Lovely. The general victim of parody is being subjected one again.
The Wandering Thoughts of Sirius Black:
Sirius Black sat in the back of his History of Magic class. He felt like someone was drilling into his brain with a hot furnace-poker. It was killing him to sit idly and listen to a dead man drone on and on constantly when he was normally very animated and active.
"When do we ever need to know about goblin wars in real life?"
He often wondered pointless things such as this in levels of such a progressive state of lethargy. This also led him to wonder things that he probably shouldn't be thinking about, such as his weekly romantic target.
"I wonder if Sandra is wearing those pink socks like last Monday…do they have kittens on them or something. There must be something fluffy, or either she has a cat with severe male pattern baldness. Maybe she has severe male pattern baldness… wait, what?"
He cracked himself up sometimes thinking about the serious matters of the Gryffindor common room. Matters such as the rumors (started mostly by Sirius himself) that were whispered about the Muggle diet pills that Wormtail had purchased in a mail-order from Zonko's. It really wouldn't surprise him if they were actually true.
"Why doesn't Moony have a girlfriend? Maybe he's gay… I bet if I look in his sock drawer I can figure it out. Maybe he has tube socks. Or fuzzy pink ones like Sandra. Maybe he is Sandra, disguised as a girl. That would mean I was hot for Moony. That's kind of cool actually. No, I'm not twisted at all…"
Sometimes he couldn't really think of anything and just sat there like a lump, trying to retain any information he could muster. It usually came back to him subconsciously during tests, and he could ace them without too much trouble.
"Echo…. Eeeeecho…. Echoooooo…. Sally sells seashells by the seashore…"
Paradoxes were always fun things to think about, just like strange questions. Strange questions about Moony's sexual preference of if Lily dyed her hair were always at the top of the list.
"Why was Sally selling seashells by the seashore? Wouldn't people just go pick them up instead of wasting their money?"
As Binns droned on and on about Bongo, the Goblin general from the year 1634, Sirius doodled on the edge of a scrap of paper. He wasn't a very good artist, and even his stick figures looked a little like voodoo dolls. Most of them were on brooms and being bludgeoned with cursed Snitches. There was the occasional stick figure that was caught in a compromising position, but that only happened if Sirius was depressed.
"If I put pickle juice in Prongs' pumpkin juice, will he be able to taste it? I wonder why he chose the name "Prongs." Oh, right, antlers…or was it? Maybe it's a double entendre…maybe it's about his… I really shouldn't be thinking about this right now."
He had actually gotten into the habit of drawing on his arms. He liked to imagine they were Muggle tattoos, though thankfully, that weren't under his skin, or permanent. That was good, because some of the things he drew, he wouldn't want on his skin for the rest of his life. Stick figures doing the nasty may be a little graphic for any future children of his or his friend's, and women didn't generally like for their men to have sex-craving voodoo dolls inked into their derma.
"I'm hungry…I wonder what's for dinner. Maybe I can sneak out of class and bribe the house elves to cook chocolate-chip waffles."
History of Magic was right before dinner, so he spent at least twenty minutes a day wondering if the house elves would listen to his and Wormtail's suggestions for the menu. They never did.
"Did Binns just fall over dead one day? Or did he have a stroke or a heart attack or some kind of physical ailment? I wonder if he knows that he's dead. You think that you would notice if you let your body behind when you got up to pee in the morning. I'd notice anyway... Being able to see through my knocker would be a dead giveaway."
There was a sharp rapping against the back of his head and he looked up to see James Potter, his best mate and partner in crime, trying to wake him from his daydreams. This was apparently very difficult on his part, since he was told that it took more than three tries before Sirius was coherent enough to attempt physical progress.
"James is very sexy in this light. Maybe I should get Sandra/Remus under this light. Maybe Peter would look better. There are a number of people who could look great in this light. Maybe I would. I wonder if a rat would look like a chipmunk under it. Chipmunks are cute. Wow, Sirius that sure was a manly thought, why don't we go chase unicorns in the Forbidden Forest and then go drink tea with Professor McGonagall afterward to go along with your manly statement?"
There was more tapping on his head and he blinked before trying to get up. He failed miserably and fell back into the seat in an attempt to get wake up from his daydream.
"If they keep beating my head like this, I'm going to go brain dead. There are easier ways than viciously pummeling my cerebral lobe. Maybe they think that I've reverted back to a corn husk."
As James mercilessly pummeled his brain cavity, Sirius began to stray back into the non-subconscious. That still didn't stop him from marveling at Remus's manchu-esque adolescent mustache-and-beard combo.
"Really, does Mooney own a razor? Maybe Sandra is the one that needs the razor, and this Mooney is fully incapable of growing facial hair. Girls don't grow facial hair, though. Except for Langstine Bulstrode. That girl has more hair on her chin than James has on his head."
With one last blow to the skull, Sirius was pulled from his daydreams kicking and screaming. Literally. He yelled and kicked Peter in the shin by accident. James grabbed his forearm and dragged him out of his seat and down to the kitchens for a lunch that somehow included chocolate-chip waffle. With this delicious foodstuff, Sirius finally realized that Peter had finally come through for the foursome.
I must agree. Chocolate-chip waffles are very delicious. Not quite as good as my friend Nicole's mother's cookie, which I have lovingly dubbed the Jesus cookies (pronounced with the Spanish enunciation, as not to offend anyone). Really, if God created a cookie just for him, he'd enlist Nicole's mother to make them.