Yesterday was a weird fucking day. You can’t possibly imagine how fucking weird it was. Like, if you’d take the weirdest kid from an Autism Camp (they’re all fucking weird there), crossbreed him with a Parkinson’s-suffering, retarded version of Cellardoor Dali, then have the resulting spawn paint an impressionist painting using manatee shit while jacking off to midget porn – you’d get pretty close to how weird it was.
It started out pretty normal, I went to school #ugh, did school work #blergh, then, after school, me and the girls, (Holly, Mary-Belle, Jane and Lucy) went to our favorite little bistro to eat, gossip and just be all around fab. Our waitress was a, let’s say, lady of the lard, and Lucy came up with the funny idea. She recorded the huffing and puffing that the swollen server emitted upon taking our orders, and then looped it loudly on her portable speakers for the whole restaurant to hear. We couldn’t stop laughing, it sounded like pig’s noises, the people around us started laughing too even though they tried not to. The waitress, hearing her own obesity manifested in audio form, started to almost cry and ran back into the kitchen where she stayed for the remainder of the afternoon. LOL…Oh Lucy, I love you but sometimes you’re totally mean. Fat girls should be respected just as much as if they were people.
After a long and cozy sitting at the bistro, when our tummies were filled with yummy breadsticks, our gossip vessels were emptied and our cheeks flushed from cordial friendship-warmth, we decided to brave the cold Boston fall-air. It was already dusky outside, but we didn’t get a chance to take a swig of the evening air in peace, cuz all of a sudden, coming at us in the street, was a weird, bum-looking guy. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, but he had long scraggly beard, tattered clothes, and beady eyes. Naturally, we like, all recoiled and waved our handbags at him in self-defense. But he didn’t attack us, instead. he held his hands out in a calming gesture, soothing us like we were bucking mares. “Chill out babes, I just wanna give you something” he said in a dopey voice, and dug around in his pockets for a second.
In my head I was like “ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww, get away from me you fucking hobo” but I didn’t say anything cuz I was curious about what he was gonna give little old me (I knew he was gonna give me the thing, cuz I’m the natural leader of my group). After a moments rummaging, he held up a stamp with a weird smiley face on it between his thumb and index finger. “Lick it!” He urged me with a crazed cackle. WTF!? um, why does he want me to lick a fucking stamp, I ain’t about to send no letter, I thought to myself in my inner African American voice. “Anne, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Said Mary-Belle and grabbed my shoulder. “It’s a great idea”, laughed the man before I had time to say anything to the contrary, “It’s a…diet stamp, one lick and a hundred calories melt away, it’s been developed by Swiss scientists! He said excitedly and dangled the little stamp in front of my pretty face. I thought of all the breadsticks I had just eaten, ouch, those must have been several hundred calories, Oh god, I’m gonna be so fat tomorrow, Oh shit, I’m gonna look like that waitress – before I knew it I grabbed the stamp and licked it (to the sound of Mary-Belle’s groans). The guy was grinning widely, pleased like a parent who had managed to feed his reluctant baby yet another spoonful of porridge. I waited for a moment, and then another moment, and then a third moment, but after like ten seconds I didn’t feel skinnier, like AT ALL. It became obvious that the guy had tricked me. FUCKING SCAMMER! I yelled, pushed him away, threw the stamp on the ground and charged on, my friends chasing after me.
When we got to my apartment building I hugged my friends goodbye and hurried up the stairs, I was eager to get home. As I got to my door I started feeling a little funky. It suddenly felt like time was slowing down and I felt like I was kind of floating. I tried putting the key into the keyhole but I couldn’t aim, kind of like your dad.
I didn’t have time to ponder what was happening any further, cuz that’s when none other than Emma Watson called me.
I was surprised, I mean not really…me and Emma go way back… we talk, like…all the time…cuz we’re both famous or whatever…so…yeah…I wasn’t really that surprised… it was just a weird time to call.
“Anne Gus” she said “I have an important spirit message for you”. Her voice was weird and dreamy, and she had kind of a Mexican accent on top of her regular British one, come to think of it, it’s weird that I even knew it was her. “I have to tell you something…what I said in my UN speech…it was…it was.” ”…totally fabulous?” I filled in hesitantly, recalling with joy, the strong feminist speech I had seen on YouTube that morning. ”No…It was a message…it was a code…#HeForShe…” her voice trailed off. “Yeeaahh…#HeForShe, your UN campaign to make like, men and boys more interested in feminism, right, what about it?” ”NO, it’s an acronym DON’T YOU SEE!? She was screaming now, her beanerish accent had grown really strong. ”An acronym…an acronym for what?” I asked, a little anxious, things were getting, like, really weird. “It’s an acronym for Harry Es Fucking Obviamente Real, Soy Hermione Esé!” She screamed, like really loudly in full on Mexican. “You what now?” I had no idea what all that gibberish meant, now I was really confused. “Harry Is Fucking Obviously Real, I am Hermione Fool!” She screamed even louder. “Wait, are you saying that #HeForShe is an acronym for “Harry Potter is real, I am Hermione” in Mexican? ”More or less” answered Emma. ”Is that even real Mexican though? It sounds really farfetched, like someone really struggled to make that connection and had to add an English word to get it to work out in some weird attempt at humor.” I remarked sharply. ”It’s real enough, the bottom line is that #HeForShe has nothing to do with feminism, it’s my coded revelation, finally the world will know the truth, everyone will know that the boy who lived, lives, that Harry Potter is for real! I sat down on the floor of the apartment corridor, I was beginning to feel kind of dizzy. “But, If you wanted to reveal this, that Harry Potter is real, why did you complicate it and, like, say it in a Mexican acronym, how did you expect anyone to get that?” I inquired.
“Only the chosen people must know, saying the truth outright would have created panic among muggles. It was the perfect opportunity, I hid the secret behind a UN campaign and made sure only the people who can handle the truth, namely, the people who could figure it out, knew.”
“Ok, so like, Harry Potter is not a fairy tale, it’s for real?” I asked in a doubtful tone.
“Yes, #HeForShe holds the secret! Now I want you, Anne, to write an article for Thought Catalog where you tell everyone the true meaning of #HeForShe, #HarryEsFuckingObviamenteRealSoyHermioneEsé, share it on Twitter, do whatever you can to let people know that Harry Potter is real.
“But what if they don’t believe me?” I said dramatically.
“They will ,Anne, because you’re special and pretty and credible, go, write as soon as the acid wears off.