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I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that Gandalf wizard.
Everyone knows he's a pimp to us hobbits. My uncle was
his favourite a generation ago; his memoirs include
a tale about an orgy Gandalf had him do with a dragon
and a bunch of dwarves (oh, right, dwarrow.) Gave my
uncle a nice, shiny ring for that, and he never had
to turn another trick. Then there's me, apparently my
uncle's heir, and there's a party in Rivendell i'm supposed
to service, and pawn the ring for some elvish pipeweed,
which is better than what some of us grow, but it all
gets you high.
Well, I wasn't high when he rounded us up for the trek.
I guess he didn't pick any girls because we all know
elves are fairies. Well, mostly.
On the way there, we stopped at a hotel in Bree, without
the big guy, and I decided to try making a little money
on the side, with this ranger fellow who'd been eying
me all night.
Turned out, he was one of Gandalf's lieutenants. He
got laid, but I didn't see any money. Well, such a run-down
place, likely they all had a venereal disease or something...