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Not Enough Kids Died on the Shifty Ol’ Stairs at Hogwarts

Increasingly demented reflections on the way the world used to be, and ought to be, by Baptist Preacher, Gun Rights Activist, and Homophobe, Jeremiah Stone.

I’ve been perusing the child aisles of the local lie-brary and lo and behold, the filth that they are dispensin’ there under the banner o’ so called fiction beggars my G-d-fearin’ belief.

Here we have children what is runnin’ round like they don’t have the least respect for no authority for any adults much less our creator. And who’d need it in a hellish, demented world where the BIBLE is nowhere to be seen but a woman named BATILDA can sport a bestseller! I was gladder’n anyone to see her taken by the snake in the sinful Potter brat’s ol’ home in G-dric’s Hollow.

If J. K. Rowling had an ounce of gosh-darn respect for the Lord, sheda killed every last one of those bastard (heaven knows that G-d won’t recognise a marriage between any ol’ witch n’ wizard – LET ALONE a weddin’ between a normy and a witch or a normy and a wizard. That there is the nightmare-fuel of allegories) heathen children on the movin’ staircases of Witch School.

It’s the perfect trap – gargantuan, unpredictable, interminable staircases made O’ STONES – and the chillun have to run all up and down ‘em ‘cos there aint another way of gettin’ round that academy of LIES.

Who can say fer sure what lies at the bottom of that there stair pit? Perhaps it’s salvation. Probably not. Probably, it’s something else. Summin’ real vengeful.

I don’t care whether that there chile was commited to Slitherysnake or the Lion One – let ‘em all fall to the bottom of the pit with their wands and gnashin’ o’ teeth, and their hats and their respect for people of ethnicities other’n G-d’s given white!

Maybe if these chillun had a few less wands and a few more GUNS we wouldn’t have to put up with the PRO-QUEER agenda of recently-mercifully-blissfully-deceased Dumblegay. G-d rest all of our souls if we should ever be subject to such a lily(but not in the sense that it’s the name of that lil’ bastard’s mother)-livered tyrant.

Join me this Sunday for a reclamation of the chillun aisles. I’ll be takin’ to every edition with a torch and spittin’ a prayer on it for good measure.

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