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The Bastard of Bagshot Row
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Thursday, June 13th, 2002

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That bastard! It makes me boiling *mad*! I read in the paper today about Mordor Pizza Express's latest destructive move: they're buying their dairy products now from farms whose treatment of their livestock is abusive. And they're investing in logging operations that are going to utterly decimate Druadan Forest. And there's *nothing* DOMEACE can do about it: our southern lobbying branch is just too weak . . . . and I truly *love* Druadan Forest.

And they won’t stop there, oh no: next on their list is Fangorn. *Sauron MUST be stopped!*





I . . . I know now what I must do.


I'm going to Mordor. I'm going to sublimate my sexual frustration take up my sword . . . and I'm going to slay The Dark Lord Himself, or die in the attempt.

I'm not afraid; part of me has been dead a long time, I suppose. And I've been through so much: the years I was a political prisoner in Umbar, the time we spent days trapped in the hull of a slavers ship in the effort to save the little kidnapped hobbitlings, the time we were trying to help heal rare, endangered mumakil of Khand and I spent three days with my leg caught in a trap before anyone found me. Those were hard times, to be sure . . . but this is something different I feel. My Destiny is now clear to me. The shroud of darkness has lifted. One way or another I'm going to be changed. I'm really quite famished now though--I do hope there's something tasty in the fridge--I could sure go for some mushroom turnovers and almond chocolate mousse right now.

So, I'll just get the things I need together, and then I'll go down to the Ivy Bush for a bit--it may be the last time. I may never come there again. Tomorrow morning I'll show Fatty what he needs to do to cure the viral children when they're ready. Then I'll be free to grab the next courtesy bus to Mordor and meet my Destiny. Now, if I could only find that blasted bus schedule!
Mordor and Munchkins; Death and Taxes: BINGO BOLGER-BAGGINS
Oooo, is my back sore from dragging Fatty to his smial after he passed out last night! But I can manage. After all, I must.

Hopefully, Frodo-lad can help us get those tax forms from Sam's files. As soon as any child handles one of those, they'll grow up right fast, I should think. Usually works. Between Frodo-lad and Fatty I suppose they'll manage to help who needs it. Sam should still have some of the Rohirrim tax forms as well, so hopefully they can pass those on. And I do hope that task occupies Frodo-lad enough so I don't have to worry about him trying to follow me into danger. He's got so much ahead of him yet, and he sounds like he's shaping up to be a marvelous cook that should make dear Samwise proud.

I still haven't found that blasted bus schedule yet, but when I do, I'm off to Mordor!

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