I’m not the only one who remembers Playhouse Disney right? Charlie and Lola, JoJo’s Circus, Rolie Polie Olie, Handy Manny, imagination Movers, The Wiggles, Jungle Junction, Special Agent Oso, Little Einsteins, Higglytown Heroes, Bear In The Big Blue House, etc. Like I’m in my feeling right now you guys 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 Especially over Charlie and Lola, I use to watch that show all the time when I was younger trying to copy their accents, while drinking pink milk 😂😭
New Hogwarts House Covers of The Philosopher’s Stone Revealed
Available from Thursday, 1st June, to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the original publishing date of The Philosopher’s Stone, 26th June 1997. Hardbacks will be £14.99 each, paperbacks £7.99 each (most bookstores will offer special prices, though).
The hardbacks will be black with the house crest in a house colour and striped sprayed edges. The paperbacks will reverse the house colour theme and have single colour sprayed edges. Both editions will contain fascinating facts about the houses of Hogwarts, and three specially commissioned house illustrations from Levi Pinfold per book.
The beginning riff of The Clash’s “London Calling” echoed
through the room, and everyone froze mid-sentence. Steve, hands tangled in a
half-tied bowtie, jumped away from the cell phone vibrating against his desk.
He swore under his breath and gestured frantically at the still-ringing phone.
The members of the National Security Council all shifted away, some more
obviously than others, until White House Chief of Staff James Barnes was the
closest to the desk.
He glared at Steve, who tried to shrug apologetically, but
instead managed to cut off his air supply. He gasped and frantically tried to
dislodge the small piece of fabric from around his neck.
Bucky rolled his eyes and snatched the phone off the desk.
“President Rogers’ phone, this is his Chief of Staff speaking.”
Steve grimaced and, still coughing, yanked on the silk tie until
it ripped, the pieces drifting to the floor. He took a deep, relieved breath,
and motioned the rest of the NSC out of the Oval Office.
“Thanks, guys,” he whispered as Bucky pinched the bridge of his
nose, phone held slightly away from his ear. “We’ll pick this up after the dinner.
This call is just the first of many we’ll have to deal with over the coming days.
I’d like a report on the source of the leak—this Miles Lydon kid—on my desk by
7:00 tomorrow morning, as well as a full analysis of media coverage and of the
national security implications. See you all tomorrow.”
Once the room was clear, Steve squared his shoulders and reached
for the phone. Bucky nodded and said, “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but Steve’s
now available to talk to you.”
“Oh, now he’s ready to talk to me,” the woman on the other line
shouted, and both men winced.
“Here he is.” Bucky shoved the phone into Steve’s hand
hurriedly, uninterested in continuing to hear the lecture clearly meant for
Peggy was furious. She had been rudely woken early in the
morning when the story broke, and her dark mood had only increased every hour,
as she sat through meetings and strategy sessions full of equally angry and
sleep-deprived politicians and staffers.
“How dare you,” she hissed into her phone, heels clicking as she
paced around her now empty office.
His sigh rattled over the line, followed by the quiet click of a
closing door and the shuffle of footsteps. “Listen, Peggy—”
“Spying on your own citizens? Your colleagues and friends? I
can’t believe you would do something so stupid!”
“Now wait a minute—” Steve growled, an engine revving in the
“What were you thinking? How reckless and irresponsible and
“Oh, please.” She couldn’t see him, but she could hear Steve rolling his eyes an ocean
away. “First of all, don’t act like you’re surprised. We’re doing the exact
same thing every other country in the world is doing, including you. Don’t get
all high and mighty with me—we just happened to have our programs leaked to the
press by a contractor. I inherited the program from my predecessor, as you well
know, and no, it wasn’t perfect, but you would have done the exact same thing
in my situation. And last time I checked, I’m the President of the United
States, and I run my country as I see fit. I don’t report to you, thank you
Peggy picked up a pen from her desk and threw it at the wall. In
her mind, the pen hit him between the eyes. “And monitoring my phone calls and
personal correspondence? How do you justify that, Mister President?”
Fabric rustled against leather seats. “I didn’t—it was never—”
She scoffed. “Spare me your sad attempts at bullshit, Rogers. If
you stop trying to spin this for a second, you’ll realize why I’d be so upset.
Beyond the obvious breach of trust and invasive surveillance.”
The line was silent.
“You call me on this
phone, Steve. This—this could ruin everything. I could lose my job, my
credibility, any shred of respect people have for me around the world. Do you
have any idea—I am the second woman
to be Prime Minister. Ever. I could ruin
the careers of all future female politicians with this scandal. You know I
didn’t want to tell anyone, but now it could come out anyway. Because of a
program you refused to dismantle!”
“Everything was classified—”
“Well, fat lot of good that does us, hmm? The existence of the
surveillance programs was classified too, right?”
“They don’t record the calls.”
Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the
pressure growing behind her eyes. She didn’t need a stress migraine on top of
the current crisis. “But they do keep a record of the phone numbers and the
duration of the conversations. How would it look if I spent two hours on the
phone with a Washington, DC, number—one that belongs to the President—almost every night?”
On the other end of the call, she could hear the click of a door
latch and the excited cheers of a crowd. There was a soft rustle of
fabric—presumably Steve exiting the limo—and he sighed. “What do you want me to
say, Peggy? What’s done is done, I can’t—”
There was a loud pop, almost like a car backfiring. Peggy heard
Steve gasp, take a choking breath, and then there was a deafening crunch.
Peggy held her breath, trying to hear something, anything, on the other end, but it was
“Steve?” Peggy heard her voice break, but she couldn’t stop.
Carson cursed loudly as he pulled off the exit ramp to his
work. It was his turn to bring breakfast for the office and he hadn’t
remembered until waking up this morning. The dilemma Carson was facing was twofold:
he was in direct competition for a promotion at work with Jenny and he feared
she may be pulling ahead. Last week, she had brought in homemade quiche, though
Carson raised an eyebrow as to the authenticity of the homemade portion of her
claims. The quiche tasted suspiciously similar to the ones made at a downtown
bistro their boss had previously deemed his favorite restaurant in town. Hack
or not, Jenny had been praised throughout the week for her baking skills and
now Carson found himself frantically wracking his brain for an immediate
solution to office breakfast.
His car slowed as he passed the sign for “Devil’s Doughnuts”
and after lingering long enough that a car behind him honked, Carson pulled
into the parking lot. His boss had been
on a health craze lately. Though probably laying the foundation for a Human
Resources nightmare, Carson’s boss had been chiding employees who were seen
eating unhealthier options for their lunch.
Carson had the benefit of a fast metabolism and a general apathy towards
food. Eating was something that merely fueled his body from Point A to Point B.
His slim frame was testament to that. Once Carson took note of his boss’ behavior
towards the chips and burger crowd, he made a show of producing salads and crudités
for lunch. Earning a pat on the back and
praising of his general trimness, Carson felt his chances of a promotion grow