broom Breaking News
| (Muggle World) News reached us of the existence of a certain Mr. Vargas Llosa. Vargas? Yes, just like in Ramon Vargas. The Peruvian writer, owner of a honorary DLitt, Mario Vargas Llosa – not Ramon, was one of the candidates of the 1990 presidential election in Peru.
Why did we not come across this name earlier? Quite obviously broom didn’t exist back in 1990 and to be honest, the authors, editors, censors, engineers, slaves, slavedrivers and money providers involved in this project did not stick too much to muggle literature. |
However, since we had our breakthrough on the muggle internet we try to stay informed.
By reading a university magazine we came across the famous artist – and immediately thought of our old school mate Vargas. Investigations proved that there is, was and never will be (thank you, Professor Trelawney) any sort of relation between the two parties mentioned above. So by this way we want to congratulate you to this fact, Mario Vargas Llosa, and good luck with your honorary DLitt! |
| (Hogsmeade) To the endangered editors’ great grief, broom Headquarters have been raided by malicious Ministry minions.
Called on to the serene silence of the busy broom printing room, Ministry wizards have performed a piteously thorough search of all rooms. These included even editors’ private parlours! Poor printers were set off-work for some time, | disgruntling many (cf. interview with head-printer at broom) and disabling some seriously.
The rash raid was caused by the legal lawsuit and complaint of one our most-disliked subjects, who apparently thought we hit a nail. Readers are expected to note that letters addressed to the old homely Headquarters will still arrive safely in the hands of the editors. |
| (Wizarding World) Violet Vainglory, gossip and gifted writer, has been on a long tour through the sublime society of the haves and have-mores.
What she found out in her rare research was that teenagers with too much money have found a new pervy past-time: they are smoking dragon dung! Apparently, the dear dullards think that this will heighten their (inactive) inner-eye activity. Violet claims to have tried it herself, and faithfully forwarded the following foreboding: |
“While vile wizards verify villainous word that vicious V. has returned, my dragon-dung stimulated senses say that this is pure nonsense. Actually, aware that he has never been away, I am sure that his many minions are at their work right now.”
The editors would like to thank Violet for her amazing ability to state the obvious. So, fair folks, if you are keen on smoking dried dragon dung, feel free to do so – but do not expect evil or good gains from it. |
Interview with the Head-Printer
| (Hogsmeade) Brian Cullen, our co-editor and heartbreaking master of the printers, has taken the faithful head-printer with him to his room to ask a few intimate questions about his work and life.
BC: Welcome, Geronimo, to a room of broom’s headquarters which you haven’t seen so far. HP: Thanks, sir, for taking me – would you try and clean out my ink-stand with a soft linen? BC: Sure I will. I can clean while you answer my questions. HP: Very well, sir. What do you want to know? BC: First, how did you end up being the head printing machine in a magazine house in Hogsmeade? HP: I was the cheapest printing machine you could find, sir, and I had been tossed out by the Daily Prophet, which, as you told Mr Flatley, was something we had in common. BC: All too right, Geronimo. And so you came here, and have ever since | been used to print the first handouts to red them for mistakes, and you are also the one who prints the front page of our magazine.
HP: That’s because I’ve been bewitched to do many-coloured prints with just black ink, sir. And I may remind you that this is illegal! BC: Um, yes. But it’s not illegal if you do it for private purposes – and we bought you bewitched. HP: If you say that, sir… BC: Yes, that’s the official story, so (whispers) shut up or I’ll drain your inkstand and let you get all rusty and creaky. HP: I’m a dignified printing machine and I won’t let myself being treated like scum – sir! I might persuade the other machines to going on strike. BC: Again, you mean? But this last time we supported you for a week. Tell our readers what happened. HP: We printers were disgraced by being torn apart and scrutinized by Ministry wizards raiding the head-quarters. | One even tore my single sheet of paper from me, leaving me all naked, and they also filled some ink into a bottle to check for illegal substances. Neither myself nor my colleagues could suffer such a treatment, and so we refused working for a while.
BC: My co-editor and me are sometimes quite concerned about your health: you cough and splutter a lot on some days. HP: I am an old printer, sir, and even if I do have my bad days – especially wet weather is unhealthy for me – I am still perfectly able to print your ridiculous paper. BC: Boisterous, ridiculous, omniscient, obscure… HP: I meant ridiculous, sir, and only ridiculous. It’s not serious journalism you’re writing – look, you’re interviewing a printing machine! BC: You are right. This is a waste of time. Thank you anyway for your answers. And print it nicely, fellow, or we’ll toss you out again. (BC) |
The Lost Sandals
|
Here it is, the long-awaited third chapter of Parry Hotter's adventures!
| you. We don’t won’t to reveal much more about this intimate moment let us just add that Parry, Right and Gemioni were sorted into Gryffoutdoor while Maco became a student of Slyther-Out.
Without food and still wet they had to carry not only their own but also the luggage of the other students upstairs. Tired Parry fell on his sack of straw where he would have to sleep the next couple of months – with interruptions. The next morning he had to get up bright and early to help the other first years prepare the breakfast for the other students, teachers and staff. The first years had to live on the crumbs falling from their tables – and this is actually why none of them needs a chair. “There, look.” “Where?” “Next to the small kid with the red hair.” “Wearing the glasses?” “Did you see his face?” “Did you see his scarf?” “But, hang on, where are his sandals?” These sentences followed Parry wherever he went and wherever he did not go the sentences ‘Where is he?’ ‘Has anybody | seen him?’ ‘With his scarf?’ ‘But where are his sandals?’ predominated. However, Parry was not concerned with this. He had much bigger problems to deal with: the teachers.
It was a fact which had spread fast: some teachers were biased. GagMonagall for example hated everybody shorter than a broomstick – she was a Quidditch fanatic that explains why whereas Cape loved everybody as long as they did not belong to his own house Slyther-Out. Witflick distrusted anybody taller than himself. Wicket hated all gummle-born students. Fargus Ilch attacked anyone inside the castle while no one was save of Raghid outside. Life was not easy at Wogharts, then again we all know that we don’t go to school for fun! In the next edition you will witness Parry’s first lesson and one more time the question ‘where are your sandals?’ will crop up and remain unanswered. |
Cullen Consulted
| My Frog Doesn’t Turn Into A Prince! Again we had thousands of letters flying into our rooms, cramming all tables (but nicely making up for the lack of firewood). So our consultant No. 1, Brian Cullen, set to work after being threatened with losing all his abundance of hair. Miss G. R., of Pencanze, has written the following letter: Dear Mr Cullen, I’m terribly at a loss of what to do. Ever since a little girl, I have been dreaming of finding myself a rich and handsome prince. Now I have been told that kissing a frog might bring a prince to me quite easily. However, I have kissed loads of frogs, and nothing happened so far. What can I do? |
Mr Cullen’s answer was the following:
Dear Miss G. R., it seems as if you’ve been deceived by a Muggle fairytale. I myself have no idea if a frog will turn into prince/ princess if kissed, but I have also heard the story of the decapitation of such an animal providing the desired prince. These means seem rather doubtable to me. However, I do have an idea of how to lay hands on a rich prince (if not handsome, forgive me, but aren’t diamonds a girl’s best friends?). You must simply stalk one. The English monarchy has various princes for your choice (you will say, but I wanted a handsome one – I will respond, try the oil princes of Arabia). Just bewitch one of them and live happily ever after. Please forget I ever gave you this advice! Obliviate! (ALL) |