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Galadriel gazed across the past the silver goblet and over the reflective pool at Frodo's rakish mess of hair, like razorwire made out of soft rubber. She had never before been attracted to shorter men, but the last night had opened her eyes to the perversities of the hobbit world, a world not dominated by pussywhippery. Frodo had been the first to violate the elvish taboo of sodomy and Galadriel felt so dirty. Still, she was happy that it was such an efficient method of birth control; if only elves could all engage in such practice, the onus of birth control could change hands and truly empower the women.
The moon was full that night and upon gazing at it, Galadriel thought of the pyramids that likely adorned its surface, giant, yet too small to see from Middle Earth. Her mind strayed to Mithrilander, whom men call Gandalf. Oh there were other names for Mithrilander; to the Numenorians he had been Gandala. To the Westernesse he was Hathrol. Native South Americans refered to him as Akawtlatl.
Later that night, when Galadriel and Frodo had retired to their treehouse, silver pitcher said to mirrored pool, "Why is it that humans are so oversexed?" Mirrored pool, who had been raised a catholic was in a bit of a quandry and he/she really couldn't respond. Of course One Ring had gone about his business that day without saying much.