Bad evening
Lord Voldemort was deadly drunk. It didn't suit him, however he was Lord and he couldn't solve his problems like wretched muggles, who commit suicide at the slightest pretext. "More absinttttthhhe!". Barmen looked at him sympathetically, wanted to say something, but Voldemort growled: "Whhat the hell are you gazing at me, pop-eyed? Avada Kedavra!" – And poor barmen fell down in a dead faint. "Asta la vista, baby! I don't love you like I did it yesterday…Thhhat's nice song, I'll spare those muggggles who'd created it. Hey, more absintttheee! Are you all deaffff? Or Lord Voldemort must raise his ass and take some drink hhhimself? Shit, it's the worst pub I've ever sseennn."
Suddenly a woman came closer and asked him: "Do you want to discuss it?" Voldemort moaned: "Oh, go away, old witchhh. I hate all these psychologists. They've broken my llife! All of you, miserable mean souls, hhhave broken my life. I hhate you all!" – And Lord began to sob in hysterics. – "are there any hhhandsome fffellows? Came closer, don't be afraid, I'm not a gggay."- A young good-looking lad was trembling with fear. – "Look at him. Am I wwworse? AM I WWWORSE? TTTELL ME THHHE TRUTHHH!" – Voldemort waves his magic wand, writing the word "Truth" in the air, but his hand was shaking and it appeared to be "Trash". He spitted on the floor, then asked again: "Who can tell me the trush, oo, I mean trash,…no no no, t-r-u-t-h; yeah, that's right. Whho?"
A little girl squealed:
"I can."
"So dddo it, little scccoundrel!"
"You've made too many operations. After them you look like a zombie."
"What thhhe-? Opppperations?"
The girl asked hesitantly:
"Aren't you Michael Jackson?"
Voldemort lifted his wand to his temple. It was first moment in his life when he wanted to commit suicide. If even little devilish muggle doesn't recognize him…
A woman-psychologist began to calm his down:
"Mr. Lordemort, you've drunk too much. Calm down, it's only syndrome of chronic tiredness. Breathe in, and then breathe out. That's good, now ask yourself: what is the problem? What induced me to do it?"
Now Voldemort was not sure whom to kill - himself or this insane chatterbox with diploma of a psychologist.
"Ma'am, ccan you sshut up for a ffew minutes? Let me kkkill myself in a quiet atmossssphere."
"Mr. Mortelord, you don't understand what you're talking about. Ok, pretend that nobody prevents you to kill yourself. Your corpse will be lying on the floor. We don't want to call the police, so it'll smell terrible. No people will visit this pub because of it and p…"
"Ma'am, there's one ccorpse already, under the bar ccccounterrr." – proclaimed Voldemort with wide grin. – "At least it won't feel lonely if I kill myself"
The woman screamed madly and fell on the floor with a bang.
"She's shitty psychhhologist, acttttually" – said Lord with contempt. – "So, will anybony bbbring me a-b-s-i-n-t-h-e at lassst?"
Potter fans, sorry for that. I write too many tragedies and need something trashy to relax. But if you liked this story- I'll continue writing it.