On spoilers

Dear readers,

If I had a dollar for every time I've made love with a celebrity in a dried-out Jacuzzi full of American paper currency, I'd have enough to fill another Jacuzzi with American paper currency. But until this afternoon, I never had a chance to make love to a British celebrity in a British Jacuzzi (which, in their cutesy British way, they call a "bubbly-whirl") full of colorful British currency.

That celebrity? J.K. Rowling. My genitals? Well-worn. And stained a multitude of colors. Compared to our own, British money is awfully bright and happy.

But I'm not telling you this to brag. Normally I maintain a modest and question-baiting silence in regards to my sexcapades, but I feel a valuable bit of information slipped out of J.K.'s thin, airtight lips during this afternoon's delight. I don't know what it means, but as I spent my seed upon her left eyebrow, I heard her exclaim what sounded like, "Harry and Voldemort are one and the same!"

The exclamation point, of course, is my own, albeit appropriate, addition.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman