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Frodo stood near the fiery chasm, struggling with himself. How he wanted to claim the Ring for his own -- how he *needed* it! He pulled it from the Reed Urn that Aragorn had given him to carry it in, and placed it on his finger.
But even the foul Ring of Sauron could not completely dominate the will of a hobbit, so long as he was truly good and stuck to his principles. Frodo held, with his last strength, to the image that had sustained him through all of those miles in the wasteland: Rosie, as he had seen her swimming, not knowing that she was being watched. How enticingly her breasts had bounced! With despair, Frodo realized that he would never learn what kind of panties she wore, and he took another step towards the brink. If he could not force the Ring from his finger, he would throw himself into the pit.
But the Ring had a last trick to play. It clamped ever tighter on his finger, sending waves of agony through his body. Frodo stumbled and fell, and as he sprawled, he flung his arm out to break his fall. The Ring suddenly dropped from his hand, and heeding its call, Gollum came scrambling...