I was on the way to Mordor,
Samwise, the bastard,
was cheerfully sexting supportive,
nonsense in my ear,
when Gandlalf explained to me,
volcano mountain in sight,
dirt and grime streaked epic on my face,
that somehow, it wasn't the right ring,
I had carried the wrong ring, he must have left
it back home in his tobacco pouch, with his keys,
oops, I wanted to curse him, except, this Gandalf,
came with short trimmed black beard, bright eyes,
curly hair, and air of mischief about him,
and although the lava was roaring around me,
I giggled, I giggled a lot, so I couldn't say no,
the other seven or so in the party consoled me,
blushing, stammering about war, these things happen,
possessed kings, queens, talking dragons,
all things are possible, apologizing,
but, as Gandalf said,
grinning wickedly,
tapping his pipe before dissappearing,
while the smoke from the volcano,
smacked my face repeatedly,
"it is a Good Day, a Good Morning."
I almost pushed Samwise into the lava then,
wouldn't you?
all this build up, fuss, songs, and nonsense,
and I get blue-balled by the
conclusion, I am more dwarf than hobbit,
and a good pushing goes a long way with me,
but I don't,
instead, I give the ring to Gollum,
who sits down next to me and cries,
steam rising red from his cheeks,
until he stops, wide eyed and curious,
and turns to me,
"What else you got in your pocketses?"
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