You don't seem to come around, push your finger and make a sound

I am sick to death of this whole Harry Potter crap. So what if it's sold eight million books; the point surely is that I still don't have a copy. It's in stinkin' Annie's house. So I haven't read it yet. And yet I know how the crappy thing ends [mysterious death revealed to Lucy insensitively by mother on phone yesterday. Mysterious murderer discovered when Lucy ignores Linus' careful spoiler warnings on latest blog post].

In fact, I probably don't need to read it. I have guessed who that mysterious RAB is at the end [Gleaned when Lucy flicked to the last page of the book in Centra buying croissants yesterday morning]. In a hilarious twist, it is actually dishevelled Scotch drunk, Rab C Nesbitt!

...?

God, I'm good. Bet I'm right.

I WANT TO READ THE FUCKING BOOK! WHY THE FUCK DO I NOT HAVE IT YET? I WANT IT NOW!