Home | Literature Index | Movies & Broadway Index | Television Index | Music Index | Miscellaneous Index | Submit Your Own
There is me, that is Frodo, and my 3 droogs, that is Pippin, Merry, and Sam. We sat in the Barliman milkbar govoreeting and peeting the old elf moloko plus. That could be moloko moriquendi to send you into the deepest stygian depths, or moloko noldori which made you feel high and mighty and immortal or moloko uruk which would sharpen you up quick and make ready for the old ultraviolence. That is what I was peeting between cups of warm chai, for we had a long long night ahead of us, O my brothers. And I sat with my glazzies fixed on the groodies of a particularly tasty hobbit ptitsa and thinking of the old in out, when Sam spots this chelloveck sitting in the corner, peeting his ale and his eyes fixed on your friend and humble narrator. "'Ere! What are you gobbing at!" says Sam, "Come and catch one in the yarbles...if you have any yarbles!" Up comes this gent dressed in the height of fashion and govoreets in the high pretentious golloss of Gondor, "My my, but we have been a naughty fellow, have we not Mr. Frodo". "I know not what you mean," says I playing the innocent, "Good governor, I've been as good and stout a lad as any." "Tut tut! But the millicents are on to you, and there will be no slap on the wrist this time. It will be off to the big house for you if they catch you. Nine millicents, great black fellows, and they know what you've taken....that pesky little ring eh?"