Monday, October 31, 2011

The Monster Mash

Yet another sold-out performance by the famous BBB, starring the humble Aegthil. And didn't we all look just gorgeous in our colourful suits? (The correct answer is, Yes.) Organised by the elegant and beautiful Gingerale, a succession of inferior bands played some inferior music (to set the stage) and then, to rapturous applause, out we came.

The cheering was deafening. Flowers were thrown in profusion, or would have been if there had been any flowers to throw. I was greatly admired in my New Black suit. The ladies swooned. The gentlemen ground their teeth in jealousy. My false beard rather spoiled the overall look, but that's expected at parties like this.

Fortunately people danced, so we didn't have to chop Gourgini into pieces and mail him out. Just as well. The chopping would have been a dirty and smelly job, and the bobbits are sure to have complained about having to do it.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

A conversation between the Fool and his son

Son (playing WoW):  Hey, Dad, this guy just said "Thank you" to me.

Father: Well, that's not the WoW we have all come to know and love. Clearly WoW is gradually morphing into a LOTRO-esque parody, and very soon you'll have all kinds of people running around saying please and thank you and talking in real English instead of this pathetic and irritating teen speak, and then before you know it you'll be playing a hobbit and actually doing something creative like playing music instead of just indulging youself by beating the faces of other players into the ground. It's the thin end of the wedge! Beware! You are treading on the dangerous borders of adult maturity! Get out now while you still can!

Son: Relax Dad. I was messing with you. It was a quest giver.

(Short pause)

Son: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Aegthil's Guide to Poverty, Chastity and Humility

As you will all know, my recent epiphany (see previous diary entry) has had a significant effect on my life, and is already garnering an enormous amount of favourable attention.

For example, my new Rose Robe has been widely admired, and even I have come to doubt my previous faith in the power of Black. Once you become a sensitive and deeply caring person (as I now am), and walk around town in a lovely Rose Robe, your eyes are opened to all the petty selfishness that tends to be associated with Black. You see posturing minstrels, preening rogues, self-satisfied warriors, ugly ladies, all dressed to the nines in various incarnations of Black, and all looking just the same.

By trying to stand out from the crowd, they merely make the crowd. The irony is exquisite.

Of course, I was never like them, even in the bad old days, but still. Improvement is never wasted.

However, to get back to the point of this diary entry, I have discovered that I am equally as good at carrying out my vows of Poverty, Chastity and Humility, as I was previously at everything else. And so, as I am now a sensitive and caring person, I want to share my expertise, share my knowledge, and help all my readers along the path to personal enlightenment.

Why take such vows?

If you have to ask this question, you obviously need to take the vows. The answer is so obvious than even a moron like yourself should understand.

If you don't like that answer, well, not my problem.


This vow is relatively simple. Poverty means giving all your stuff to band members, leaving nothing at all for yourself, no matter how uncomfortable this makes you, or no matter how much you actually need that stuff yourself to keep yourself warm, or fed, or comfortable, or safe, or out of trouble, or happy, or fulfilled, or occupied, or mentally stable.

I'm not complaining, oh no. I'm very happy to give all my ingots to the nasty piper man, and all my wood logs to Blue, and all my everything else to that disgusting little shortie, Carica, and receiving nothing at all in return. 

I'm very happy to do this because it earns me points for my vows which is an important personal milestone.

Poverty also means having no money, which means that when you need stuff you have to ask band members to get it for you, like fancy swords and things, but this is only right and just. After all, they are your fellow band mates and it should be their goal to help you out in a challenging time. Or any time at all, actually. This makes them feel good, so you get a double benefit.


Tricky, but doable, depending on your strict definition of chastity. Strictly speaking, chastity does not include Madame Celestine's Establishment for Young Ladies, as that is a charitable establishment with tax-exempt status, which makes it ineligible to participate in vow-making.

This certainly helps the cause.

But trouble can occur in other ways also, from the crowds of adoring ladies always present to cheer me on and support me in any way necessary. However, I have found a fool-proof way to resist this ever-present temptation. The solution is as follows:
  • In all public appearances, try and stand close to some person playing the bagpipes.
  • This has a dual effect. Firstly, it makes you look super clever, and super handsome.
  • Secondly, the noise emanating from the bagpipes induces nausea in all people within hearing distance, and this decreases other animal urges.
  • Thirdly, the smell emanating from the bagpipe player is equally nauseating, and equally discouraging to the amatory arts.
Follow these rules, and you won't go wrong. I haven't gone wrong yet, or at least not very often and only in minor, unimportant ways.


This is probably the easiest of the three. I have found myself to be equally good at being humble as I am at everything else. There's really not much to it. Here are a few simple lines to learn, that can help you out:
  • Hullo Ladies, I'm the humble Aegthil!
  • Hey gorgeous, do you find humility sexy? You should! I'm as humble as they come!
  • Yo, dickface, if I wasn't so bloody humble I'd bop you on the nose for being such a bloody moron. Not to mention a total incompetent who's not even qualified to wipe his own arse.
  • Hey, everybody. We are the famous BBB and I am the humble Aegthil! Listen and admire, peoples, listen and admire.
With regular and repeated use of these, and other similar, lines, you will find that humility comes as naturally as breathing. It's really no big deal.

And that brings to an end this installment of Aegthil's Guides. Thank you all for reading, and I know you'll find my ideas incredibly useful. 

Don't worry, you're in good company!  Everybody loves my guides.

Saturday, October 22, 2011


I have had time, these last few days, much time on my hands. And in this time, the Muse has visited. I have seen the light. I now realise the folly of my old ways, I have looked deep within myself and found only foulness and vanity.

I have meditated upon this, in many ways, and many places. And my reflection has led me unto the path of self-improvement, chastity and humility.

Henceforth, I shall be a changed Aegthil. I shall be a better Aegthil.

Rose is the new Black.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Bridge concert for Baby Bobbits

Once again the famous BBB, with me, the famous Aegthil, was asked to entertain the masses at a concert. Ah me, the life of a rock star. You just get no rest at all.

I know it sounds as if it is super glamorous, with lovely ladies hanging off your arm, Beorlich weed and other such supplies, crowds cheering your every move, fan mail, screaming women, money and presents, fame and fortune. You are the fashion and style icon, everybody follows your every move, you are the centre of attention at all times, and you are, in point of fact, the schizz. Totally the schizz. Like.

Yes, it sounds that way, and it is that way. Exactly like that. (For me, anyway, not for Beor.)

But spare a thought for all the energy this uses up! Have pity on the poor rock star who is feeling a little tired, a little peaky, and yet has to go out anyway to accept the praises, the adulation, the screaming women. Do I ever get a rest, I ask myself. When do I get time for ME, instead of devoting all my time and energy to women who adore me?

I tell you. It's not all it's cracked up to be, this rock star business. But needs must, and I shall soldier on.

And then you make one little remark, one itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka dot bikini little remark, and the broadsheets are all over it, it's the gossip of the town, it's on every front page and in every conversation. So you get fired from Old Winyards for something that was totally not your fault. Is it my fault that Lenni looks fat in that dress? No. Is it my fault that I felt obliged to say something, just a very little something, entirely truthfully and only in the spirit of trying to help her? No! Of course it isn't. It is my way to help people. It's who I am. It's just me. I'm a noble soul.

It was such an over-reaction to fire me from the band. So totally an over-reaction.

Anyway, this minor point aside, here's a picture of BBB playing on the Very Last Ever Bridge (even though there are plenty more bridges after it, so it's a really stupid name) for some bobbit thing. Goodness knows what, but something to do with baby bobbits. I think there just aren't enough baby bobbits because bobbit women are just so unattractive, and so this was a concert to encourage more baby bobbit making. I think so, but I'm not sure. I really don't want to see the illustrated instructions for that one. Nope. No way.

Some bobbit lady (that's her out in front of the band) gave a long and boring speech about baby bobbits  and something was mentioned about Casually Strolling to Mordor yet again (another stupid name, for obvious reasons), BBB played, the crowd cheered, and then some losers from the Lonely Mountain Band played some horrible music by the lovely lady Gingerale (well, that's not what my Fool said, he said it was very impressive composition, but that's why we call him a Fool, because he is one, and he doesn't know anything). I wasn't allowed to play with the LMB losers (mostly) because of that unfortunate remark about Lenni. Boy, she sure can hold a grudge!

Then everybody walked to see some trolls.  I have no idea why. But I walked behind Wrenaya, which you must admit is a very nice view indeed, so that was worth it.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Of matters foolish and sublime

My lovely black robe was stolen the other day. I left it sitting around in the Dancing Goat while I went to scrub my armpits and when I got back... well, there was a robe there, but it wasn't mine. Some nasty bugger had stolen my nice Robe of Visalius (or whatever it was called) and left in its place some pathetic POS semi-black Robe of Uncool Dorkiness.

Personally, I suspect the barber.

No way was I going to wear a Robe of Uncool Dorkiness, so I blackmailed the Beard into helping me obtain another quite nice black robe. Not as nice as my original one, but you just can't get decent black clothes nowadays. They seem always to come with some other nasty colour like blue or red or green. I mean, how can a rock star be cool if he has to wear partially black clothes with blue trimmings? Right, I agree. It just so totally doesn't work.

But wait! There's more. I point the gentle reader to the picture on the left, which demonstrates, in a way that will put a shiver down your spine, the perils of hair tonic abuse.

Just say no, Boys and Girls, just say no.

Once normality was restored (relatively speaking, of course. It's BBB we're talking about) we went on A Road Trip. Now, my Fool has learned from his children that this is something you do to be cool. Doesn't really matter where you go as long as you can tell everyone you are going on A Road Trip.

Well, since I set the Bree Cool Standard, it was time to act. Heigh Ho, Heigh ho, it's off to Isengard we go, la la la. We loaded up our horses with ale, pipeweed and tater crisps, turned the music up really really loud (as all good music is), and toddled off.

And doesn't it look pretty! By the way, in case you weren't sure, the white rider on the left of the picture is facing away from the viewer, and that is actually the horse's arse, not Beor's face.

Just saying.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Beard gets lucky. Or something.

Honestly, it's outrageous what some women think. Or at least what they say, which cannot possibly be what they think. Can it? Surely not.

So we, as in BBB, were practising our moves in Bree last night, and this Cute Little Number (CLN) approaches on her horse.

Think I to myself, Ooo, here's a CLN approaching, time to look my best. So I put on my very best smile, do my very best bow and say in my politest and nicest voice, Hey Gorgeous, I'm the famous Aegthil.

Now, you have to admit this is a great pickup line. It has never failed me yet at Madame Celestine's. Not once. Every time a coconut, baby. I walk in, say that line, and Bam. Immediate success.

But not this time. CLN takes one look at me, one look at Beor, and promptly turns into the CLNFM, which is the CLN From Mordor. I tell you, it was nasty.

Oooo, says the CLNFM, what big muscles you have!

All the better to squeeze you with, says Beor. Everybody else winces.

Ooooo, says the CLNFM, what a big beard you have!

All the better to tickle between your thighs, says Beor. Everybody else vomits.

Oooo, says the CLNFM, what a broad and sexy chest you have!

All the better to press against your surgically-enhanced assets, says Beor, can I buy you some chocolates? By now, Bree was knee deep in regurgitation.

Oooo, says the CLNFM, yes please. So off they go, cool as you please, leaving the rest of us gasping in shock. I mean, Beor didn't even follow the 5-step process. In the 5-step process buying chocolates is step 3, and Beor totally omitted to do step 2 first, which is the arse squeezing.

And when I offered to do step 2 on his behalf, the CLNFM threatened to make me, and I quote, "shit my teeth".

How vulgar is that? Threatening physical violence, and offering foul and abusive language, to a gentleman of refinement such as myself. Unbelievable! Inconceivable! And what's worse, it was all witnessed by the lovely Luceedribbles, one of the very best of the Lonely Mountain Band. What will she think of me now?

I had to leave the scene precipitously, as my delicate sensibilities just couldn't cope with such vulgarity.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Aegthil's guide to Epic quests: Volume 1.

Now that I have managed to complete every single last one of Volume 1 of the Epic quests, I am finally in a position to share my extensive knowledge about this quest series. I'm nice that way. I like to spread the love.

What are Epic Quests?

Epic quests are special quests that were designed by Sauron, with the specific goal of causing mental instability and illness among the denizens of Middle Earth. They were gestated in the deepest, darkest pits of Mordor, in the Fires of Mount Doom and the Bowels of the Mountain, and were let loose upon an unsuspecting world approximately 17 years ago.

These quests appear first as a simple quest chain, easy to complete, short and relatively pleasant. However, an insidious transformation soon follows, as the chain morphs into a ravening, lethal monster that eats your brain, leaving you a drooling idiot. I admit that, with some people, it's a little difficult to tell (think BBB here), but a thorough medical examination will soon verify the above statement. (Note: anybody who gives a BBB member, including Geoffroi, a medical examination, is advised to undergo a rigorous personal hygeine improvement procedure, using an industrial-strength, super-concentrate disinfectant with active enzymes.)


The major reason that Epic quests are so lethal is the extremely high level of contagion. It is estimated that the Reproductive Number, R, of the final epic quest in the series is approximately 300, which is a very big number indeed. Much bigger than lots of other numbers like 2 or 68 or 400. The contagion results from the fact that some epic quests give quest rewards like nice cloaks, or nice hats, or handsome shoes, and when other players see these nice hats and shoes they are seduced, in their turn, into attempting the Epic quests. By this method Epic quests can ravage an entire population in less than a week.

Where do Epic Quests start? The initial infection

Epic quests start in villages close to Bree and spread from there into Bree. Initial infections are characterised by the following series of trips:
  • Go to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go to Archet
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Go back to Bree
  • Go back to Combe
  • Tear out your hair and say a rude word
Once a typical person has been infected by this series the prognosis is not good. Studies show that only 32% of people ever manage to recover, even partially, after being infected.

Where do Epic Quests end? The denouement.

Eventually, as the infection develops, you advance from running between Bree and Combe to travelling between Rivendell and Forochel The Living Hell with side trips to other nasty places. For example, a typical sign of advanced infection is:
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to Michael Delving
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to Bree
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to Thorin's Hall
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Go to talk to pointy-eared Elrond
  • Go to Forochel The Living Hell
  • Gouge out your eyeballs with a red-hot needle
Eventually, you get to talk to Narmaleth the Teenager EBQ (see earlier diary entry) and then you can chop her hand off when she really annoys you.

Finally, it all ends, and you get given a goat as a present. Woo. Very exciting. Well, I exaggerate. Not very exciting really. But at least you know that the infection is over, you have passed through the eye of the needle, you have survived the purifying fire, and you are now a better person.


Thursday, October 6, 2011

You don't scare me, Blue

Last night I popped into the Dancing Goat to be seen and admired by my fans who often gather there. The lovely Madaelin was lucky enough to be there, and I know she would have been delighted to see me, as she always is. So I nodded to her, she smiled at me with her heart in her eyes, and kept plinking and plonking away in front of the fire. I thought I'd be kind, give her a thrill, so I sat down to listen.

There was some dorkface called David  sitting in front of her also, but he was super ugly and very poorly dressed. He doesn't have a chance when compared to a talented, handsome, charming and sophisticated person such as myself, and the poor guy just doesn't seem to realise. Ah well, there are some unfortunate people in the world who seem to be totally unable to maintain a realistic view of themselves. No matter the evidence they persist in a delusional belief in their own charm and ability, and nothing you can say can force reality down their throats.

Honestly, you have to feel sorry for people like that.

Anyway, dorkface David wasn't the real problem last night, as there was another ... well, I won't say lady... another female standing by the bar and eyeing me up. Now, this happens a lot, of course. Every day. I get used to it. It's the price you pay for being a major rock star. But this was a little different, a little creepy. She kept on doing this whole weird staring thing, with her googly eyes all poking out, and there was probably drool too.

So eventually I gave up trying to ignore her (she wasn't nearly beautiful enough to tempt me) and nipped on over to see what on earth was going on.

Good evening, lovely lady, I said (you know you have to use this kind of phrase even when she is an ugly toad), I am the famous Aegthil of Gondor. May I have the pleasure of your name?

She kind of glared at me, and there was a long pause. Setata, she said eventually. My name's Setata, but many people call me ..... BLUE!

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Finally, I could see what was going on. (I'm very clever like that.) She'd been sent by Bluebonnett to do me over, to break my kneecaps, to injure me in other creative ways. I'm guessing that Blue was a bit miffed that I spilled the beans about her little muffin incident, not to mention that I won't pay up for her bail, so she sent her sorter to have a wee chat with me. No wonder she'd been looking at me weirdly all night. She'd been deciding which bones to break.

So I took off. I wasn't going to stick around and have my fingers broken. I owe it to my fans to protect myself. I lost Blue's sorter in the corridors of the Dancing Goat, and eventually got out window and made it to the protection of Madame Celestine's.

It was a lucky escape, but I remain undaunted. I will not be scared by Blue and her minions. I will stand proud and tall (at Madame Celestine's) and show the world how a courageous minstrel deals with intimidation.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Bluebonnett's in jail

I regret to inform all my avid fans... well, actually, let me rephrase. I don't at all regret to inform my avid fans - in fact, I take enormous pleasure in informing my avid fans - that Bluebonnett Merrydo, the wanna-be rock star who isn't nearly as important as she thinks she is, was discovered by the Bree Town Guard in flagrante delicto with a muffin.

She was promptly hauled off to the Bree jail, where she remains. And good riddance too, I say. I'm not paying her bail, that's for sure.

That's why she's been absent from the last couple of BBB performances, which have therefore been models of gentility, decorum, and appropriate behaviour. Well, there may have been a little slip with Rosaliiee, but nothing to get excited about, and anyway, her psyche is probably not permanently injured. The rather dull little Blingamerrydo (I think she is Bluebonnett's grand-daughter or something; there is certainly a strong family resemblance) has taken Bluebonnett's place in BBB and will be performing with us other rock stars on a regular basis. She, at least, behaves in a relatively respectful and appropriate manner. Mostly.

I wish I could say the same for Harparzilla, another new arrival. She's a rather scary sort of character, to be honest, with a wickedly sharp (and inaccurate) turn of phrase. I shall have to consider ways she can be sabotaged. I know she's pretty keen on sailors, so that might be a possibility. They often spread nasty diseases. I'll have a wee chat to Madame Celestine to see what can be arranged.

Carica has become quite a regular and clearly is a huge admirer of me. As is often the case, she tries ineffectively to hide her admiration behind a superficial facade of rudeness and inaccurate comments. I see past such things to the underlying depths. I'm good that way. Yet another thing I'm very good at.

And the not-very-famous Geoffroi joined BBB also, for a couple of weeks.  Apparently he's from Gondor. Never heard of him.

But the most exciting thing to happen in weeks and weeks was the reappearance of the lovely Wrenaya, dressed to the nines and fit to kill in a lovely dress that was.... er... maybe green? It could have been blue. Or red perhaps. Whatever. Anyway, it was very nice indeed and she looked smashing! She even spoke to me! My Fool thinks that maybe she thought I was somebody else.

Which is why he is a Fool.  I have complete faith in the attractive power of baldness.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Narmeleth is not possessed

I haven't been allowed out all that much recently as my Fool has been working on the video for Harperella's Grace (and working for Bluebonnett, unpaid), but when I was allowed a short break from Madame Celestine's I was forced to travel all the way up to that place of living hell. Forochel.

Forochel, the Living Hell. It even rhymes. I detect the workings of fate.

Why was I sent up there, I hear you ask. Well, not for any good reason, let me tell you. Something to do with an epic quest. I'm not sure exactly what is meant by an epic quest, but I'm guessing it means a pain-in-the-bloody-arse quest that sends you hither and yon, again and again, taking a message from Elrond to some guy, and then taking a message back, and then taking a message to the horse master, and then collecing pieces of junk from every single bloody city in the entire world, and then taking another message to Elrond, and then going back to the first guy who sends you all the way to Forochel the Living Hell..... you get the picture. Pain in the arse. Why can't Elrond deliver his own bloody messages and do his own shopping? Lazy bugger.  I'm the famous Aegthil of Gondor and I should be treated with a bit more bloody RESPECT!

Take a deep breath. Let me have a zen moment....

That's better. Anway, it seems some ranger person, Laerden, or some such name, had this daughter called Narmeleth. She was a sweet wee thing, very pretty, very cute, lots of fun to have around the house, except that every so often she would turn into the Evil Bitch Queen (EBQ) and start stamping around the place, screaming and yelling things like You Can't Force Me to Tidy My Room, You Effing Bastard, or maybe Eff You, You Effing Bastard, I Effing Hate You, and I Effing Hate Effing Mum Too so Eff Both of You.

Well, Mr. Laerden, let me tell you something. This isn't possession by an evil force out of Mordor. Cute wee Narmeleth is not magically controlled by the EBQ Amarthelitha, or whatever her name is. It's nothing like that. Nope.

Narmeleth is merely a teenager, and acting in a perfectly normal age-appropriate manner. She is struggling with all kinds of personal life issues, but most particularly with the unpleasant realisation that her family is not actually there entirely for her benefit, and to act as servants whenever required to do so. This comes as a nasty shock to girls of Narmeleth's age and they understandably have trouble adjusting.

This sort of behaviour is easily interpreted as possession by the EBQ. Scientific studies have shown that 78.4% of parents believe, even if only subconsciously, that their darling child is the unwilling victim of possession by an EBQ from Mordor. But this is not the case.

There is only one remedy. You must have patience, Mr. Laerden, you must have patience, and treat the EBQ at all time with courtesy and respect. For example,  when your EBQ-possessed daughter calls you an Effing Bastard, you must reply with calm dignity, Well Eff You Too, You EBQ, You're Not The Only Effing Bastard Who Can Lose Their Effing Temper, and then you can throw her out of the house.

A restrained response like this is very effective, and will teach your EBQ daughter the importance of a mature and responsible attitude to life's little problems.

The one thing you absolutely do NOT want to do, is send me up to Forochel the Living Hell to drag her back. Quite frankly, I don't give a damn about your EBQ daughter, and it's just too bloody cold up here.