For those who don't care (probably most of you) I shall tell you the story of JK Rowling, the worlds saddest 'writer'.
Our story begins with JK Rowling, an illiterate bum who scratched crude markings onto paper hoping it would make someone love her. On a dare, a team of editors worked around the clock for years attempting to turn the gibberish into a popular book series because doing so was seen at the time as editing equivalent of climbing Mount Everest barefoot. Needless to say, they succeeded and called the monstrosity 'Harry Potter.' They got so good at it after a while that after the third or fourth book in the series was released, readers commented that they could almost sense the idea of a plot. Hollywood was eager to cash in on the feat, and shortly thereafter they released the books in movie form. These movies were especially popular among the mentally ill, who felt a deep connection with the insane ramblings of a homeless woman. All of this made JK Rowling fantastically rich. Still, money could not buy her companionship, so she bought a castle where she stayed for years, just watching the minutes click by on the clock, hoping that someone would care about her. Nobody did.
Then tragedy struck. With the release of the final movie in theaters, enthusiasm for the series faded precipitously. Normies everywhere began to wake from their hypnotized state. They started to realize that the books and movies all kinda sucked when you thought about it. Just like when they thought about their votes for Obama, that sickening feeling of buyers remorse sunk deep in the pits of their stomachs. Soon, only the mentally ill remained interested in the series. JK Rowling felt the pressure to remain relevant any way possible. From her massive, empty castle, she scrambled to scratch more marks on paper and declared that it was an adult mystery. The editors, having already accomplished their dreams of duping an entire generation into devoting themselves to a steaming pile of shit, only half-heartedly assembled the new book into something readable. The result was naturally unsuccessful, and once again the emotionally unstable old spinster was left alone in her empty, empty castle.
Again and again Rowling attempted to return to the well that brought her the attention she so desperately desired. She clawed at the source material like a ravenous animal, creating books so shallow in content that they resembled pamphlets. She even duped a movie studio, also desperate to cash in on this fading star one last time, into making one of the pamphlets into a feature length movie, which nobody watched.
Then a spark of inspiration hit Rowling. "The mentally ill!" she shouted through the echoing halls of her empty, empty castle that nobody visited, "They still love me (if you could call this unhealthy obsession 'love' per se). I may have lost the editors who can turn my freshly shat diarrhea into a popular book series, but I still have the originals. Though I may still be illiterate, I'll craft new stories in the minds of the mentally ill by slightly altering the details of the originals!" And so the illiterate old maid went about refreshing her relevance every few years by catering to the mentally ill.
"Dumbledore was gay the whole time!!!!" she shouted gleefully to throngs of wild-eyed wingbats. "It's all there in the books! Remember that.. um... character who was the same sex, roughly the same age, and had a few lines of dialogue with Dumbledore? What the fuck was his name again? Anyway, Dumbledore played catcher!"
The lunatics lapped it up. For a moment, it felt like the old times again, only with more retards and freaks. The old, defunct fan site sprang back to life with tens of views. Rowling almost though someone would call her on her castle telephone to break up the monotony of the seemingly endless days, and though nobody did, it still felt like that call was coming any moment.
Hoping to strike again at the hearts of the dipshits, she came out again a few years later:
"Hermione was black!" she declared this time to the emotionally stunted bags of flesh, "N-never mind that she is described multiple times throughout the series as white. If you just ignore all of that, there's nowhere in the books that says she isn't black. So remember as you reread the books, statistically speaking Hermione was probably crawling with STDs!"
And so, that leads us to today. Somewhere out there in a big empty castle, a mentally unstable old hag is plotting to craft the hard work of hundreds of people back into a puddle of retch. Many wonder what her next move will be. Will Professor McGonnagal be turned into a tranny who magically transformed his penis into a mutilated hole in his abdomen? Maybe Uncle Vernon was actually a muslim refugee all along, and shortly after exiting the series, he brutally honor killed his wife for daring to show her face in public like a whore. Maybe Filtch was fucking his cat. Maybe Hagrid was fucking Ron. Who knows for sure? But one thing is certain: degenerates everywhere are waiting with baited breath to be pandered to.
This work is meant only as a shitpost. I just noticed that we're due for the harry potter weirdos trying to be relevant again, and I got a little carried away. I could delete this now without posting, but fuck it. Too late now. Please refrain from commenting the obvious "You're just a butthurt Potter fan," because that's dumb, lame, and factually incorrect, and if you do make this or any similar comments I'll whip out my magic wand, wave it vigorously at you, and spray you with my magic.