Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Professor Snape holds forth on love and romance
An Introductory Note from Walnut
This week, Balls and Walnuts is delighted to have Professor Severus Snape as our guest blogger. Since he is here “in the Colonies” to oversee the final stages of his plan to wed Michelle Duggar, he graciously agreed to take on some of my customary duties. This morning, I told him he would need to write a post on Smart Bitches Day.
Grudgingly, he agreed (when he realized that my assistance in the Duggar affair would not necessarily include me cooking for him all week long and laundering his magical robes) but griped about the name.
“I cringe at the word smart,” he said. “I am sagacious, and reliable, and courageous. Smart does not capture the full scope of my essence. And I am no one’s bitch.”
Without further ado, I give you Professor Snape, who explains why Romance is a repulsive genre.
by
Professor Severus Snape
“‘There is Love,'” she said.
Well, a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home,
They shall travel on to where the two shall be as one.
As it was in the Beginning is now until the End,
Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again.
And there is love, There is love . . .
“Make it stop,” I implored, but to no avail. The foolish muggle beside me couldn’t hear me over her sobs of joy.
“That song,” she said. “It does it to me every time.”
Does what, I wondered. Turns you into a mindless wretch, leaking tears all over your hideously pink chiffon dress?
But I digress, and I haven’t even properly stated my thesis, save for the title of this “post.” Romance, in my opinion — and I do have an encyclopedic knowledge of love potions, as you might imagine — is worse than treacle. “Escapism,” some of you call it. “Mind candy.” Yet, what do you call a carefully assembled philosophy of lies intended to influence, persuade, and force conformity?
Propaganda.
There is no love. There is only lust, duty, and dependency. Any literature which suggests otherwise is a delusion, a distraction from the truth. Now, if you would like to call them Harlequin Fantasies go right ahead, but please, have no illusions about what you are reading.
There is no “happily ever after.” There is only disappointment, betrayal, loss, advancing decrepitude, and death. Narcotize yourselves on “happily ever afters” and the real world will ever be an aching sorrow. Steel yourselves with the knowledge of life’s utter hopelessness and the occasional good turn will fill your meaningless lives with temporary (but honest) joy.
Take your clue from the genre’s true name, Romantic Fiction. Rather like religion, another carefully crafted assemblage of lies meant to delude the masses.
I had more to say, but Mrs. Snape is calling. I must take leave.
S.
*sigh*
Isn’t he just dreamy?!
There is no romance?
This will come as severe dissappointment to all those girls who write Snape/Hermione fanfics.
Lyvvie, you are a vision of beauty, and your taste in men is clearly beyond compare.
Gabriele, it should not surprise you that I revile all fan fiction. Authors of fan fiction should be hung, drawn, and quartered, and their various bits should be left exposed to the predations of wolves and vultures. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve read about myself on the Internet. It would make Mrs. Snape blush!
There’s a MRS.SNAPE?!?
DAMMIT!!!
Darling, if you’d paid attention to my earlier post vis a vis the bounteous Michelle Duggar, you would understand that Mrs. Snape is — oh, what do the children say? Mrs. Snape is “cool with all that.” Fantasize away.
*away away away A-Way!*
After I found a Gollum/Jar Jar Binks crossover slash fic on the net, my belief of what you can find online has no boundaries. 😀
Clearly a man overdue for a colonoscopy. *g*
Severus (if I may be so bold),
You must forget about Michelle Duggar and marry me; if the Mormons can do it, so can we!
yours in lust,
The Future Mrs. Snape, II
In response to this post, one of the nurses at my hospital saw fit to inform me that I was WRONG about the Mormons. They don’t condone polygamy — that’s some flaky sect not approved of by the mother church, or whatever they call it. My response? “Yeah, I knew that. But it’s funnier this way.”