Interrupting Cow Goes to Pot(ter)

Last night, I finished the sixth and latest "Harry Potter" book, a tale so complicated (at least in my current state of medication) that I thought I was going to need a decoder ring and an org chart to figure it out. I admit I was not surprised at the death (if you haven't read it, don't blame me if I am about to ruin your happiness by spurting out all kinds of details) but DID find myself getting waaaaaay too worked up about the varying romantic plots that litter this particular book.

It's like someone unleashed a rampant spell on all the students -- Hormonus Rageamongous? -- but it seemed every character except for the giant squid in the Hogwarts castle lake was gettin' their "snog" on with someone.

The plot goes something like this:
a) Harry and friends go back to school
b) Harry and friends are ridiculed
c) Harry and friends are famous
d) Harry and famous friends don't look so bad now to all the suddenly boob-laden/perfume wearing hoochie witches who start throwing themselves at the young boy wizards with the same crazy ass love potions that Ric Ocasek must have used on that super hot model wife of his (there is no other explanation for a pairing of someone that heinous and someone that...not heinous)
e) Harry and famous friends decide that a little promiscuity here and there never really hurt anyone, and besides, wizards invented the cure for herpes, right? so they and their classmates fling themselves at every willing target they encounter (including a couple of ghosts, and maybe a centaur or two)
f) Harry and famous friends all switch partners and resume "snogging"
g, h, i) - repeat, repeat, repeat, until you have swapped saliva with all of your classmates, your classmates' siblings, your enemies, your local bartender, and half the staff of Hooters of Diagon Alley
j) fight some bad guys
k) dream about who you plan to snog in the next book

I realize I may be simplifying things a bit. I also realize I am something of a Harry Potter freak and spend far too much free time worrying about what kind of hair products Hermione must use to keep that mess under control, whether or not I could convice Dan that our next child's middle name should be Hedwig, what shape my own Patronus would take on (probably a cow -- and yes, THAT would certainly stare down death and have it fleeing in terror....), and whether I could get my OB/GYN to give me a lightning-bolt shaped scar on my next C-section.

That's all for now. Daniel -- READ THE DAMN BOOKS. It would make this post much funnier.

EXPELLIARMUS!!!

(Did your keyboard go flying out from under your hands there??? eh??? am I good or what?!?)