WHOLESOME TALES

Um well yes, I may have spoken in the heat of the moment style thingy, and, um, indeed some things are best swept quietly away under the rug, then buried, in concrete.

Of course, there are some tales about the McTyrants that are worth telling...

THE SAWGUH OF THE GRATUITOUSLY VIOLENT LADY GIANT

Once upon a time there lived a gratuitously violent lady giant of the worse kind. Her name was Kafrianna Allybaingil, but mostly she is just called Kaf nowadays. She was five foot six tall and ate hobbits, especially herring flavoured ones (if only metaphorically), and usually against their wills. As you may have already guessed, she lived in Fjordianlandia. Indeed, in a cave high on Snottyrockzentor Snowmountain, north of Skatykatzenfjord.

Now every Summer, just as the flowers were opening and the herring season was beginning, Kaf would galumph down the rocks into the valley above Skatykatzenfjord and place herself on a rock, clad in a short skirt and a revealing blouse, and with her red hair flowing down all the way to her ankles, and her smile as wide and welcoming as a herd of the finest rhinoceroseses (as goes the old Skattykatzenfjord saying which, I might say, nobody understands, including them). She was gorgeous, but looks, while tantalizing, can be deceiving, for, as I said already, Kaf was a gratuitously violent lady giant - and that doesn't mean comfort.

Now it came to be one year that Kaf was sitting on her rock when a gentle hobbit, by name Frodo McBanks - him being a tourist and unaware of the local horror stories - came mincing up the trail --- Even though he minced, he certainly was no Gayold McTyrant, no, he was a hetersosexual of Biblical proportions, like all McBankses --- Anyhow, up he came, singing a happy song:

"Ooh I do love to mince along the trailways,
How I do love to mince among the flowers,
Ooh what a lovely bunch of coconuts,
Oh see them alll standing in a row..."

Or something like that.

And he was so engrossed in his song, he did not even notice Kaf until he was almost upon her.

"Oh gee willikens, O Lady Giant," he gasped coming quickly to a stop. "I never even saw you until right this moment. I hope you're not the hobbit eating type."

"I might be," says Kaf archly, "and I might not. Would you like to come up Snottyrockzentor Snowmountain with me and be findin' that out? - and shortly..."

"I would indeed," says Frodo, for he was quite partial to buxom giants.

And so off they galumphed, and soon they're up in Kaf's cave, where Frodo soon experienced: red wine, jelly beans, ankle ties, feather dusters, among other useful accoutrements, along with several interesting and exciting activities.

An hour later, he was sent on his way, far wiser and not at all displeased.

When he got back to the village of Skattykatzenfjord, some hobbits, just up from the morning shift at the herringries, stopped him in the street.

"Ooo goodness me gracioused!" they yells. "You've got the look of a hobbit who has been seriously heterosexualised by the gratuitously violent Lady Giant of Snottyrockzentor Snowmountain!"

Their yells brought out all the village people.

Well, Frodo had to say nothing, for the red flush of his face, and the red welts on his bare bottom (he'd forgotten to put his trousers back on) were a clear indication of his guilt. Now, the hobbits of Scattykatzenfjord have never liked that kind of licentious behaviour - as you know, they prefer a different sort - and they rose up in righteous rage and tarred and feathered poor Frodo and sent im packing back to Ozinzaclouds, his small village in the Scottish Hebrides.

But this was not enough for those Fjordianlandian hobbits of Skattykatzenfjord.

"Did this not dissimilar crime happen to Samwise McTyrant?" cries one.

"And Peregrin McEldorion? says another.

"And Meriadoc McChris?" says another.

"And Rosie McAlly?" says yet another.

"And the rest of the Forumshire Macs?" says a naturally inclusive other.

"I'm thinking," says one venerable old poof, "that the gratuitously violent Lady Giant must needs be attended to."

"You mean, Kaf?

"I do indeed!"

A dissenting voice rose then: "But it seems as much a Scotshobbit problem as a Kafrian one."

"True, true," says the rest.

"Then what I think should be done is this," says the dissenting voice, "we must prepare for a gratuitously violent war upon all Scotshobbits."

"That we shall, that we shall!" cries the rest.

But as it happens Ringo Herring (the nineteenth) comes mincing along the way just then, and seeing all the village people prancing angrily about on their shapely legs, he finds out what the go is. And when he finds out what the go is, he says - and wisely I think - "Wouldn't it be easier to just kill Kaf instead?"

All the village people thought about this for awhile - quite awhile, being herringry workers - and at last they said, "That's a more than workable plan, Ringo."

And so they all marched off with their pitch forks and throttling wires, and before you could say "Happy Birthday Petty", the gratuitously violent Lady Giant of Snottyrockzentor Snowmountain was dead.

I guess all is well that ends well..

Ringdrotten wrote:I guess all is well that ends well..

You're too quick, Ringo, I was editing even as you were posting! (It's much better now, I hope).

It's more Odo-ish now (which is good, because I love his humour ). If you don't mind me saying so, however, I'm beginning to suspect that you, judging by the descriptions of women in your tales, have spent quite some time in Skattykatzenfjord yourself

THE SORDID TALE OF YELLOWBEARD THE MARAUDER

Once upon a time there was was a Privateer called Captain Orwell McOdo, who is more famously known (by the very few who have heard of him) as Yellowbeard the Marauder. What I mean by "Privateer" is that he was very interested in having private meetings with Lady Hobbits the World Over.

On his ship, the "Flying Trapeze of Saint Louise" - a three master - he sailed with his crew of Skattykatzenfjordian Fjordianlandians (Norwayans) all over the world. And at every port Yellowbeard would charm the ladies while his crew charmed the gents - it was a perfect arrangement.

Now you may be saying, how could one man be able to please every woman in every port ALL around the world? Well, I'm not saying that at all. Yellowbeard only had meetings with the Cream of the Crop. In those days males did not have to be politically correct or have to make love to unattractive women. And before any of you hairy legged lasses get all uppity, believe me when I say there will always be unattractive males for the unattractive ladies, and lesbians too. Eru made it this way, Bless Him. There is "kind for kind." That's why you have, for example, the McBankses and their opposite, the McTyrants; and, in this case, you have the devilshly handsome Orwell McOdo - though he never sends out photos, some say because he's too gorgeous for Mortal eyes, and we'll leave it at that.

Anyhow, one time, Yellowbeard's crew got homesick for their husbands, and so Yellowbeard set the sails for Skattykatzenfjord.

"We'll drop off the current cargo of Tahitian girls in Daneland on the way," says he, "And for a tasty profit."

The Skattykatzenfjordians cheered and cheered and cheered. They were roundly sick of looking after those dark hair, shapely girls with their girly welcoming smiles and narrow hips, they pined for their menfolk. (How clever Yellowbeard was, for he knew now how hard his Norwayans would work to get home with their husbands plainly in their mind's eyes).

One night, one of the Tahitian girls who Yellowbeard had promoted to his cabin for the night (she had a name, I'm sure, but no one remembers it, as being a girl she was just a token character in the story - you should note, this is an old fashioned Wholesome Tale). The girl said, "Oh extremely handsome sea captain with a roguish eye and such a stiff appendage, Awe of the Ages, how long will it be before we meet those handsome hetersoexuals, Kings of Hobbits, Overlords of the Fjordianlandians?"

"The Danes?"

"Yes, sir."

"It will take us as long as the wind blows us - or something nautical like that. And speaking of nautical matters, slip off that hoolahoop, I'm a bit weary fingered, you must do it yourself tonight."

And gladly did the Nameless Girl do as she was bidden, and had, for her reward, a very special few minutes of Yellowbeard's time - three to be precise.

Now, the casual reader may be asking, where will this tale henceforth be going? And I must confess, I have not the foggiest. This is the trouble when one ad libs. One idea usually follows another, then a witty joke arises (usually involving smut) and then one tries to think of an ending, quite surprising if one can do it, but no ending at all if it comes to that, this being the Wholesome Tales Thread... Oh yes...

For many many nights the ship sailed, and many Nameless Girls had spent a joyous moment with Yellowbeard; and at last the good ship Flying Trapeze of Saint Louise sailed into Daneport. It was one the world's great ports (in those days) and all the lusty old fashioned heterosexuals of Daneland ran out with their purses (manly ones) full of gold and silver. It was a fine day for the sale of Tahitian Virgins and Yellowbeard made a huge profit. (He forgot to tell the Danes that the Tahitians were none of them Virgins anymore, but business is business). (Dear Reader, this story emanates from way back in the Second Age and so the morals were quite different back then. I'm only saying this in case you think I like the way Yellowbeard treated women folk. Of course, I don't, not really, hardly at all. But they were different times, as I said, and I only tell the tale).

Not long after, with the Crew being keen for their soft embraces on the front front, they sailed into Skattykatzenfjord. Yellowbeard stayed on board his fine ship while Skattykatzenfjord partied. He could hear the yells at squeals, and smell the herring oil gaily apportioned and applied.

Three days later, the ship sailed out again, heading for Japan, the Danes having agreed a good price for a hundred Lovely Untouched Geishas. Yellowbeard, as no doubt you will now be aware, was just the hobbit for such a mission!

"and smell the herring oil gaily apportioned and applied." -

How am I going to sleep tonight when I'm reading Wholesome Tales inbetween chapters of Paul's excellent Wobbit?

Ringdrotten wrote:"and smell the herring oil gaily apportioned and applied." -

I thought The Bugle was just putting in some factual stuff to give the fiction some weight? You find it funny? My goodness...

Frannkly I find little Wholesome about your tales Bugle. This sort of thing should be banned forthwith by the Admin.

{{{I was paid by Pure Publications to say that- easy buckie- brillaintly entertaining and engaging as always although increasingly morally dubious! }}}

Frankly, Mr Tyrant, I'm beginnning to wonder about that myself. I suspect there is a deep and profound Morality to found deep beneath the squalor... Spiritual, yes, spiritual... You can't lay a finger on "spiritual" things.... deep spiritual things...

THE SAWGUH OF ODO'S LEAVETAKING

Once upon a time there was a great hero, Odo Banks, whose great deeds in saving the Hobbit Movie Refugees from the devices of the Dark Lord of Dark Planet went unrespected and without adulation. Not only heroic, he was a bastion of faith in Eru Illuvatar, and an upstanding fighter for Decency and Decorum and all things Respectable. But, sadly, as afore-already-hinted, people in Forumshire took him for granted, even calling him cheeky names (like "Orwell" for instance), and one day it got all too much and Odo decided he must leave for a better place, that being New Hobbit Movie Land.

"Don't leave us," weeped the Tin Man, "because without you I wouldn't have a heart."

"And what of me?" said the Cowardly Lion, "without your kind intervention, I would still be shit scared of shadows."

"Me most of all," said the Scarecrow, "You having taught me how to think - and worship Eru - and do what I'm told - in all respectability."

"Well, it's probably too late for that," Odo answered solemnly with his thumbs behind his braces and his face set with determination. "I've met new friends, you see, in New Hobbit Movie Land. It's just the kind of place for me - even if they might not be quite as respectable there as I first thought. Nonetheless, they seem good folk, readymade for Conversion to all things Illuvataran."

"But what of me," weeped Dorothy. "You taught me so much about being a young and buxom and obedient house keeper, loyal and respecting and worshipping of your body."

Seeing her on the doorstep in her lovely blue dress with frilly bodice, and actually older than she was dressed up to seem, Odo's heart was touched. "Alright, Dorothy - for you I'll stay, but that shaggy little dog of yours has to go. Toto! What kind of a name is that for a self respectin' doggie?"

And so Odo didn't leave in the end. But he might yet. That's if other Forumshirers don't learn what proper Respect and Respectability entails. And this is not because Odo - by another name - has new friends he might desert to. It's because Respectability has it's natural limits and toleration can only be tested for so long.

Bless Eru.

Gawd, Odo's easily persuadable isn't he?

Well, I admit, they do seem very nice over there - nd feisty. Not like we drab lot... Please stay, Odo, you know I, at least, respect you! (Though not in a sycophantic way).

I've always admired and revere you, Odo. You're so unaffected and the least ego-driven Hobbit I've ever met.

un nut attall smullee lik zoze Mektirants!

And you're the handsomest, wisest and respectablist hobbit uncle a girl might ever have.

Yes... yes... do stop, I'm blushing now.. and it's not really "proper" in a hobbit of my age and solemnity! But never fear, while at least some here pay me proper regard, I'll stay... Though I plan to keep visiting Bree. They may too be in need of my veritable wisdom. Luckily, I'm big enough and generous enough to spread myself around. (I must say, certain "others" here aren't jumping in to beg me to stay. The self-centred ego-maniacs - all of them! )

If I can't find another wee bottle,
There's a daughter I might throttle,
It's nigh an hour after bedtime after all!

Well, she puts me on my mettle -
I better go and find the kettle,
A cup of tea? but wine no more?

Yes, I better get off the liquor,
- Booze has always been a tricker,
Transforming this former Angel into a wreck.

And I've got all those Science lessons,
- Oh why do I have these drinking sessions?
Booze solves nothing --- but what the heck!

Squachie! Get to bed you little vixen,
Or you'll soon hear your Mother bitchin'
Screeching like a banshee in a tower!

Late! I say! It's far too late up sitting,
Oh! Enough of your pussies, pigs and kittens!
You've been up too late already
- almost a f*&^%$n' hour!

Now, you know I love you dearly -
If somewhat violently and queerly -
But a Mother can only bear so much.

Turn off that wretched damned computee,
Or I might just have to fiercely transmute ye,
into a bloody pulp, care of The Spoon's touch!


"Lullaby for my Babie."
by Kafria

I am receiving mixed messages I think, Kafria! Well, I definitely respect your views on a proper use of wooden spoons upon the person of juvernile delinquents (staying up after 6.00pm! And clearly refusing to go to bed when told, my goodness me, what's Forumshire coming to! ), but all that wine, Kafria? I mean - surely you must fight that horrid disease. I like a dram myself, but there is a time and place for it, and not every time and every place is the time and place for it. I dread to think what the men in your village think of you.

{{{And also something else: that avatar of yours, Kafria, I mean, I assume it was taken in a drunken moment of gay abandon, but to put it out for all to see, including that little miscreant of yours - Squatch that is - well, REALLY? You know me, I do not usually judge people, but others might very well be doing so even as I speak, in spite of their reticence to speak "morally"...the cowards... Anyway, I'm thinking of your best interests, as usual! )

{{{Oh Odo, I do thank you for your care and brave honesty, but you know how it is, I'm just a woman. I need a strong male in my life - someone like Orwell, 'cept he is taken, I think, lucky woman - she must live in bliss! I have had the Petty type in my life before - all sporan and no gentleness - but I've never had truly moral male influence; not a strong, intelligent, caring, disciplinarian Male influence, I mean. I guess I get by, but Squach is such a hand full... Please keep this encrypted message to yourself. I know you will, as you are such a gentleman.... Ooh I must have just one more little sip... The photgraph, by the way, was taken some years ago. It reminds of a more carefree time in my life... You must allow me a dash of "rebelliousness" surely - a hint of misspent youth...}}}

{{{I certainly CANNOT, Kafria. Yes, we might all regret things we did when we were young, but we certainly MUST NOT bring them out to show just anyone... If you have trouble working out what is or isn't appropriate, send me any similar photographs and I will scrutinize them carefully. I have a trained eye for what is vulgar and what is proper. Best send me all your inappropriate photographs... so I can destroy them... That'd be best, I think. Don't try to destroy them yourself... in case you accidentally don't destroy them... I'm an expert on destroying vulgar photographs.... the more lurid they are the better I destroy them. Here to help!}}}

{{{I'm not sure that would be wise. No, I'll deal with them ... when Squach is asleep...}}}

THE ULITIMATE SAWGUH OF THE COAL SCUTTLE - AN ULTRA MODERN TALE

Once upon a time, within the last eight hours or so, there lived a brave and intrepid Ozhobbit by name Odo Banks. Now Odo was a worthy of Needlehole where he ran a Thatching Business that employed a large crew of well paid and fairly treated hobbits of the lower orders. Odo lived in the largest and most splendiferous hobbit hole in that region of the North Farthing - some said it's superstructure was built of coal, and that it's walls and ceilings were lined with expensive plaster from Far Harad, and that it's a roof was thatched with reeds from Rushock Bog dipped in gold. This, of course, was just a local story, and one that Odo did not advertise too widely, threatening folk with Lawsuits if they did more than mutter it below their breaths.

Now there was another story that circulated - and indeed one which the Banks family had been trying to kill since time out of mind - and that was that the Family Coal Scuttle was magical. Now it's true that the Banks owned a certain kind of magic, the kind which gave them the ability to sneak about unseen, hiding in bushes without a'rustling, opening doors at night without a'squeaking, and becoming extremely wealthy on the black market selling coal to Gondor which they worked hard to delve from a secret mine, apparently.

As to the Coal Scuttle, the McTyrants of Scotshobbiton in the Northermost Farthing of the United Realm of Forumshire, had given it to the McBankses (this was Odo Banks' parternal line). The story is that the McBankses of Scotshobbiton, Lairds and Mayors of that borough, had coaxed the McTyrants down from the trees in those far off days and learnéd them in all manner of basic hobbity customs. The Head of that Clan, Petty Tyrant the 1st, was so beholden to the good graces of Odo the 1st for elevating them one step above the primates that he wanted to give his Overlord and Beloved Master a gift. The McTyrants had no worldly goods, of course, for they got payment in porridge and buckie and were satisfied. But they did have an old and rusty, perfectly non-magical coal scuttle that Odo the 1st had given them to carry their shame around in.

"Ooh de toddly woodle, cunna given you-anne cool scootle?" Petty the 1st dribbled one day when he saw his Overlord in the street.

Odo smiled quietly to himself, as well he might, and can you blame him? Though he was too tactful to smile out loud and thus embarrass the subservient little proto-hobbit bounding around on all fours before him.

"Well, Petty," Odo the 1st said kindly, patting the Scotshobbit's tangled mane. "I thankee for your kind gift and will remember ye kindly for the longest of times cause of it." (Odo's poodle, Wee Campbell, who Odo was just then going a'walkees with, growled in jealousy, but Odo quickly - and secretly - patted his bonny head, letting him know which semi-wild beast he preferred. That was a common trait among the McBankses and Bankses, a paternal love of those lower on the evolutionary scale. It goes without saying that Wee Campbell was appeased by his Master's kind hand).

So that is how the completely non-magical coal scuttle came into the ownership of the McBankses, and then on to to the Bankses via the paternal line.

Now one day, as I said earlier, about eight and half hours ago by now, Odo Banks slipped out of his comfortable hobbit hole, leaving his dutiful wives, Primmy and Bella to their needlecraft, and the exchange student Helga Bigbosoms scrubbing pots happily in the kitchen, and Roberta Shortadress in the main bedroom polishing his brass bedsteads, and Wanda Amplebottom white washing the cellar walls where a mysterious black structural material was beginning to show through.

Odo was on a dangerous mission. For only about eight hours before that - though time is hard to measure in Forumshire - a horrid burglar who left girly footprints had slipped into his bedroom and stolen the coal scuttle from under his bed. Odo , of course, had been absolutely horrified, but his horror had turned swiftly to rage (which is on the public record). There is a saying in Forumshire and that is that 'News travels fast in Forumshire" and Odo learned that a certain Petty Tyrant 101 had come into possession of the coal scuttle, and it had been delivered him by the hand of a hateful, spiteful, often un-bathed little wretch, by name Squatch (not to be confused with 'Squach' - a lovely girl if ever I met one). Yes, the little miss, little more'n a Babe in her Mother's eyes, had stolen the thing!

Anyhow, the most wretched teenager in History had given it to the Great Drunk of Scotshobbiton - who knows why? But the Hobbiton Shiriffs Office are on to it. (A little hobbit girl might expect a knock on the door and Sergeant Mirabella bearing a Warrant for her arrest at ANY time!)

Anyhow, as I said, Odo set out to meet Petty (that's Petty Tyrant 101) at the Duck and Muck, a disreputable hostelry on Ambush Moor. Odo had made contact with the Tyrants and the Tyrants had agreed to meet him there, to openly discuss, in fair and reasonable discourse, the ownership of the scuttle. Little did Odo know (and, yes, there are already contrary accounts of this sawguh) but Petty Tyrant had collected half of his Clan to ambush poor Odo (who is also known as Odo The Honorable, btw). Odo was walking into a trap!

Odo tactfully crept up to a great big buckie-berry bush outside the Duck and Muck, clad in warm clothing, a cape and a scarf to keep out the cold - it being a chill midsummer night under the Evenstar. There he watched the comings and goings of certain Forumshire folk. (He saw one of the local worthies, Orwell by name, thrown viciously into the mud by an Amazon of a lady hobbit, but as Odo wished to retain the sanctity of his own mission, he could not go to his rescue, even when other Forumshire folk gathered and started pelting poor Orwell with stones, and cowpats, and sticks. A small part of Odo's mind figured he deserved it anyhow. And it was quite entertaining to watch while waiting for Petty to arrive).

The night grew longer and darker, and at last most of the drunken louts of Forumshire slunk off to their beds. Then Odo saw Petty arrive up the side of the hill. Odo walked out into the open immediately, in full view, talking greetings loudly, so as not to be sneaky in any way (irrespectuive of other versions of this sawguh).

"Good evening to you, my good fellow," said Odo in open hearted warmness. "I see you're here to return the perfectly useless non-magical coal scuttle your ancient ancestor gave to mine." And Odo gave the fellow a huge welcoming, honest, genuine, and not at all fake smile, good hobbit that he was.

But Petty scowled immediately. "Un whataya menin by tha' 'gooden evennin', Laddie?" His tone was pregnant was suspicion.

"I only meant 'hello'."

"Ooh, orright then, tha noo."

An uneasy silence fell then.

And then...

Look you'll probably find this hard to believe, but suddenly, half of Petty's Clan apppeared as if out of nowhere, and even though there are no witnesses that support Odo's version, they all fell upon Odo, giving him such buffets with sticks and flagons that any less a hobbit than Odo might have gone under, and for the nonce our trusty friend was indeed knocked to the ground, even that stout fellow.

Petty stood over his prone form. "Huh! Take that, you Banksie boy - tootle and goot me up in mee sisters knickerstraps!"

"What's this," Odo said, "Why treat a respectable and honest and unthieflike hobbit in such manner? I only came here, wrapped concealingly - because of the cold - to parley in a fair and even handed manner with you. And now you're here with half your clan to attack me!"

"Wot clan?"

"Give us my coal scuttle, you ... you... you son of a McTyrant!"

"You're coal scuttle, laddie?" Petty asked, as he held up the coal scuttle. "I thought you came here to help me unlock the magic spell - and for a hefty fee? You're coal scuttle!!!!"

"Ha! Then you admit it at last," Odo cried and jumped out from behind the bush - (((where he had fallen after the attack!!!))) - and hit Petty with a rock that had somehow (perhaps miraculously) appeared in his hand. And 'thud' Petty was knocked out cold, his last words being something about birds and stars, or something similar. (Admittedly, independant witnesses give a differing account of events, but as they were all drunk at the time, their testimony is useless).

Anyhow, Odo ran off down the hill in the direction of Needlehole, while the few (and untrustworthy) late night revellers went to Petty's aid. Odo was thankful, at the time, that he was clad in such concealing clothing.

Now, this may seem a garbled account, but Odo assures me that his Legal Counsel said it will be good enough to cause any legal action by Petty Tyrant to fall flat on its face at court. And this has nothing to do with the fact that the Needlehole Magistrate, the Honorable William Bargeguts, is a good friend of the Bankses, and not in his pay in any way.

THE END (Yeah, right!)

The Archet Bugle
'Lesbo Proudfoot.
As reported by Mirabella Banks and verfied by Porgy Bunk-Banks, on advice from Odo Banks, esquire.

THE SAWGUH OF THE GREAT LORD AND LEADER

Once upon a time there was a truly gifted child, his name being Petty Tyrant. Oh how fair he was at birth (but not ever vain!) and his intelligence, even as a babe in his Mother's arms (after his Immaculate Birth, 'tis said!) was stupendous, but held his Wisdom Close and Meekly, for he wasn't vain at all (as indeed it is already known he wasn't, and we never thought he was, and not because anyone is frightened, but because Lord Great Petty is Benevolent and never Violent and people will never disappear, just go to Forochel, a beautiful place -set asside for Purification - and that can't be bad, no - but only if it's needed).

One day - when Blesséd Petty, Great Lord, was walking along the road from Bywater to Needlehole, he saw a poor pathetic joyfully subservient creature by name Odo Banks. He was whipping his workers who were indolent and lazy and unrespectable in manifold ways.

"My son, Odo," sayeth Lord Great Almighty Hobbit, Petty the Just, "Why do you whip your servants in such a thorough fashion?"

"Oh Lord, they are lazy, and one of them said that she thought Eldo the Depraved (and Deposed) was quite a nice lad."

"Well, is it that the Lady with a bare back and fantastic dragon tattoo showing through her whip-ripped bodice and potato-sack shirt?"

"Yes, indeed, oh Fantastic Manifestation of All Things Hobbity!"

"Ha! I find that woman difficult in many ways. Make her work twice as hard - and cut back on her rations, but without too much severity, just enough. It will do her the World of Good. As to those Science books - burn then at 458 farenheit - and immediately."

"I will do so at the run!" Odo said Respectfully and Enthusiastically.

"Oh, Odo Banks," Wonderful Flamboyant God-Hobbit Petty said, "You were always a Loyal Servant of Propriety in all it's Forms. Didn't I say the same thing to Janesmith in all her naked raimant only last night over wine?"

"Err... I don't really know if.... err.."

"Ha! But do YOU love me, Odo Banks?"

"Yes indeed! For haven't we Bankses always - undeneath - Loved all Tyrants and McTyrants --" and Odo's voice fell to a whisper ---- "we just couldn't let the Underclass - the Belovedc Underclass, of course! - know that."

"Mmm...." mused Petty Tyrant the Handsome and Gorgeous and Truly Forgiving, "I think we can let that comment pass in the current climate. Now where is my loyal henchman (of Goodness), Orwell?"

"I think he has gone out a'searching for people with troubled minds, My Illustrious Lord..."

"You mean, those Doubting Thomases, Questioning Allys and Wondering Saradocs?"

"Yes, that sort. He's planning their Reception at Forochel, and all..."

"Excellent! Carry on."

"Whipping?"

"Yep."

And the Truly Amazing Hobbit of the World, Lord Sweethearted Petty Tyrant the Magnificent went on his way.

And Odo was glad, very Glad indeed, for he loved whipping folk for their own good.

And Forumshire was at Peace.

The Lord Petty made it so.

Thanks be to Eru!

And Thanks Be to Eru's Only True Topmost-Servant, and Pope, Petty Tyrant the Blesséd.

Lesbo Proudfoot,
Handmaiden in Chief
The Archet Bugle
Lore Tower