There are a lot of things I should be stressing out about right now -- my own incurable illness, the fact that World's Cutest Baby won't crawl in time for her senior prom, the war in Iraq, killer bees -- but the thing that had me on edge all weekend was the ending to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
If you've read it, you understand. I mean ... it's just ... I can't believe ... well ... damn!
If you are one of the three people left in the world who hasn't read it, you might want to skip the rest of this post. If you just can't help yourself, or if your eyes have accidentally darted downward, I'll write the rest of this in code:
I don't think (blank) is really (blank). Right before (blank) ran up to the (blank) and (blanked) him, he was telling (blank) that he could make (blank) and his (blank) appear (blank) so that (blank) couldn't find them, so I think he arranged to do something to himself along those lines. Also, I don't think (blank) is really a cold-blooded (blanker), even though he's a great big (blank).
Whew. It felt so good to get that all out.