Dumb dorfs

Well, it has been quite the break for my Fool, who has left me to languish in durance vile, while he gallivants around doing this and doing that, but generally paying me less attention than I deserve. I still have not managed to get out of Mirkwood, despite my best efforts. I mean, I have the horse and all, so what, precisely, is the problem, Mr. Fool? Let me out of this damn place. It's gloomy and I really don't give a rat's turd if I finish all the epic quests here.

There's a word for people like my Fool, and it's not a polite one.

I suppose, to be honest, I have got out a bit, as my Fool has made me run around in the Misty Mountains looking for locations for the next moving picture and trying to shepherd mentally retarded dorfs up hill and down dale. Now that's not a job for the fainthearted, let me tell you. What with Bluebonnett and Carica runnning around like moronic chickens with their heads cut off, and Anarwald humming Shire Country Music fit to burst our eardrums, and assorted wargs and goblins, it's quite the party.

And all we had to do was take a dumb dorf up to Goblin Town, kill it off and resurrect it. You'd think that would be easy, yes? Well, don't be so sure. With a party of mental midgets like BBB everything becomes a mission.

After we finally get right up to Goblin Town, the dumb dorf, Beardbreath or some name like that, decides to die by jumping off a cliff. Right on to a ledge that nobody else can get to, and that nobody can reach to resuscitate the hairy twit. Great thinking, hairball. Great thinking.

So the noble minstrel (that would be me) jumps down to the ledge too, to practise his resurrection skills, only to find that "You are not allowed to revive after an instant death".

Well. Up yours.

I mentioned the next moving picture, too, and that's turning into a major job as well for my poor Fool. Trying to organise a million dumb dorfs to do a battle scene is not a trivial thing, not to mention all the writing needed for the BBB Christmas Special.

I'd almost feel sorry for my poor Fool, if he wasn't such an irritating know-it-all self-righteous pompous prat.