A/N: Whoever said money is the root of all evil is wrong. Boredom truly is. You know that Hitler's Final Solution was planned at three in the morning on a sugar high with nothing on TV but infomercials. All doubt you may possess of this fact is about to be disintegrated.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything! Plz don't sue me!

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Voldemort found himself in a position he had been in many times before. Too many times, really, but it wasn't like he could get a new job. He could just get his minions to kill people for him, but then what would he do all day? He couldn't exactly maintain a hobby, being as he was the Dark Lord and all. Crocheting and scrapbooking just didn't go with the image. Though learning to crochet might not be a bad idea. It was a valuable skill to have.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, from Lucius. Voldemort was quite annoyed with the interruption of his train of thought.

"What?" Voldemort snapped.

"Shouldn't you be…?" Lucius motioned toward the couch, on which a terrified blind person sat. Voldemort rolled his eyes. Fucking pretty boy was way too concerned with being prompt. The Dark Lord was in control of the situation, and as such he could wait to actually carry out the murder as long as he damn well pleased.

But, alas, Voldemort was growing weary of the floral wallpaper. He lowered himself onto a cushy chair, to face the cowering woman.

"What are you going to do to me?" she squeaked.

"You can't even imagine." Voldemort coolly replied.

The woman sobbed.

"Stop crying." Voldemort commanded. The woman inhaled a few times, eventually quieting.

"Yes. Now then…how do you confuse Helen Keller?"

The woman looked confused.

"Give her a basketball and tell her to read it."

Her face was now a strange mix of confusion and affront, and it was really, really funny.

"How do you punish Helen Keller?"

Lucius gave a muffled sigh. Voldemort ignored this.

"Rearrange the furniture."

He went on and on, reciting each joke he had painstakingly memorized for a moment like this. He refrained from singing Leona Lewis.

"How did Helen Keller burn her fingers? Reading the waffle iron."

The blind woman was slumped, drumming her fingers against the arm of the couch. Lucius was leaning against the wall, shifting weight from leg to leg every 10 minutes or so.

"How did Helen Keller meet her husband?"

Silence.

"On a blind date."

"Can you just kill me already?" the blind woman asked. Voldemort could hear Lucius mumbling an agreement.

"What's Helen Keller's favorite color?"

"Come on." the woman said.

"Corduroy."

"Please?"

Voldemort jumped to his feet.

"Begging for death," he said as he paced, "Pathetic. But as a merciful Lord, I shall grant your wish. On your knees."

The woman obeyed.

"Avada Kedavra."

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The grass was wet with dew under Voldemort and Lucius's feet as they made their way across the lawn. The morning sky was deep blue, but light enough to allow discern.

"My Lord, this new method of torture you've been using…"

"Yes?" Voldemort growled.

"Do you think it's, um, a little, um…"

"Yes?" Voldemort growled again, more aggressively.

"Nevermind." Lucius muttered.

The streets were empty. This was good, since the two wizards were wearing billowing black robes, which rather stuck out in the Muggle world, and notice was the last thing they needed. Voldemort's lack of nose might have attracted attention as well.

They finally reached the alley between two office buildings, where they usually Apparated, since it was difficult to see unless you were actually looking. Lucius Apparated immediately. Voldemort waited a moment, breathing in the crisp air, which, in a few hours, would be stuffy and saturated with humans. He didn't know why he always waited like this; maybe hoping for someone to emerge from the silence. There just weren't enough victims at his disposal. It would be much easier if he didn't have to avoid the law, if he could just walk into any random house he wanted, if he had that kind of power. Power…

Voldemort suddenly realized that the driving force of his pursuit of power and campaign of evil was the urge to tell really bad jokes. He decided to Apparate before that thought could develop any further, because, really, that's weird.