For a young man in the 21st century, J.K. Rowling embodies just about everything that he hates about his own mother, but can’t outright say to her. An aging neoliberal single mother with an inflated sense of self-importance using twitter to cope with her increasing irrelevance. The sort of woman who hasn’t seriously thought about any of her opinions, but feels the need to push them on to others and condescend to anybody who might think differently.

She is an archetype. Neither insightful nor funny nor controversial. She is a consummate mediocrity basking in the praise of similar mediocrities the world over who have projected their own aspirations on to her, satisfied that somebody like them is a billionaire. Her Christianity is an accessory. She takes everything that she’s been taught by public school and daytime television and fashions a god out of it.

She conceives of public affairs in the nebulous terms of “love” and “hate”. The fact that an action might fall outside of either of these two categories, or that something she deems “hateful” might in fact be the wiser choice has not occurred to her. Despite this, she is shockingly easy to bait into a bitter, spiteful rage. Furthermore, her generosity only extends as far as her personal comfort. At the end of the day, it’s little more than virtue signalling and if social opinion undergoes some vast sweeping change then she’ll fall in line.

In many ways, she’s already missed the boat. Her brand of comfortable feminism has already fallen out of style. She just doesn’t know it yet. The second wave man-hating sexual phobia that sees rape everywhere. Its frigidity is evident in her writing. Then the bizarre merger with proud slut queer positivity. The post-hoc declarations of characters’ sexual proclivities. The rationalization of racial retconning. It’s like she discovered a Harry Potter fan tumblr, followed a couple links, and incorporated whatever she saw, resulting in an incoherent schizophrenic worldview. That’s probably exactly what happened.

Her name is fucking Joanne. Need I say more?

And one more thing. She has a surprisingly nice pair of tits that I’d really like to suck on.

She looks a lot like my own mother, but with nicer hair and way nicer tits. In fact, she’s basically a more attractive version of my mother, which is great since the only thing that really held me back from fantasizing about my own mother is that she just wasn’t good looking enough.

Rowling really seems like the kind of woman who’d suck her teenage son’s dick. I mean it.

She gets back from le ebin GIRLS NIGHT OUT XD!!! Plastered out of her mind from sipping too much shiraz or perhaps pinot grigio. Maybe she and THE GIRLS even passed around a blunt at Samantha’s house. I always find it funny when Gen X women think they’re being SO BAD smoking weed. Mouth full of the most expensive cheese available at Tesco and whatever crackers Georgia had to get rid of. She’s cackling with laughter and sobbing as she lurches in through the front door. She has zero self-awareness when it comes to her emotions, but defends them with religious fervor.

Clumsily, she makes her way toward the living room where her son is playing video games. She sits down on his lap, suffocating him with her embrace and exhaling the stinking fumes of cheap wine right into his face. For a couple minutes, she rants about what a BITCH Leslie at the office is, before muttering the he’s the only on who understands her. Briefly, she looks into his eyes, trembling all over. Then she locks her mouth with his and begins to kiss him passionately. At first he is paralyzed, but his mom is kind of hot and he’ll probably never have another chance like this. He’s thought about it before. He kisses back and before long she’s between his legs, pawing at his penis like the cats she collects. She takes it in her mouth and sucks it like she’s back in college. She’s STILL GOT IT.

The next morning, she pretends not to remember anything, but blames him for the incident, finding subtle ways to punish him.

***

Original from /lit/