The BEST dressed

It was the LMB Yulemas party, and I turned up, dressed to kill, and looking so totally sharp. Totally. I was heading for that big prize, the one everybody wants to get, the one I'll be telling my grandchildren about in years to come.

I was going to be The Best Dressed.

Oh yeah.

Well, there was a minor matter of the voting, but really, it was a foregone conclusion. I really don't know why anybody else even entered, to be honest. I didn't want to make them all look too bad, so I left the stage at first, and withdrew from the contest (don't worry, I had a plan!), but then, as I knew would happen, my many fans flocked around me. They wouldn't be denied. They jumped, they yelled, they capered. Some of them smelled (that was Beor). They pushed, they pulled, they made a scene.

And in the end, there was little old me, forced to get back up on stage, accept the plaudits, and accept the prize. I knew it. I just knew it. I am The Best Dressed.

Rose is the fashion icon for a brave new age, and I am the man to show the way.

In more minor matters, my Fool wrote a pathetic piece of music for Theromin (his Secret Santa) and BBB was forced to play it, despite all their whining and moaning. Honestly, you'd think they were having their ears poked out with red-hot pokers, the way they carry on. It's pathetic. What a sad bunch.

And talking about a sad bunch, it doesn't get much worse than the Lonely Mountain Band. How can they hold their heads up now? How can any LMB member look straight ahead, and say with a dry eye "I am in the Lonely Mountain Band, and Beorbrand, Carica, Bluebonnett, Geoffroi and Anarwald are my officers"?

How can they do this? They can't, I tell you, they can't. It is shameful. It is outrageous. It is.... it is.....AAAAAHHHH! I am lost for words. I am appalled. Totally and completely appalled. If I had to say this I'd wet my pants.

It seems that almost every member of BBB is being inducted into the LMB Hall of Shame. Fortunately, some of us maintain our principles and will not be tempted into wickedness and sin. I name no names, of course, but SOME of us have honour. SOME of us have loyalty and morality, gentility and ethics.

I am flying the solo flag of honour, and its colour is Rose.

The Ballad of Khizli

... is finally completed and can be viewed here. My Fool is glad to be done with it. It took him a long time, what with the organising of this and that and other things, and then he messed up the actual filming and didn't take some important shots, and so had to make do with others. It was all a bit of a shambles. Khizli himself never turned up for any of the shoots, which made it all a little tricky to film a ballad about him, but hey, nobody will ever know, and if they do know they'll be too polite to say so, and if they're not too polite to say so I'll tell them to sit on a spike. So there.

There was a particularly handsome Highland Piper at the beginning. Very handsome indeed, and very...well...Highlandish. Oh yeah. (Hint: it's the one on the left.)

My Fool says that BBB members were an enormous help, especially Beorbrand the nasty piper, but like I'm going to believe that? How on earth could a brain-dead piper, with the mating habits of a goat, help with an intellectual activity like this? 

He can't of course, so we'll hear no more nonsense about "thank you" for this and "thank you" for that. Pfft.

In other news, there is a vicious rumour going the rounds that I have spent time in the Bree stocks, as a result of certain illicit activities involving the Daughters of Numenor. 

This is totally untrue. This story is a complete fabrication from beginning to end and contains absolutely no validity whatsoever. My activities with the Daughters were not illicit at all, but entirely consensual, and conducted in a (mostly) private setting. There was really no need at all for the Bree Watch to become involved. No need at all. 

It is disappointing that small-minded persons will seize so gleefully on any opportunity, no matter how small, to tear down genius. 

It is envy. Pure and simple.

Dear Aunty Aegthil

Dear Aunty Aegthil,

Last night when I was in the Dancing Goat I saw an incredibly handsome man sitting at one of the tables, "quietly sipping gently on his delicious frothy ale which he held in his bare right hand that was covered in attractive fine golden hair, all the while smiling mysteriously yet invitingly at the buxom wenches perambulating in front of his dark, probing eyes". When he smiled at me I felt tingly all the way down to my toes, and I knew, right then, that he was the one.

However, when I approached him, I discovered that he was not what he seemed. He told me that he was the illegitimate vampire son of Gandalf the Wizard, who had been lost from birth when his mother, the Queen of the Cave Trolls, had died in the heroic defense of Dol Guldur against the forces of incredible evil, led by the henchman of Sauron, the lost 7th king of Numenor, who also happened to be her brother, and thus his uncle.

My heart is torn in two. I know that he must be an evil and bad man, but, despite his chequered history, I feel that he is rather misunderstood than otherwise, and I want to make it my life's goal to help this poor man to a better and deeper personal understanding, and to reconcile him with the world.

And I want to get his pants off.

Oh, Aunty Aegthil, what is the best way for me to do this? Should I join him at his table, and delicately partake of his frothing ale, while emoting a deep and sensitive conversation, or should I just take a more direct route and do the groin grab?

Yours sincerely,

A disturbed young lady, elegantly dressed in a fine silken robe, that tries, but fails, to cover up what is clearly a deeply attractive personal dichotomy, caused by the presence of heroic scars on her slim forearms that she tries unsuccessfuly to cover up, juxtaposed with silken blond hair tied back in a cleverly braided pattern that resembles old dwarven runes that are found only in the dungeons of Mirkwood, carved on the walls in intricate and enigmatic patterns.

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Dear Disturbed Young Lady etc etc,

I suggest the groin grab. A vampire son of Gandalf the Wizard is unlikely to be able to communicate well enough to participate in a deep and sensitive conversation, which really only leaves you one option.

If that doesn't work, may I suggest you keep a close lookout for a handsome bald man in a lovely rose robe. He can offer solace, at very reasonable rates.


Aunty Aegthil

A matter of public morals

There was great excitement in Thorin's Gate last night as the mildly famous Devonna was discovered playing with herself in the snow. My henchbobbits and I (oh, well, yes, there was also a henchdorf) were a little concerned that Devonna would be arrested by a dorf security patrol, as that kind of behaviour is usually not tolerated in public.

So we all toddled over, purely to help her out, to make sure there was no trouble. All this talk of prisoners, ear removal, enforced picture making, is all so much nonsense. You mustn't believe everything you read, and, if you look carefully, you'll see that Devonna still has both her ears - she'll be left only with very very small scars that one would hardly notice.

Fortunately Devonna quickly saw reason and agreed to sign a bond pledging never again to be seen playing with herself in public, at least not where BBB can discover her. She also drew our picture. (But of course she did! Who wouldn't want to draw a picture of such a wonderfully handsome person such as myself?)

I feel proud that I, together with my companions in BBB, have been able to make this important contribution to the maintenance of public morals and respectability.

Hot and heavy at the Dancing Goat

My Fool is puzzled.

According to his way of thinking, an old, bald man in a pink dress running around a bar saying things like "Hey gorgeous, I'm the famous ***", is not a guaranteed score. Quite the reverse, he would have thought. He finds it hard to imagine anything further from sexy. Anything less appealing.

Of course, I hasten to add that my Fool is absolutely not talking about ME, here. I don't wear a dress, I wear a robe. And it's not pink, it's ROSE. And I'm not old. Not very, anyway. My Fool is presenting a purely hypothetical discsussion, I think.

Be that as it may, my Fool clearly just doesn't get it. Despite his best efforts at being a total pain-in-the-arse slimeball, there is a breed of elf - not just elves, I suppose, but others too - who, on being approached by an elderly bald gentleman in a pink dress, saying "Hey gorgeous", responds in two seconds flat with a grab to the groin and an invitation to a back room.

Now, this doesn't happen always. But often enough, goodness knows.

Personally I don't see anything wrong with a quick visit to a back room with a cute elf chick, but my Fool has a rather suspicious nature. He's firmly of the belief that any seemingly cute elf chick who wants to get it on with an old bald guy in a pink dress is almost certainly really an old bald guy, maybe in a pink dress himself.

Oh dear. Whew, here comes Beorbrand. Saved by the cavalry.

I'm not sure I'll be allowed into the Dancing Goat again.