Wednesday, February 8, 2012

In which I lose my job and get my fingers broken

It is not always that genius goes unrecognised, but neither is this always a good thing. Genius can inspire love and devotion (I certainly see a lot of that every day!) but it can inspire also bitterness and envy, to the detriment of all.

And so it has proved to be.

As some of you may know I've been moonlighting at the Landroval Times. Strictly anonymously, of course, it wouldn't do to have a rock star exposing themselves as a grubby tabloid journalist, but I can't deny that Madame Celestine has found the additional income useful. But I've been outed now, by a short, fat bobbit of small brain and even less talent, motivated clearly by nothing but green envy and despite.

I believe I wrote something that offended her. Imagine that! Me, who never wrote or said anything to offend anyone! It just beggars the imagination!  I am the soul of innocence, the sultan of veracity, the kind and gentle reporter for your Sunday news, and, at all times, Fair and Balanced. Ahem. At least, I was. At any rate, beggared imagination or not, a  lawsuit was initiated against the Landroval Times and myself personally, and a court injunction forced the removal of certain articles from the Landroval Times. Dear oh dear.

But wait. There's more.

Later on that same day, whilst promenading around Bree to be admired by the ladies, I was set on and assaulted by a group of bobbits, led by one, clearly female, wearing red and blue tights, with a large B embroidered on the chest. I have to say, as far as fashion goes, Lady B really does need to lose the tights. I mean, not lose the tights with nothing on underneath, but take off the tights and put on something else to cover her nether regions. (Do this in a private place where nobody can see.) Really. Fashion advice is clearly necessary here, and I am happy to oblige, even when someone is beating on me. If I'm going to be beat up, at least wear something nice, like it's a party or something. Or a special occasion.

Anyway, the assault was vicious and prolonged (I believe I also heard cheering, which seemed to be coming from the Bree Town Guard) and I was left with a number of broken nails, facial bruising, and 7 broken bones in my writing hand.

And thus endeth my career as a world-famous journalist. I believe the Landroval Times is currently advertising for a replacement. Pfft.

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