Voldemortian

A twenty-seven year-old screenwriter stepped up to the table. Josh reached into the carry on and pulled out a bottle containing an anti-psychotic medication. "Sorry, I have to confiscate this." He tossed it into the trash bin. Seven hours later, over the Pacific Ocean, the screenwriter would notice that his fellow passengers had begun to morph in a strangely Voldemortian way. "Snakes on the plane!" he would scream, "Snakes on the plane!"

There is one man whose reputation – amazingly – has been burnished by the disaster of the past few weeks; one man who is still sought after by society hostesses; one man whose every silken Voldemortian utterance is still taken down, with reverence, by the political journalists.

As a vegetable product, it was favored as a healthier option than animal fats (a view that went downhill when transfats became viewed with Voldemortian horror, then flipped again when Crisco got a nearly transfat-free new formula.)