.

Chuck Yeager



We didn't have a lot of fancy elves around where I grew up. I always thought they were pretty, but something about them smelled a little weak. Not that there's anything bad about them... actually, I like them a lot because they make all those pretty things that girls seem to like.

Most of the girls where I grew up were good. Too bad a lot of the guys didn't notice. I learned as much as I could about them, and about the guys too. Seems a lot of the people there just weren't paying attention to each other.

Frodo was a good enough guy. He always knew what to do when a girl came around, so I was really surprised when that old Gandalf came around trying to ruin our fun. But Frodo, he needed something more. I liked the little fellow, so, if he was going to stop chasing after girls for a while, I figured I better go help him find whatever he's looking for so we could get back to what is important: Girls.

But, whats-her-name is pretty nice lately... not worried about what others think, just making me feel good. After I get finished helping Frodo not get himself killed, I think I'm just going to hang out with her. Thats a lot more fun than "finding myself", or whatever it is these guys think they need to do.

So anyways, Gandalf doesn't seem to like girls since you never see him with one. He probably thinks he's saving the world or something. I wonder if he even noticed that girls like Rosie don't care about all that.

That Gollum guy is the worst of the lot. All he does is talk to himself, and I think half of him is a girl. Poor guy. He should be put out his misery since he can't seem to get over himself.

I sure wish Frodo would find himself. I'm hungry and I miss Rosie. I was having fun looking at those crazy oliphaunts untill those damned bad-guys came along making thier messes. They make me so mad I just want to spit in their eye, and that's what I've been doing. It seems to make a lot of the non-girl-lovers happy, if you catch my meaning. If I don't bust these Orcs' butts, I'm never going to get to hang with Rosie again.

Why are all these wimps looking at me funny? I'm just helping my buddy out so we can get home and have fun again. I don't think it'll ever be like it was, but if Frodo finds himself a Rosie, I'm sure our kids will do enough crazy stuff together and we'll all get a big laugh out of it.

Look, Gollums' sissy-side got the better of him. Ha. Looks like Frodo is free to go home now. I can't wait.

God, I wish everyone would leave this whole ring subject alone. We went, We saw, We kicked butt. It was our job. No big deal. We aren't heros, we were just a bunch of punks trying to pick up chicks and have a bit of fun. Of course, Rosie always knew what we we're really about. She's been really good about me leaving her at home and helping Frodo get over himself.

Too bad Frodo never did find whatever he was looking for. Maybe the elves and Gandalf and him are better off together. I'm sure they'll find another giant mess to get into, begging your pardon.

As for myself, I keep plenty busy nowadays with sleeping, eating, drinking, and watching these kids pound their chests with the other boys. I have a feeling they'll be running off soon to find some big adventure that most of the little girls will be impressed with. Not Pippin's little girl though. She wants the boys to stick around but the boys just won't listen. Poor gal, she's just like Rosie.

Rosie sure has grown old gracefully. If I hadn't been playing "cops and robbers" with her once already this morning, I'd give her a good romp right now, but I'm kind of tired... Oops, she caught me looking at her again and here comes that smile. Good, she doesn't want to play "cops and robbers" either. I'll just look out the window for a bit and see if there's any evil afoot. Nope. All is well. Maybe I'll take a nap.

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Hans Christian Andersen:



Once there was a beautiful golden ring that had been made by a terrible lord. This wicked lord wished to be the king of all the world. He made the little ring to help him gain power over the many good kings and queens who ruled in the lands about him.

The little ring was very proud that he was such a splendid ring. He knew that all who saw him wished to own him and be as powerful as the wicked lord. He saw many ride in battle to try to overthrow the wicked lord, but none ever succeeded. "I must be a wonderful thing!" thought the little ring, "I am coveted by all!"

But one day, there was an awful battle, and the ring was cut off the hand of the wicked lord! The little ring felt himself picked up by a mighty king. He was glad, for the mighty king had a great army and glorious banners. The little ring thought he would be very happy with the mighty king, and that he would live in a grand palace and be the most prized possession of the kingdom.

Alas, it was not to be, for the mighty king was killed and the ring sank to the bottom of a river. He was very sad, for it was lonely and cold there. "I wish I could see the banners of a splendid army again," he thought.

After a very long time, the ring was found by a strange little man who took him for his own. At first the ring was glad to be out of the river, but he did not like the little man, who talked to himself and had no army, nor even a house to live in. The little ring had to live in a damp old cave that smelled of fish.

Then the ring was rescued by another little man, who was much nicer than the first, but who had no palace or army, either. Finally he came into the hands of yet another little man, who brought him before a council of great lords. "At last I shall have the recognition I deserve," thought the proud little ring. "I have lived much too long in a river and a cave! That is no life for such an important ring as I!"

And so the little ring went on a rather strange and long journey, carried by the last little man. The ring understood that he was being taken back to the lands of his first master, the wicked lord, so he did not mind that there was no great army and splendid banners to accompany him. "Soon I shall enjoy life again!" the ring thought.

O, but the ring little suspected what was in store for him! He saw that he was fought over, and felt proud, but then he was falling, falling into a great fire! He heard a great clamor of armies and thought of the splendor of battle. "O, 'tis past! 'Tis over, all over! Never again," said the poor little ring.

In the spring, the earth blossomed again. All over the land, the grass grew over the battlefields where once the little ring had been so proud. However, those days were over and the ring was gone, and so every tale must end at last.

.


P. G. Wodehouse:


The trouble with writing an epic, I find, is knowing just where to begin. So here I am, quill and parchment at the ready, a full bowl of pipeweed and, dash it, have great difficulty in beginning! That's the trouble with epics, as I suspect old Treebeard himself would say, and wasn't he a one for insisting that every story begin at the very beginning - of time, that is, and it takes all one's memories of school training to be polite to the old boy when you're rushing to catch an Eagle.

I brought this up with Gandalf when he dropped by yesterday. "Gandalf", I said, "Do you remember that old ROP we dropped into the crack of Mount Doom?" He did, of course. It was one of those rectangular - no, I mean rhetorical - questions. How could one forget? It was a tale to freeze thy blood, to make one's hair stand on end like quills upon the fretful porpentine - though I've never understood why one says porpentine when you mean porcupine. Something to do with elves, no doubt. I had been thinking of making a start by putting one of the elven marching songs on the title page, but all I can remember os 'Ding, dong, ding, dong, ding, dong, I hurry along', which would never do. Elrond would never approve.

So Gandalf applied himself to the task at hand - and that's a sight to see that makes strong men gasp and the ladies swoon. You could see the blood whizzing through that magnificent brain of his, chock full of all that health food he grazes on with Tom Bombadil. When there's a problem to be solved, just slip a few nuts and berries to old Gandalf and stand back, I say. Frightening, really.

So after a good think, Gandalf suggested Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday, and I knew right away I held the winning ticket, cash for life with no taxation. "Perfect" I told him. "That's just precisely where I'll set the starting post. You have hit the n. right on the h."

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OK, get out your hankies for this one...



Daniel Keyes:



Flowers for Sméagol


3d progris riport

martch 5 -- Mr Gandalf and Mr Elrond say it dont matter about the writin on the ring. I tolld them i dint carv the words in it and I coudnt see anything on it. They said maybe they will still use me. I told Mr Gandalf that Bilbo never gave me tests like that only riting and reeding. He said Bilbo tolld him I was his bestist pupil in the Bagins family of retarded hobbits and I tryed the hardist becaus I reely wantd to quest I wantid it more even then hobbits who are smarter even then me.

Mr Gandalf askd me how come you want to go to Mordor all by youyrself Frodo. How did you find out about it. I said I dont remembir.




June 20 -- Perhaps I should have waited before going to see Bilbo; or not have gone to see him at all. I don't know. Nothing turns out the way I expect it to. With the clue that Bilbo had gone to Rivendell to finish his book, it was a simple matter to find him.

How could I tell him? What was I supposed to say? Here, look at me, I'm Frodo, the nephew to whom you left the One Ring? Not that I blame you for it, but here I am, all fixed up better than ever. Test me. Ask me questions. I speak twenty languages, living and dead; I'm a tactical whiz and I'm planning a stealthy invasion into Mordor that will make Middle Earth remember me long after I'm gone.

How could I tell him?

I wasn't his nephew. That was another Frodo. The Power of the Ring had changed me, and he would resent me - as some others from the Fellowship resented me - because my growth diminished him. I didn't want that.




June 29 -- Before I go back to Hobbiton I'm going to finish the projects I've started since I left the Cracks of Doom. I visited the New Age of Man Institute for Advanced Study, about the possibility of utilizing the pair-production nuclear photoeffect for exploratory work in biophysics. At first he thought I was a crackpot wizard, but after I pointed out the flaws in some of his older scrolls he asked me to come back to the Institute to discuss my ideas with his Council. I might take him up on that after I've finished my work at the lab -- if there is time. That's the problem, of course. I don't know how much time I have. A month? A year? The rest of my life? That depends on what I find out about the psycophysical side-effects of bearing the One Ring.




Nov 18 -- prof Elrond was very nice when I came back to Rivendell. Frist he was very suspicius but I told him what happened to me and then he looked very sad and put his hand on my shoulder and said Frodo you got guts.

Evrybody looked at me when I walked into the room and started working in the chamber pot sweeping it out like I used to do. I said to myself Frodo if they make fun of you dont get sore because you remember their not so smart like you once thot they were. And besides they were once your frends and if they laffed at you that dont mean anything because they liked you to.




Nov 21 -- I did a dumb thing today I forgot I wasnt in the Felloship any more like I used to be. I went in and sat down in my old seat in the circle and he lookd at me funny and he said Frodo what are you doing. So I said hello Mr. Elrond Im redy for our talk today only I lossed the ring we was using.

Mr Gandalf started to cry and run our of the group and everbody looked at me and I saw alot of them wasnt the same pepul who used to be in my Felloship.

Then all of a suddin I remembird some things about the Cracks of Dum and me getting smart and I said holy smoke I reely pulled a Frodo Bagins that time. I went away before he came back.

Thats why im going away from here for good to the Gray Havins. I dont want to do nothing like that agen. I dont want Mr Gandalf to feel sorry for me. I know evrybody feels sorry for me back in the Shire and I dont want that eather so Im going someplace where there are a lot of other litl pepul like me and nobody cared that Frodo Bagins was once a ringberer and now he cant even reed a book or rite good.

Anyway I bet im the frist dumb person in the world who did something inportent for Middle Erth. I did somthing but I dont remembir what. So I gess its like I did it for all the dumb litl pepul like me in the Shire and allover the world.

Goodby Mr Gandalf and Samwise and evrybody...

P.S. please tel Sauron not to be such a grouch when pepul take his stuff and he woud have more frends. Its easy to have frends if you let pepul share your stuff. Im going to have lots of frends where I go.

P.S. please if you get a chanse put some flowrs on Smegols memoreal in the bak yard.

.

In honor of britgirlsf, who posted the brilliance that I mentioned in my last post, I give you... *drumroll*



John Norman:



I, Frodo Baggins, formerly of the Shire, am one who is known to Sauron of Mordor.

It came about late in the month of En’Kara in the year of 10,117 of the Third Age that I awoke to the soothing touch of a small sponge that bathed my forehead.

I grabbed the hand that held the sponge and found that I held a girl’s wrist. “Who are you?” I asked.

I lay on a stone platform padded by heavy sleeping pelts and numerous scarves of yellow and red silk.

“Please.” Said the girl.

She was comely with light hair straight and bound simply behind her back with a small ribbon of yellow silk. Her eyes blue and sullen. Her full, red lips, seemed to pout sensuously, rebelliously, and perhaps subtly contemptuously.

“I am Arwen,” she responded “your slave.”

I released her wrist.

She knelt resting on her heels with her back straight. In her eyes there seemed to burn an irritable fury of helpless rage. I smiled but she did not smile back, looking away angrily.

When she again raised her head I saw about her throat, as I expected, graceful and gleaming, the silver collar of a Mordor slave girl.

“Your demeanor does not suggest that of a slave girl.” I said.

“I am a chamber slave.” She whispered. “As long as you are in this room, you may do with me as you please. Master.”

Her shoulders shook with rage at my widened smile.

“I see I must teach you the meaning of your collar.” I said, rising and stepping towards her. She scrambled to the corner of the room with a cry.

My laugh was loud.

.

e.e. cummings:



precious) downward
my) the heat rises
O) the mountain rises

like a mouth the earth
swallows
greedily

a finger without its hand
a body without its soul
an evil without its power

bright sun on us both)
remembering(
bobbing forth and back)
my birthday(
he was greedy like the earth)
one life begins(
one life ends)
river like a mouth, cold, hot
ring like a mouth, devouring
consumed i must consume

(Sméagol?)

the ring (O
and the body (my
are consumed (precious

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Ayn Rand:


Smeagol writhed in corruption, his lifelong attempts to collectivize the Hobbit economy had twisted his soul and body and brought ruin to the Shire. "Precious," he muttered. "Precious collective good giving according to need." He shuddered at the thought of the unbroken individual standing proudly over a conquered plain with the Ring, and felt jealous that the wholesome power could not be his.

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John Milton:


Of the great War of the Ring, and the taste
Of that Forbidden power, the long and
Arduous trek, thru' fiery, blasted plains
With faithful Hobbits and treacherous beasts
To Chaos' edge, and there to cast the One
To endless fire and eternal death:
Sing Heav'nly Muse, that in Rivendell did'st
First teach of the Rings of Power forgéd,
In the beginning how the Dark Lord Sauron
Brought into the world from fiery depths
Of Doom this ring of gold, pouréd into't
His Malice and his Evil; I now
Invoke thy Aid to my Adventrous song
That struggle as it might to take to th'air
Though will I drag from bottomless perdition
Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime
And justifie the ways of men to Elves.

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Sigmund Freud:


The ring is clearly a symbol of the mother-figure into which the bearer feels the irresistible urge to thrust his finger (obviously a phallic symbol). The ensuing penetration of the ring is accompanied by a deep sense of elation but also a deep sub-conscious shame manifested by the sudden invisibility. The ring wearer does not want others to witness his shaming fetish but is also, at the same time, acutely aware that a sudden disappearance must bring acute attention upon him. Therefore, the ring bearer must find a private moment in which to succumb to the guilty pleasure of the ring.

It is interesting to note that the urge to wear the ring becomes irresistibly strong in the presence of the Nazgul, obviously representing the 9 faces of fatherhood. The father figure sublimating his own acts of unconscious jealously towards the adopted son for his lust acts as a reinforcer towards the sons manifest desire.

The Fellowship in this case clearly represents the son's attempt to overthrow his father in order to fully take advantage of his lust for his mother. Each character in the fellowship corresponds to a different facet of the personality and they are constantly in conflict with each other over the desired action that they must take.

The creation of the ring itself must be noted as interesting as it was the original Ur-Father figure who manifested such an entity. From this, it is clear that the son figure is projecting his own unconscious lust upon his father. This is probably an sub-conscious attempt to rationalize the killing of his father. The proposed destruction of the ring is a vain attempt to remove the power from his over controlling father and break away in order to gain his own freedom of action. However, it is clear that the son figure could never really destroy his lust and merely tries to repress it until the pressure becomes so intense that he finally performs a complete shift in personality and embraces his mother-lust.

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H.P. Lovecraft:



If I were to tell you the true story behind the unmaking of that ring...that ring!...you would think me mad. Horrors such as are scribed in ancient tomes of eldritch evil cannot compare to the terror...the cruel, cold, brain-crushing terror!...that we felt in the lair of that foul spirit which raimed itself in arachnid form, that vile scavenger, that horrid arcane leech lingering at the border's of Sauron's Black Land...