Speaking of textual inconsistencies: The central inspiration of this
chapter came from my observation of a seeming contradiction between
Ojevind's depiction of Frodo as "remaining wed to celibacy" and
Steuard's depiction of him as having a reputation among the Elves for
"adventures with Cassiopiea Took." In the process of reconciling these
story elements, I also uncovered a little more info about how the Ring
does and does not work. ;-) Hope you all enjoy my exegetical efforts.
Portions of this installment have been inspired by my addiction to
Altoids, the Curiously Strong mints.
CHAPTER EIGHT: FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS
That night they heard no noises. But either in his dreams or out of
them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running in
his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey
rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and
silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened
before him under a swift sunrise.
The vision melted, and Frodo awoke feeling a rather depressing sense
of predestination. *Everything is fixed, and you can't change it,*
echoed the ethereal chorus in his memory.
"You're a fool, Frodo Baggins," muttered Frodo, shaking his head and
looking about for some sign of breakfast. Instead, Sam was immediately
at his side, stroking Frodo's hand, kissing Frodo's hand, and sucking
Frodo's fingers, as was his wont. "Good boy, Sam," praised Frodo,
tossing Sam a scooby-snack. "How about some breakfast, then?"
After breakfast, the four Hobbits made ready to say farewell to their
host. Their quiet ponies were almost frisky, shimmying and shagging
restlessly. Tom came out of the house and waved his doll and danced
upon the doorstep, bidding the Hobbits to go speedily and reminding them
to beware of the dread Barrow-wights that haunted the Downs at night.
"They're always after my lucky charms!" he explained.
Duly warned, the Hobbits thanked Tom for his advice and trotted their
panting ponies away, in haste to be out of hearing range before Tom
started singing again. They rode off along a path that wound away from
behind the house, and went slanting up and over a high, green hill.
They had just dismounted to lead their ponies up the steep slope, when
suddenly Frodo stopped.
"Goldberry!" he cried. "My fair lady, clad all in terrycloth! We
have never said farewell to her, nor seen her since that evening!" He
was so distressed that he turned back.
Morrie rolled his eyes. "No wonder he's still a virgin," he muttered.
"What?" exclaimed Pipsqueak, looking sharply at Morrie.
"Am not," shot back Frodo.
"Are too," Morrie snidely insisted.
"Now see here--" began Sam, but Pipsqueak cut him off.
"Whatever do you mean, Morrie? What about Cassiopiea,
and...well...and...well, what about Cassiopiea?"
"For the love of Elbereth!" implored Frodo. "Please, you two, just
"Yes, I hear you're quite adept at *dropping* it, cousin," sneered
Morrie. He raised an eyebrow and glanced significantly at Pipsqueak.
Pipsqueak gasped. "You mean--?" He glanced at Frodo, who at the
moment could easily have been mistaken for a poppy in Farmer Maggot's
fields, and grinned back at Morrie. "Go on!" he said, laughing.
"It's true," said Morrie. "'Limp as last night's noodles left out in
the rain,' is how your cousin Cassie put it."
"Well, then, whyever did she keep--ohhh, the power of the Ring, I
"Yes, poor Cassie. Apparently the Ring only bestows the power to
seduce; the power to perform is up to the wearer."
"Enough!" cried Frodo, his face contorted in anguish. "All right! I
admit it! I can't--*perform* with a lass. I don't know why; it's not
that I haven't tried. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be
the only fifty-year-old virgin in all of Hobbiton?"
"What!" snapped Frodo defensively.
"The Shire," Morrie drolly repeated, smirking. "As far as I know,
you're the only fifty-year-old virgin in the whole of the Shire."
"Including Bucklebeltland," suggested Pipsqueak helpfully.
"For that matter, Frodo, you're probably the only virgin over *thirty*
in all the Shire--"
"I take your point!" Frodo stalked off up and over the hill.
"Now see what you've done," reproved Sam, jabbing a finger into
"Sam, please," sniffed Morrie, swatting Sam's hand away from
Pipsqueak. "It's not proper to treat your betters in so familiar a
"Never you mind 'proper,' Mr. Moribund, sir. You and Mr. Paragraph
here made poor Mr. Frodo feel bad, and I'll not be standing for it, and
that's a fact!"
Morrie and Pipsqueak burst into laughter. "Well, then," leered
Morrie, as Sam scowled and stamped his foot in protest, "why don't you
go find poor Mr. Frodo and make him feel *gooood*,
"Maybe I'll do just that," retorted Sam, who wouldn't recognize
subtext if it smacked him upside the head. As if to further prove the
point, he shouted, "Coming, Mr. Frodo! Coming!" while Morrie and
Pipsqueak fell to the grass, rolling and laughing hysterically.
Damn the lot of them.
Frodo grinned to himself. It sounded so fine, he said it aloud:
"*Damn* the lot of them!" (To say that Frodo was socially retarded
would be somewhat of an understatement.)
Damn them all. He ought to cast them all to the dread Barrow-wights
and invite the beasts to have at their lucky charms. Frodo imagined his
so-called friends lying dead and dismembered, while he himself escaped,
alive and free. Gandalf would admit there had been nothing else he
Just then a familiar, low voice interrupted his sadistic reverie:
"Mr. Frodo, sir?"
Not Sam, amended Frodo. Morrie and Pipsqueak, without a regret, but
not Sam. "Yes, Sam," he said, turning and smiling fondly; for suddenly
it struck him that he was, indeed, very fond of the young Hobbit.
Sam blushed and lowered his gaze. "Aw, Mr. Frodo, I was thinking,
maybe, you could use a bit of cheering up." He took Frodo's hand into
his own, held it up to his cheek. "You always do like it when I hold
your hand," he said shyly.
"I do, indeed," said Frodo, caressing Sam's cheek with his fingertips.
"However did you get in the habit of doing it, anyway?"
"Oh, I don't know, sir." Sam shrugged, and slipped his mouth over the
nearest fingertip. "Maybe it's just you have such beautiful hands."
A shadow fell over Frodo's face. "Morrie said I'm ugly," he said,
"You never were," protested Sam. "Why, you're the fairest Hobbit in
all the Shire, as beautiful as any Elf."
"Really?" Frodo glanced back doubtfully at Sam.
"Really and truly, sir. Mr. Morrie's just jealous, on account that he
looks like the wrong end of a pony with a bad case of the Bywater
Frodo burst out laughing. "You always could make me laugh, dear Sam,"
he said, leaning against Sam.
"Aw." Again the color rose in Sam's face. "He just knows he can't
hold a candle to you, and that's--" He stopped short, suddenly
"A fact?" Frodo's eyes shone brightly at Sam. Sam glanced up at him,
and nodded. "Fact is, sir, I always wondered how it was so handsome a
Hobbit never did wed--oh, I'm sorry, sir!" cried Sam, aghast.
Frodo winced, but patted Sam's hand reassuringly, bestowing a light
kiss upon it for good measure. "It's all right, Sam," he said. "I seem
to be cursed, doomed by forces beyond my control never to know the bliss
of conjugal relations." Sighing wistfully, Frodo lifted his eyes to the
hills; whence would come his help?
"Well, come along, Sam." Frodo looked back to Sam, and gave him a
shadowed smile. "I suppose we'd better find Morrie and Pipsqueak and be
heading out of here before it gets dark. They may be asses, but they
are my cousins, all the same."
"And they may prove useful yet, sir," added Sam, walking hand in hand
with Frodo back over the hill to where they had left Morrie and
Riding over the hills, and eating their fill, the warm sun and the
scent of turf, lying a little too long after lunch to linger over
bottles of elderberry wine, sucked drop by drop from slender fingers:
these things are, perhaps, enough to explain what happened. However
that may be, the Hobbits woke suddenly and uncomfortably from a sleep
they never meant to take. Extricating their entwined limbs, they sprang
to their feet in alarm: The setting sun throbbed crimson as it sank
below the horizon. *Red sky at night, sailor's delight*, hissed the
wind, chilling the companions to their very bones.
In defiance of all principles of meteorology, known and unknown, a
thick fog rolled in from nowhere, quickly enshrouding the Hobbits and
isolating them one from another.
"Sam?" called Frodo shakily. "Sam? Morrie? Pipsqueak?"
He thought he heard a dim, answering call of *Frodo* but he could not
be sure. "Sam? Sam, where are you? Morrie, Pipsqueak? Please answer
me! Where are you?" Blindly he stumbled through the fog and the dark,
his curls plastered damply against his brow.
Frodo halted. "Sam?" he queried in a quavering voice.
*Hey, sailor, where are you going?*
"Who are you?" demanded Frodo. "And what have you done with Sam?"
Falling silent, he waited, but there was no answer, only the slither of
the wind beneath the fog.
"Sam! Where *are* you?" Frodo cried out miserably.
There was no reply. He was suddenly aware that it was getting very
cold, and the wind was growing stronger, dispersing the mists as
improbably quickly as they had descended. A glance showed him that he
was now standing on a high hilltop, which he must have climbed in his
frantic chase, which would explain why his clothes and hair were soaked
with perspiration. Out of the east a biting wind was blowing. To his
right there loomed against the westward stars a dark black shape. A
great barrow stood there.
"Where are you?" he cried again, both angry and afraid.
"Here!" said a voice deep and mellow and strangely seductive. "I am
waiting for you!"
"No!" said Frodo; but he did not run away. Trembling, he looked up to
see a tall, dark, and handsome figure silhouetted against the stars. It
leaned over him, and Frodo felt his knees grow weak. He thought he saw
an appraising glimmer in the two pale eyes gazing intently down into his
own, and he stood transfixed, silently yearning for he knew not what.
Then strong, manly hands seized him, and a body hard as iron bore
against him, pressing him insistently to the ground, and he remembered
He awoke feeling curiously sticky, and, even more curiously, strangely
satiated. He had no desire to move, but was content to lie as he found
himself: naked, on the ground, his clothes scattered around him, a
crushed cigarette butt smoldering in a bare patch of dirt. Languidly
Frodo reached over and twisted the cigarette butt into the ground,
Hmm. He'd never been one for smoking, but now he felt a sudden and
powerful craving for a good pipe full of weed. Damn. Frodo supposed
that he would have to bestir himself to find where his companions had
got to; Sam alone could be counted on to pack half a year's crop of leaf
whenever he undertook so much as a trip to the post office. Hopefully,
thought Frodo, he hadn't smoked it all by now.
Groaning, he stretched and sat up and set about reclothing himself,
pausing to wipe off the curiously sticky night dew which had condensed
upon certain regions of his skin. He looked about in vain for his pony.
"Sam! Morrie! Pipsqueak!" called Frodo. "Where are you? Sam!
Morrie! Pipsqueak! Hullo! Rise and shine! Here comes the sun, and I
say, it's all right!"
From the barrow emerged Sam, Morrie, and Pipsqueak, blinking, bemused,
and naked as the day they were born. "Mr. Frodo?" murmured Sam, gazing
blearily in Frodo's direction. "Mr. Frodo, I had the queerest dream."
"Hm. So did I," said Frodo, straining to hold back a wide grin. "I
say, Sam, you wouldn't happen to have any pipeweed about you, would
"Pipeweed?" repeated Sam. "You, sir? I mean, begging your pardon,
sir, but no, it's in my pack, on the pony--" Sam snapped to, looked
about, as if only then becoming cognizant of their situation. "Now
where in tarnation are those ponies, anyway? And why am I standing here
in my birthday suit--why, and Mr. Pipsqueak--and Mr. Morrie, too!"
"Don't fret, Sam; it suits you well," laughed Frodo. Then Frodo
suddenly blushed, and wondered why.
"Well, it doesn't suit me at all!" cried Pipsqueak indignantly. "We
must find our ponies, and our packs. Either that or you must lend us
some of your clothing, Frodo."
"I haven't any to lend, except what I'm wearing," said Frodo. "I am
afraid my pony has likewise wandered, and with it my pack."
"Oh, this is terrible!" wailed Pipsqueak. "We can't go walking to
Bree stark naked!"
"Hm," said Morrie, pointedly regarding Pipsqueak's nether regions.
"Those of us with a little more to show off have no reason to be
"Even I am not lacking in that respect," Frodo observed.
"Thank you very much, noble cousin." Pipsqueak crossed his arms and
"Payback's a bitch," grunted Sam, thrusting his hips forward so to
better show off his considerable assets.
"Now, Sam," chided Frodo teasingly, "there's no need to flaunt it.
Anyway, none of this is helping us to find the ponies; I suppose we'll
have to call on Tom Bombadil again."
"Oh, no," groaned Pipsqueak.
"Here." Frodo reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief.
"Cover up," he said, handing it to Pipsqueak.
Pipsqueak glowered at him, but he took the handkerchief, all the same.
"Thank you," he sullenly muttered. Meanwhile, Frodo cupped his hands
about his mouth and called out:
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
The ground makes a cold bed, and stones a hard pillow!
Our ponies have wandered! Bring your help near
So we can high-tail it out of here!
And, sure as deus ex machina is a fantasy writer's best friend, came
the answering call:
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry old fellow!
There's simply no end to the things he does know!
Come, ponies, and fly to your bareback riders!
Bring backpacks with breeches to cover backsiders!
Morrie and Pipsqueak exchanged erudite expressions of aesthetic angst,
but Sam was simply delighted. "Sheer poetry," he sighed, beaming
blissfully. Laughing and singing, Tom Bombadil greeted the Hobbits.
"Run naked in the grass, my merry friends, and let the light of day warm
heart and limb! Run naked, run naked, I say! Cast away that thin rag,"
he whipped the handkerchief from Pipsqueak's clutching hands, "and run
naked, I say!"
A rather curious thing to exhort of grown men, one would think, yet
Frodo and Sam and Morrie and Pipsqueak followed Bombadil's directive
without question. Frodo again cast his clothing aside, running about
nude with his friends under the morning sun because, we are given to
understand, it is the natural thing for Hobbits to be so carefree and
innocent and unashamed, even though heretofore we have been led to
believe that Shire Hobbits were quintessential starched-and-buttoned
Victorian Brits who were as likely as Queen Victoria herself to be found
cavorting naked in the grass.
"And here are your ponies!" said Bombadil, as the ponies trotted gaily
over the crest of the hill behind him, each running to its respective
rider. The Hobbits opened their packs and clothed themselves, while
Bombadil gave them directions to the road that would lead them to Bree.
"And in Bree you will find an old brothel called The Prancing Pony;
Barliman Butterball is its worthy keeper, and his buxom wife Bella the
fetching mistress of the house. There you will find food and drink, and
a warm fire, and a warm wench or two to keep you the night; and the
morning will speed you on your way. Be bold, but wary! Keep gay your
hearts, and ride to meet your fortune!" Then he turned and tossed up
his doll and caught it again, leaping and skipping and dancing away back
over the hill whence he had come.
"Well, Mr. Frodo," remarked Sam, "I am sorry to take leave of Master
Bombadil, but I won't deny I'll be glad to see this brothel he spoke of.
I wonder if it'll be like the Green Dragon back home? D'you suppose
they have Hobbit wenches, or only wenches of the Big Folk?"
"There are Hobbits in Bree," said Morrie, "as well as Big Folk. Take
your pick! I myself have partaken of both varieties, with perfect
"Well, now, Mr. Frodo," Sam heartily exclaimed. "This Prancing Pony
might just be the place to turn your luck for the better! I daresay
you'll no longer be a virgin on the morrow."
"Be that as it may," Frodo sharply hissed, "please, *please* watch
your tongues, and remember not to mention that I have never known a
woman in conjugal embrace!"
"Oh, no, of course not, Mr. Frodo. Right, Mr. Morrie? Mr.
"Oh, certainly. Of course." They snickered, and began to sing ribald
songs as they rode toward the soft, sultry red lights of Bree.
Hope I haven't ruined your plans for the Prancing Pony, David. ;-)
The Prembone Pages: Humor, Opinion, Parody, Satire
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
Hmm... I have to say I don't understand the reason for this change. Is
"Moribund aka Morrie" a reference I don't get? Otherwise what's the
point of changing the name from something that's a joke (and "Mobster"
is a joke no matter how good or bad) to something that's not one?
And what's the point of changing past chapters to change a detail that
influences nothing? (Atleast if it was back to "Merry" I'd get the point but
Hmm... since Prembone has posted her chapter I suppose there's no
problem with making public my idea: I had rather hoped that in this
chapter, Tom Bombadil (instead of renaming the ponies) would rename
the *hobbits* turning Pipsqueak and Mobster into Pippin and Merry (or
perhaps Peepin' and Morrie :-)
> Hmm... I have to say I don't understand the reason for this change.
Mainly because several of us thought that "Mobster" sucked as a name
(sorry, Ojevind), whereupon someone suggested the name "Moribund," with
a nickname of "Morrie," as an apropos name for a mobster. "Moribund"
means "at the point of death," and sounds close enough to "Meriadoc" to
make a reasonable play on the original name.
> "Moribund aka Morrie" a reference I don't get? Otherwise what's the
> point of changing the name from something that's a joke (and "Mobster"
> is a joke no matter how good or bad) to something that's not one?
It's still a joke, just a more subtle one. ;-) "Morrie" sounds like a
stereotypically gangster-like name, and the basic joke is that he *is* a
mobster, not necessarily that he has "Mobster" as his name. In sum, we
like making the character *a* mobster, but not using the too-obvious
"Mobster" as his actual name.
> And what's the point of changing past chapters to change a detail that
> influences nothing?
Well, it's a matter of fixing a name we don't like to one we do, and
since Ojevind was the originator of "Mobster," and since he agreed to
"Moribund/Morrie" as a substitute, I'd say it's OK to make the change,
and do it now, while it's still early in the game.
FWIW, I definitely like "Moribund/Morrie" MUCH better than my original
suggestion of going back to "Meriadoc/Merry." Plus, I think your pun of
"I don't do 'merry'" works better with the character being a mobster
But enough of that. Did you like the story? ;-)
Moreover, may I suggest that we create a process through which such kind
of changes can be implemented or *not* implemented with certainty?
For example, it was suggested that someone who wants something in an
earlier chapter changed, should email every author whose chapter would
be influenced no matter how slightly by this change, and gain permission
from everyone... This was obviously not done here...
Anyway could perhaps someone (Steuard for example) coordinate all the
needed emails and at need make a judgment call on whether a change
If everyone keeps changing past details simply because he/she doesn't
like them this project is soon going to self-destroy itself...
I also suggest that no further chapters be posted until the Morrie/Mobster
situation is clarified...
> Perhaps... Though I'd have perhaps used it if I knew that
> his name was going to be Morrie... :-)
> Morrie gave her a humorless look. "Madam, I'm a
> Brandybuck. We don't do 'merry'. "
> Those who had a problem in distinguishing between
> the two pronounciations, generally found themselves
> quickly facing much more important problems indeed.
> Or something like that...
Yes, that was what I had in mind. ;-) You could probably work that
change into the text. In fact, it's pretty good, and (assuming the
change to "Morrie" goes through) I think you should!
> And btw, the poems that call to Tom Bombadil are different...
I know. ;-) Frodo was improvising.
> and though I hate to get rid of the word 'armadillo'
Don't. I liked it!
> I freely confess that your version
> is by far the better...
That's because it was composed by Frodo instead of by Tom Bombadil, of
> I suppose I should go and change that too...
No, don't. I like the idea of taking advantage of the "Morrie"/"Merry"
play on pronunciation, but the use of a different song by Frodo was
deliberate. Besides, it gives us more opportunity to make bad takeoffs
of the originals!
> > But enough of that. Did you like the story? ;-)
> <g> I liked it quite a bit... though I admit that a couple of the
> more sexual than I like - but I may be a bit prudish in this.
Whereas I am one of the Charter Members of the Tilde Club, q.v.
http://home.earthlink.net/~prembone/mythtakes/tilde.html Which reminds
me that I have material to add to it which is *seriously* overdue,
including a link to that Tolkien slash site.
Anyway, I hope I kept it within Steu's guidlines: innuendo, but no
explicit depictions. The jokes are only sexual to those "in the know."
To those of tender minds and ages, the references will only seem silly,
or confusing. Actually, they may seem silly and confusing, in
general....ah, well. Besides, it was the early-chapters people who set
the tone, with all the references to the Ring's power of seduction,
escapades with Cassiopiea and all. Blame them. ;-)
> I especially liked Frodo being tempted to cast his friends to the
Heh. I have to admit that's probably my favorite bit in the whole
chapter, though my spin on romance-novel cliche's with the Barrow-wight
comes into a close second.
> <sigh> As for Mobster I suppose I'm more opposed to the *change*
> than to the name of Morrie. (I may be a bit conservative in this? :-)
I dated someone of that temperament, once. Drove me nuts. ;-) My own
inclination is: If I don't like something, CHANGE IT! -- or at least
see if I can. Hell, I wrote an entire 42-chapter sequel to LOTR because
I didn't like the way Tolkien ended it. (Don't get me started on
why...PLEASE. The rest of the newsgroup will thank you. Trust me on
this one.) I figure it doesn't hurt to ask, or try, or filibuster, or
lie down on a train track and threaten not to move until I get my way,
Anyway, the vote idea sounds fair enough to me. Just don't forget to
admire my handiwork in the process. ;-)
Humble as always,
> Portions of this installment have been inspired by my addiction to
> Altoids, the Curiously Strong mints.
Bravo! But I think you got the inspiration from alt.sex.furry-feet or
>Portions of this installment have been inspired by my addiction to
>Altoids, the Curiously Strong mints.
Is this the "00's" version of the "Twinkie defense"?
Let them fight that battle in peace.
> I dated someone of that temperament, once. Drove me nuts. ;-) My own
> inclination is: If I don't like something, CHANGE IT! -- or at least
> see if I can. Hell, I wrote an entire 42-chapter sequel to LOTR because
> I didn't like the way Tolkien ended it.
You didn't consider talking to the shrink first ;-) Sounds a bit more
obsessive than can be considered healthy. Then again, why I am
writing this in this forum...If you're here you've got to be
obsessed...(well, it doesn't hurt anyway).
That sequel wouldn't have anything to do with getting Frodo away
from Eressea would it? Either way, I'd love to read it. There's
that obsession again...
> Do you vote in favour of the change or against it? (btw, I suggest
> that you vote on whether you'd *like* the change, not whether you
> would *agree* to the change.)
Incidentally, I'd ask that everyone send their votes to me over email
(and perhaps only over email); private ballots can be considerably
more fair than public ones. I'll handle the details... and I _would_
suggest a _brief_ moratorium on new chapters until we get this
settled. Incidentally, I'm going to require at least 4/6 votes in
favor of the change before I "approve" it, and I'll be hesitant even
then. (And if I get even one "Absolutely not" vote, that closes the
matter right there.)
>Incidentally, I'd ask that everyone send their votes to me over email
>matter right there.)
> Steuard Jensen
Oh, Goody! I'm off the hook! We'll diddle about this one for weeks....
People must not do things for fun. We are not here for fun.
There is no reference to fun in any Act of Parliament.
(A very juicy one!)
(Just for you!)
Invalid thought detected. Close all mental processes and restart
I think that the name 'mobster' was first invented, and then we decided that
this was also his occupation... It wasn't vice versa...
> > And what's the point of changing past chapters to change a detail that
> > influences nothing?
> Well, it's a matter of fixing a name we don't like to one we do, and
> since Ojevind was the originator of "Mobster," and since he agreed to
> "Moribund/Morrie" as a substitute, I'd say it's OK to make the change,
> and do it now, while it's still early in the game.
> FWIW, I definitely like "Moribund/Morrie" MUCH better than my original
> suggestion of going back to "Meriadoc/Merry." Plus, I think your pun of
> "I don't do 'merry'" works better with the character being a mobster
> named "Morrie."
Perhaps... Though I'd have perhaps used it if I knew that
his name was going to be Morrie... :-)
Morrie gave her a humorless look. "Madam, I'm a
Brandybuck. We don't do 'merry'. "
Those who had a problem in distinguishing between
the two pronounciations, generally found themselves
quickly facing much more important problems indeed.
Or something like that...
And btw, the poems that call to Tom Bombadil are different... and though
I hate to get rid of the word 'armadillo' I freely confess that your version
by far the better... I suppose I should go and change that too...
> But enough of that. Did you like the story? ;-)
<g> I liked it quite a bit... though I admit that a couple of the jokes were
more sexual than I like - but I may be a bit prudish in this.
I especially liked Frodo being tempted to cast his friends to the
<sigh> As for Mobster I suppose I'm more opposed to the *change* rather
than to the name of Morrie. (I may be a bit conservative in this? :-)
I'll agree to the change and alter my chapter accordingly if the majority
of the 6 people that mentioned "Mobster" in their chapters vote in favour of
Okay. Let's do it democratically and have a vote for this.
Ojevind, Steuard, Kent, Bruce, Conrad:
Do you vote in favour of the change or against it? (btw, I suggest that you
whether you'd *like* the change, not whether you would *agree* to the
> That sequel wouldn't have anything to do with getting Frodo away
> from Eressea would it?
How'd you guess? ;-)
> Either way, I'd love to read it. There's
> that obsession again...
Well, at the moment I'm working on a book developing those themes with
my own characters and settings, which should be ready to submit to
publishers by the end of the summer. Bits of it are reminiscent of
Frodo (indeed, I'd want the knowledgable reader to see the parallels)
but it ends up being a VERY different story....if I ever finish getting
it written. ;-) (I will; don't worry.) But since I'm pirating my own
fanfic for material for the present book (why waste all that effort?)
I'm kind of hesistant to put the fanfic version out for public
consumption, at this point. I'll keep a copy, in case anyone ever does
a HOPE (History of Prembone's Efforts) series.
> Oh, Goody! I'm off the hook!
Like hell. While you're waiting, you could get a head start on the
Appendices. Didn't I hear that you were writing those, too?
> Oh, Goody! I'm off the hook!
Like hell. While you're waiting, you could get a head start on the
Appendices. Didn't I hear that you were writing those, too?
Okay, before you guys get into further arguments lemme suggest that Arghorn be
named King Elessar Telcontar, or Longwank in the Common tongue . . .
Lego-Lass and Gimme, could even be Legless and Gimpy -- and Gimpy could be the
son of Groyn of course, who we meet at the Council of Allblonde. Question is,
do you want a whole bunch of silly names a la BOTR or Ian Fleming, or keep the
old names with an eye-popper here and there? Personally, I like the idea of
Longwank; the men of Numenor being exceptionally endowed with thrice the span
of normal men.
Btw, Bravo! to Conrad, Aris and Karyn! Keep this up and you might be able to
recruit me for a chapter (if there's any room).
:-) Thanks. Okay, if it goes through, I will!
> > And btw, the poems that call to Tom Bombadil are different...
> I know. ;-) Frodo was improvising.
> > and though I hate to get rid of the word 'armadillo'
> Don't. I liked it!
> > I freely confess that your version
> > is by far the better...
> That's because it was composed by Frodo instead of by Tom Bombadil, of
> course. ;-)
Hey that really, really fits - which reminds that I also loved the scene in
chapter after Tom Bombadil appears as well as his insistence at them to run
naked (not to mention the "aesthetic angst" - LOL!)
> > <sigh> As for Mobster I suppose I'm more opposed to the *change*
> > than to the name of Morrie. (I may be a bit conservative in this? :-)
> I dated someone of that temperament, once. Drove me nuts. ;-) My own
> inclination is: If I don't like something, CHANGE IT! -- or at least
> see if I can. Hell, I wrote an entire 42-chapter sequel to LOTR because
> I didn't like the way Tolkien ended it. (Don't get me started on
> why...PLEASE. The rest of the newsgroup will thank you. Trust me on
> this one.) I figure it doesn't hurt to ask, or try, or filibuster, or
> lie down on a train track and threaten not to move until I get my way,
> or..... ;-)
Ouch... a *42-chapter* sequel? Ouch, gal...
>The vision melted, and Frodo awoke feeling a rather depressing sense
>of predestination. *Everything is fixed, and you can't change it,*
>echoed the ethereal chorus in his memory.
> "You're a fool, Frodo Baggins,"
A very fine reference, if I do say so myself (and I do). :-D
(Although it does make me feel a bit old.)
"... the essence of myth [is] that it have no taint of allegory to the maker
and yet should suggest incipient allegories to the reader..."
C. S. Lewis, having read "The Lay of Leithian"
> > That sequel wouldn't have anything to do with getting Frodo away
> > from Eressea would it?
> How'd you guess? ;-)
Just a hunch...
> it written. ;-) (I will; don't worry.) But since I'm pirating my own
> fanfic for material for the present book (why waste all that effort?)
> I'm kind of hesistant to put the fanfic version out for public
> consumption, at this point.
Too bad but hey, understandable. Tell us if you change your
>I'll keep a copy, in case anyone ever does
> a HOPE (History of Prembone's Efforts) series.
Ah, but you'll know you will never know either way.
Honour like that never goes to those that still lives
There seem to be two major forms of depression: too much serotonin and too
little. Serotonin is manufactured in the intestine lining. Depressives
tend to be either sugar avoiders (to reduce serotonin) or sugar consumers
(to increase it). Depression is also referred to anger turned inwards. The
difference between suicide and homocide is which way the anger is
directed: within or without. Insane is not "mad" or "loony" or raving
spittle in a straitjacket. The brain runs as a number of subsystems; in
most people the subsystems are integrated into a single personality. And
some people dissassociated, the subsystem become uncoordinated, even
conflicting. An extreme case is multiple personalities. In less extreme
cases, a person may be aware of her actions but that awareness is
dissassociated from any control: as if the personality is floating six
inches outside the skull watching the whole thing like movie.
But don't let that bother you. There's no such thing as mental illness,
some people are just too weak.
No doubt, you'll also be happy to know that, instead of any kind medical
treatment, Dan White was given capital punishment with a self-adminsterred
CACS: Collective Against Consensual Sanity v0.123
Now a text site map! http://www.angelfire.com/ca3/cacs/
While PacBell is broken, contact will be intermittent.
>Hope I haven't ruined your plans
>for the Prancing Pony, David.
Well, actually, I was going to have
the Ring manifest its powers in the
common room of the Prancing Pony by
giving Frodo a huge erection, but
you made him impotent, so I can't do
Oh, well. I came up with a new idea
for it anyway.
>Carl Blondin <cbl...@po-box.mcgill.ca> wrote in message
>>Well, just when it looked like we'd settled the question of the "Merry"
>>character's name... Anyway, for now I'm going with changing the
>>character's *name* to "Moribund, a.k.a. Morrie," but definitely
>>retaining his *occupation* as a mobster.
>Okay, before you guys get into further arguments lemme suggest that Arghorn
>named King Elessar Telcontar, or Longwank in the Common tongue . . .
>Lego-Lass and Gimme, could even be Legless and Gimpy -- and Gimpy could be
.son of Groyn of course, who we meet at the Council of Allblonde. Question
>do you want a whole bunch of silly names a la BOTR or Ian Fleming, or keep
>old names with an eye-popper here and there? Personally, I like the idea
>Longwank; the men of Numenor being exceptionally endowed with thrice the
>of normal men.
>You'll just have to wait a bit to see what happens with those names. I'm
in charge of the council de >El Rond (which has been changed from
spanish/french to quebec french) and I already have >some ideas for most of
ugh... I know I have no right to say what you'll do with your chapter... but
I rather hope that on the whole we keep the original names. Remember that
these are names that we'll have to hear repeated for the rest of all the
three books, and any such "humorous" changes will become tiresome after a
while... Every pun's novelty passes quickly - and after a while they simply
become tiresome... Until now we had only the names of Merry and Pippin
changed, and I hoped that changes in names would be likewise infrequent...
> "Enough!" cried Frodo, his face contorted in anguish. "All right! I
> admit it! I can't--*perform* with a lass. I don't know why; it's not
> that I haven't tried. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be
> the only fifty-year-old virgin in all of Hobbiton?"
> He awoke feeling curiously sticky, and, even more curiously, strangely
> satiated. He had no desire to move, but was content to lie as he found
> himself: naked, on the ground, his clothes scattered around him, a
> crushed cigarette butt smoldering in a bare patch of dirt. Languidly
> Frodo reached over and twisted the cigarette butt into the ground,
> snuffing it.
> "Thank you very much, noble cousin." Pipsqueak crossed his arms and
What a shame. A promising start to a clever LotR satire, gone
awry and descended into puerile junior-high-school-locker-room
humor. And not even a tilde to warn readers of the high smut
Reality is for those who cannot cope with Middle-Earth.
> Well, actually, I was going to have
> the Ring manifest its powers in the
> common room of the Prancing Pony by
> giving Frodo a huge erection, but
> you made him impotent, so I can't do
> that now....
This business of satirizing LotR with immature
locker-room sexual humor has already been
done, you know, in BotR. I suspect you folks
have the creativity to do better than that.
Indeed, several chapters already have, most
recently the Tom Bombadil chapter.
I惴 really sorry to say this since I too have fell in love with Prembone
since I found out she was a female, but would re-writing be an impossible
thought? It愀 just that it愀 so different from other chapters and little bit
too daring for younger readers(or at least their parents).
> I´m really sorry to say this since I too have fell in love with Prembone
> since I found out she was a female, but would re-writing be an impossible
> thought? It´s just that it´s so different from other chapters and little bit
> too daring for younger readers(or at least their parents).
Since Prembone is writing a novel, she *must* be capable of
writing a chapter that fits in with the rest of them. Could she
be persuaded to do a rewrite?
For that matter, I wish JRRT would have done a rewrite of the first Book, or
the last 5 books in LOTR, as the style definitely shifts somewhere thereabouts
and the chapters don't fit with each other.
Come on people! Just because *you* don't like certain chapters doesn't mean
other people don't. And that stylistic excuse is out of left field -- look at
*all* the e-text chapters and you'll see that they all diverge from each other.
Actually, the explanation is simple: The phrase "curiously sticky"
popped into my mind as I was winding down for the night, and I suspect
it was my subconscious punning on the Altoids slogan "curiously
strong." In any case, the phrase struck me as curiously humorous, and
I ended up staying up ridiculously late to sketch my first draft of the
But if I do decide to go postal, I can always blame it on consuming too
many Altoids: "Obsessive Tolkien Worshipers found bludgeoned to death
by giant-size tins of Altoids, the curiously strong mints."
That was a joke. Please do not report me to the FBI.
> What a shame. A promising start to a clever LotR satire, gone
> awry and descended into puerile junior-high-school-locker-room
> humor. And not even a tilde to warn readers of the high smut
Uhhhhh....hello? Apparently you were reading some other satire,
because the one I was handed had established from the start that the
power of the Ring was to enable the bearer to seduce whomever said
bearer desired sexually. If that bothers y