HA whoever was down below!) but JESUS, it FUCKING STINKS.

WARDED TO NAMELESS GROUP (MINUS MILES B):

First thing first: I'm heading out to the fucking Ministry. Miles got detained by the DMLE for flipping a fucking CHAIR. Second, the REASON he flipped a fucking CHAIR is because Erica went missing tonight. Don't ask me any details, I don't know 'em. All I know is that our boy is a fucking mess, and you KNOW how he is.

WARDED TO TERENCE:

And just so you know, I'm sorry about earlier.

But if you tell anyone I apologised, I'll tell 'em you're a liar.

WARDED TO PATTY STIMPSON:

Hey. You okay? You need anything?

WARDED TO ADRIAN PUCEY:

FUCK, man.

You tell me if there's anything I can fucking do, yeah? I know Patty ain't gonna tell me shit.

FUCK, I hate off weeks. They're the WORST.

I could fucking get used to flying without a goddamn broom. It's like I'm MAGIC.

What the HELL. I get off the pitch and over to the Ministry for a meeting. WHATEVER, not a big deal, right? Except this fucking HOT BIRD is near the entrance so I walk up to her, 'cause she is SMOKING. Let me tell you. She had child-bearing hips and a sway in her walk, if you know what I mean. (She was GOOD to GO.) She's all smiling at me and then tells me that she wants to give me a present, and I'm thinking FUCK YEAH, we can do it in the stalls while people are going into the Ministry. Sounds like my kind of girl.

But WHAT THE FUCK. She gives me an ice rose. I mean, it's pretty and all if you're into fucking flowers and shit, but DO I LOOK like I'm into fucking flowers and shit? What the hell. And then she's gone. She just LEFT.

Now I've just got this stupid rose and fucking blue balls. This is bullshit.

Fucking TOURISTS.

You saw me goddamn jogging.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY.

AND FOR THE LOVE OF QUAFFLES, WHEN I TRY TO STEER AROUND YOU, DON'T STEP RIGHT BACK INTO MY FUCKING PATH.

ASSHOLES.

I don't give a flying FUCK who the hell you're shagging or cheating on. Quick clogging my goddamn, motherfucking journal with this shite. It makes me wanna fucking puke or punch you in the goddamn mouth. Not everyone gives a fuck about you and your little dramas. Keep your goddamn dick out of my journal, and unless you're going to be bobbing up and down on my cock, I don't want to see your tits either.

Kindly fuck right off.

I don't give a flying fuck if your NANNY pussed out on you today. Don't bring your fucking crotch dropping to Quidditch practise, and don't get all up in my fucking business when he gets hit in the face with a bludger 'cause he went off trying to catch the goddamn thing. Your little turd of a midget deserved it.

Been a long time since I've seen any of you fucktards. Can't say I missed most of you. Still! Feel free to fill me in on your life! Or, you know, whatever the fuck you THINK is a life. I reserve the right to yawn or roll my eyes. I also may or may not give a fucking shite what's been going on with you, but you're welcome to try.

Writing in a journal makes me feel like a pussy, but you lot are so goddamn entertaining. And in case you were dropped too many fucking times on the head as a kid, that was sarcasm.