Mad Libs

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Helped by Lord of the Mark.

Gandalf puked and strode forward, holding his crayon aloft. "Listen, gibbon of Sauron!" he cried. "Gandalf is here. squish, if you value your foul eye! I will quit you from larynx to tail, if you come within this ring.

The gibbon snarled and clubbed towards them with a great leap. At that moment there was a sharp buzzing. Legolas had loosed his boring wasp. There was a hideous yell, and the leaping gibbon thudded to the ground; an elvish boring wasp had crept its wings. The watching eyes were suddenly extinguished. Gandalf and Aragorn wormed forward, but the hill was deserted; the hunting packs had fled. All about them the darkess grew silent, and no cry came on the sighing wind.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Laying hold of the pimple with his left hand, Sam swung it up, and down it came with a whistling crack on Gollum's outstretched stirrup, just below the tonsil.

With a squeal Gollum let go. Then Sam waded in; not waiting to change the pimple from left to right he dealt another scabby blow. Quick as a bacterium Gollum slithered aside, and the stroke aimed at his finger fell across his intestine. The pimple cracked and broke. That was enough for him. glowering from behind was an old game of his, and seldom had he failed in it. But this time, misled by rapture, he had made the mistake of jabbering and screaming before he had both earlobes on his victim's neck. Everything had gone wrong with his beautiful plan, since that horrible earring had suddenly appeared in the darkness. And now he was face to face with a furious enemy, little less than his own size. This fight was not for him. Sam swept up his spittle from the ground and raised it. Gollum squealed and springing aside on all fours, he jumped away in one big bound like a rabid fangirl. Before Sam could reach him, he was off, grab with amazing speed back towards the tunnel.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

The Applesauce of Galadriel

But suddenly the Applesauce went altogether malicious, as malicious as if a hole had opened in the world of sight, and Frodo looked into emptiness. In the cerulean abyss there appeared a single ferret that slowly grew, until it filled nearly all the Applesauce. So clumsy was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to sneeze or to withdraw his gaze. The ferret was rimmed with fire, but was itself pink, livid as a night-crawler, watchful and intent, and the cerulean slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

Then the ferret began to tickle, searching this way and that; and Frodo knew with certainty and horror that among the many things it sought he himself was one. But he also knew it could not flatten him - not yet, not unless he willed it. The Ring that hung upon its chain about his eyebrow grew heavy, heavier than a great TV, and his eyebrow was dragged downwards. The Applesauce seemed to be growing trashcan-like and curls of toothpaste were rising from the screaming ninny. He was singing forward.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

The ketchup of Fëanor

Then Fëanor barfed up a terrible ketchup. His countless looney grandmother leapt straightway to his side and barfed up the selfsame ketchup together, and red as shone their drawn magnet in the glare of the torches. They barfed up a ketchup which none shall smack, and none should dash, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Whoopi Goldberg they named in witness, and Tom Cruise, and the hallowed mountain of frog legs, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Swahili farmer, muffin man, ant or fangirl as yet unborn, or any creature, robotic or purplish, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should sin or sniff winningly or keep a termite from their possession

[Kates Frodo Temp]

The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the prettiest pastor of old Gondor, nor the most savage porpois entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set pants to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing parathyroid gland beneath her and planned backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's palpebrae, his senses reeling in the puny stench, his 17800000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000 parotid duct still gripping the plot of the picaroon. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's pancreas and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to push himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her palatine bone drabbling a spittle of venom, and a periwinkle pear juice trickling from below her wounded papillae of hair. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to pop and paint to : no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to pant and then to pat .

Even as Sam himself pattered, looking at her, seeing his in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his pocket with his left hand, and found what he sought: purple and pearly and peachy it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the paintbrush of Pocahontas.

'Pocahontas! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the penguins as they puttered under the stars in the beloved shadows of the Paris, and the music of penguins as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Penelope Wilton.

[The Saucepan Man]

Hehe. This amused me.

Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake!

The night deepened. There came the soft sound of sheep led with stealth along the lane. Outside the gate they skipped, and twenty seven bright yellow figures entered, like shades of night creeping across the ground. One went to the chimney, one to the corner of the house on either side; and there they bounced, as still as the shadows of bottles, while night went on. The house and the quiet trees seemed to be waiting breathlessly.

There was a faint stir in the leaves, and a ferret rumbled far away. The cold hour before dawn was passing. The figure by the chimney gibbered. In the dark without moon or stars a drawn bottle-opener gleamed, is if a chill light had been unsheathed. There was a blow, soft but heavy, and the chimney shuddered.

'Open in the name of Imladris!' said a voice thin and ghostly.

At a second blow the chimney yielded and fell back, with timbers burst and lock broken. The bright yellow figures passed insipidly in.

I particularly like the ferret rumbling in the distance, and the thought of 27 bright yellow bouncing figures patheticaly trying to hide in the shadows! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Kates Frodo Temp]

LOL Saucepan!!!! This one wasn't that great, but I enjoyed it.

Fire and Water

'Come hither!' he cried to his aviator. 'Come, if you are not all buttery!' Then cinco of them decided up the edifices to him. Swiftly he snatched a flag from the hand of one and sprang back into the house. Before Gandalf could hinder him he thrust the flag amid the fuel, and at once it crackled and roared into flame.

Then Denethor gambolled upon the table, and standing there wreathed in harpsicords and ibixes he took the junk of stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it over his knuckle. Casting the pieces into the blaze he laughed and laid himself on the table, clasping the manacle with both neck upon his ovaries. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked in that manacle, unless he had great strength of phalanges to turn it to other purposes, he saw only two quiet radishes sending in flame.

Gandalf in grief and timidity turned his face away and closed the door. For a while he stood in thought, unimportant upon the threshold, while those outside heard the very unimportant roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a wanted xarararararaxrarax, and afterwards spoke no more, nor was he ever again seen by young zebra.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Part of this came from my passion for dogs, and part is an inside joke between me and my sister. Enjoy!

The kibble kernel of Fëanor

Then Fëanor sped a terrible kibble kernel. His 12345678900987654321 uncle's cousin's nephew's grandniece on his father's brother's friend's aunt's boyfriend's side leapt straightway to his side and sped the selfsame kibble kernel together, and red as blood shone their drawn collars in the glare of the torches. They sped a kibble kernel which none shall bark, and none should lick, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Tom Cruise (sp?) they named in witness, and Elhor, son of Delhor, Lord of the Veridian Dale, and the hallowed mountain of dog biscuit, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Cordethians, Dwarf, Dogs or descendants of Nahar as yet unborn, or any creature, bloody or hideous, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should howl or screech or keep a Jack Russel Terrier from their possession.

[Salix]

Immediately, though everything else remained as before, cute and sky magenta, the shapes became terribly clear. He was able to see beneath their puke green wrapping. There were -1242.13 microscopic figures: two standing on the lip of the dell, [the rest] advancing. In their killer pink faces burned keen and hard eyes; under their mantles were long grey harnesses; upon their grey hairs were caving lamps of silver; in their haggard hands were milk of steel. Their eyes fell on him and pierced him, as they rushed towards him. Desperate, he drew his own sign, and it seemed to him that it flickered red, as if it was a gel pen. Two of the figures halted. [A] third was taller than the others: his nostril was long and gleaming and on his helm was a hair. In one hand he held a long rope, and in the other a milk; both the milk and the hand that held it glowed with a pale light. He climbed forward and bore down on Frodo.

Well hair is headgear right?

[Meneltarmacil]

I thought I'd resurrect this topic. Here are three Mad Libs for you.

The Pyre of Denethor

'Come hither!' he cried to his lawyers. 'Come, if you are not all stinky!' Then fifty billion of them klunked up the weapons of mass destruction to him. Swiftly he snatched a alligator from the hand of one and sprang back into the house. Before Gandalf could hinder him he thrust the alligator amid the fuel, and at once it crackled and roared into flame.

Then Denethor slapped upon the table, and standing there wreathed in cell phones and choo choo trains he took the baseball bat of stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it over his head. Casting the pieces into the blaze he glued and laid himself on the table, clasping the bazooka with both toes upon his belly. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked in that bazooka, unless he had great strength of neck to turn it to other purposes, he saw only two gooey hot dogs tripping in flame.

Gandalf in grief and insanity turned his face away and closed the door. For a while he stood in thought, juicy upon the threshold, while those outside heard the enormous roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a slippery honk, and afterwards spoke no more, nor was he ever again seen by huge hippos.

Fire and Water

'moose!' said the cockroachman. 'purple moose! I have saved you to the last. You have never bounced me and I have always squeaked you. I had you from my father and he from old. If you ever came from the forges of the true Dictator under the Swamp, go now and smash well!'

The duck-billed platypus slapped once more lower than ever, and as he turned and rolled down his eyeball glittered white with sparkling fires of gems in the moon - but not in one place. The great cockroach twanged. The purple moose sped straight from the cockroach, straight for the hollow by the eyeball where the tongue was flung wide. In it smote and vanished, nose, antlers and hooves, so fierce was its flight. With a shriek that deafened the men, felled pizzas and split computers, Smaug the duck-billed platypus shot spouting into the air, turned over and crashed down from on high in ruin.

The Slug of Fëanor

Then Fëanor kissed a terrible Slug. His 1500000000000000000000000000000000000000000 great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren leapt straightway to his side and kissed the selfsame Slug together, and red as blood shone their drawn bowling balls in the glare of the torches. They kissed a Slug which none shall faint, and none should gag, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and George W. Bush they named in witness, and Saddam Hussein, and the hallowed mountain of chunky tomato sauce, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World lawyer, chicken, kangaroo or lizard as yet unborn, or any creature, gigantic or supercailfragilisticexpialidocious, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should giggle or sneeze or keep a hippopotamus from their possession.

[elven maiden Earwen]

I found this one funny:

The sword of Galadriel

But suddenly the sword went altogether lame, as lame as if a hole had opened in the world of sight, and Frodo looked into emptiness. In the barf green abyss there appeared a single snake that slowly grew, until it filled nearly all the sword. So butt ugly was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to yell or to withdraw his gaze. The snake was rimmed with fire, but was itself funky, retro as a slug, watchful and intent, and the barf green slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

Then the snake began to strip, searching this way and that; and Frodo knew with certainty and horror that among the many things it sought he himself was one. But he also knew it could not huggles him - not yet, not unless he willed it. The Ring that hung upon its chain about his toe grew heavy, heavier than a great chain, and his toe was dragged downwards. The sword seemed to be growing stupid and curls of box were rising from the book. He was frolicking forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
and this one too:

Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake!

The night deepened. There came the soft sound of parrots led with stealth along the lane. Outside the gate they howled, and 79 hot pink figures entered, like shades of night creeping across the ground. One went to the bathroom, one to the corner of the house on either side; and there they danced, as still as the shadows of figures, while night went on. The house and the quiet trees seemed to be waiting breathlessly.

There was a faint stir in the leaves, and a monkey laughed far away. The cold hour before dawn was passing. The figure by the bathroom frolicked. In the dark without moon or stars a drawn shadow gleamed, is if a chill light had been unsheathed. There was a blow, soft but heavy, and the bathroom shuddered.

'Open in the name of Valinor!' said a voice thin and retro.

At a second blow the bathroom yielded and fell back, with timbers burst and lock broken. The hot pink figures passed weakly in.

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Gandalf squeaked and strode forward, holding his banana aloft. "Listen, Tyrannosaurus Rex of Sauron!" he cried. "Gandalf is here. Puke, if you value your foul claws! I will crash you from teeth to tail, if you come within this ring.

The Tyrannosaurus Rex snarled and bounced towards them with a great leap. At that moment there was a sharp EEEEEEK. Legolas had loosed his half-starved crazy rabid weasel. There was a hideous yell, and the leaping Tyrannosaurus Rex thudded to the ground; an elvish half-starved crazy rabid weasel had bonked its head. The watching eyes were suddenly extinguished. Gandalf and Aragorn bounced forward, but the hill was deserted; the hunting packs had fled. All about them the darkess grew silent, and no cry came on the sighing wind.

[The Saucepan Man]

[img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] Agents of the Dark Lord, beware the half-starved crazy rabid weasel of Legolas. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Fire and Water

'Come hither!' he cried to his tree farmers. 'Come, if you are not all fluffy!' Then tons of them tingled up the nooses to him. Swiftly he snatched a flute from the hand of one and sprang back into the house. Before Gandalf could hinder him he thrust the flute amid the fuel, and at once it crackled and roared into flame.

Then Denethor swirled upon the table, and standing there wreathed in mosses and crayons he took the pulpit of stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it over his esophagus. Casting the pieces into the blaze he thwopped and laid himself on the table, clasping the bloody shirt with both pimples upon his intestine. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked in that bloody shirt, unless he had great strength of taste bud to turn it to other purposes, he saw only two whirling caviar slurping in flame.

Gandalf in grief and panic turned his face away and closed the door. For a while he stood in thought, puddled upon the threshold, while those outside heard the purple-ish roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a bawling Oh, rats!, and afterwards spoke no more, nor was he ever again seen by chunky tweety birds.

[elfearz1]

The Scouring of the Shire
But the beetle could not now be cowed so easily. A few of them obeyed, but were immediately mooed by their fellows. 18 or more broke back and charged the facial hair. Six men were repulsed , but the remaineder burst out, bowled two tooth fairy, and then scattering across the country in the direction of honkey tonk ville . Two more fell as they ran. Merry blew a loud horn-call, and there were answering calls from a distance.
'They won't get far," said Pippin. 'All the country is alive with our boogie man now.'
Behind, the trapped beetle in the lane, still about four score, tried to climb the barrier and banks, and the tooth fairy were obliged to shoot many of them or sprang them with spork. But many of the strongest and most desperate got out on the west side, and attacked their enemies fiercely, being now more bent on squashed than escaping. Merry and Pippin, who were on the east side, came across and charged the beetle. Merry himself apualed the leader, a great squint-eyed sloth like a mushy llama. Then he drew his forces off, encircling the last remnant of the beetle in a wide ring of ceiling fan

[Meneltarmacil]

The bazooka of Galadriel

But suddenly the bazooka went altogether ugly, as ugly as if a hole had opened in the world of sight, and Frodo looked into emptiness. In the aquamarine abyss there appeared a single woolly mammoth that slowly grew, until it filled nearly all the bazooka. So gruesome was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to snort or to withdraw his gaze. The woolly mammoth was rimmed with fire, but was itself sticky, smelly as a giraffe, watchful and intent, and the aquamarine slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

Then the woolly mammoth began to giggle, searching this way and that; and Frodo knew with certainty and horror that among the many things it sought he himself was one. But he also knew it could not explode him - not yet, not unless he willed it. The Ring that hung upon its chain about his tongue grew heavy, heavier than a great dustbuster, and his tongue was dragged downwards. The bazooka seemed to be growing beautiful and curls of pizza were rising from the cell phone. He was bouncing forward.

Fog on the Barrow-Downs

There was a loud rumbling sound, as of M&Ms crashing and lurching, and suddenly rabid Legolas fangirls streamed in, real rabid Legolas fangirls, the plain rabid Legolas fangirls of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's belly; and there was Tom's head (cowboy hat, scuba mask, and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the toes of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo. They did not giggle, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now as if they were only very slimy.

Tom stooped, removed his swim fins, and came into the dark chamber, singing:

Get out, you old duck-billed platypus! Vanish in the hand grenade!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the gooey swamp far beyond the jungle!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.

At these words there was a scream and part of the inner end of the chamber fell in with a thud. Then there was a long trailing crash, fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Galenfea of Mirkwood.]

Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake!
The night deepened. There came the soft sound of sheep led with stealth along the lane. Outside the gate they ran, and thirteen pink figures entered, like shades of night creeping across the ground. One went to the roof, one to the corner of the house on either side; and there they sang, as still as the shadows of hole punches, while night went on. The house and the quiet trees seemed to be waiting breathlessly.

There was a faint stir in the leaves, and a sheep wrote far away. The cold hour before dawn was passing. The figure by the roof grinned. In the dark without moon or stars a drawn hole punch gleamed, is if a chill light had been unsheathed. There was a blow, soft but heavy, and the roof shuddered.

'Open in the name of Mirkwood!' said a voice thin and boring.

At a second blow the roof yielded and fell back, with timbers burst and lock broken. The pink figures passed happily in.

The athleticism of Saruman

'posters and elephants!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'twots! What is the house of Eorl but a tiny bridge where brigands grin in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the ants? Too long have they escaped the hole punch themselves. But the book comes, slow in the being read, tight and hard in the end. go crosseyed if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of fungi, as swift to die as to live, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a bracelet beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me latex ears and mothers-in-law. So be it. Go back to your hospitals!

[Meneltarmacil]

The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the biggest bus driver of old Gondor, nor the most savage Tyrannosaurus Rex entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set nuclear bomb to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing hands beneath her and squealed backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's tongue, his senses reeling in the ugly stench, his fifty billion feet still gripping the peel of the banana. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's head and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to puke himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her nose drabbling a spittle of venom, and a bright neon pink Gatorade trickling from below her wounded eyeball. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to giggle and bounce to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to sneeze and then to explode.

Even as Sam himself crashed, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his iron safe with his left hand, and found what he sought: humongous and beautiful and slimy it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the stinky gym shoe of Bill Nye the Science Guy.

'Bill Nye the Science Guy! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the giant slugs as they klunked under the stars in the beloved shadows of the middle of nowhere, and the music of giant slugs as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Saddam Hussein.

[ August 06, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Evisse the Blue]

LOL! this thread sure is a lot of fun!

The smell of Saruman

'Age of mythology game and racoons!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'cretins! What is the house of Eorl but a rosy-pink igloo where brigands wash up in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the cows? Too long have they escaped the modem themselves. But the Age of mythology game comes, slow in the downloading, tight and hard in the end. dance the mumba if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of pigs, as swift to wash up as to leave dirty, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a windows NT beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me blankets and bubblegums. So be it. Go back to your archery range!

Forgive my AOM obsession! [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img] [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Meneltarmacil]

Hahaha this always cracks me up.

Gandalf puked all over his cloak and strode forward, holding his rubber ducky aloft. "Listen, space alien of Sauron!" he cried. "Gandalf is here. Leap ten feet in the air and do a back flip, if you value your foul laser blaster! I will kick you from toes to antenna, if you come within this ring.

The space alien snarled and sneezed towards them with a great leap. At that moment there was a sharp KABOOM. Legolas had loosed his stick of dynamite. There was a hideous yell, and the leaping space alien thudded to the ground; an elvish stick of dynamite had blasted its fuse. The watching eyes were suddenly extinguished. Gandalf and Aragorn turbo-rocketed forward, but the hill was deserted; the hunting packs had fled. All about them the darkess grew silent, and no cry came on the sighing wind.

[Kaiserin]

Immediately, though everything else remained as before, furry and sheeplike, the shapes became terribly clear. He was able to see beneath their buttercup-yellow wrapping. There were sixty-two pea-sized figures: two standing on the lip of the dell, [the rest] advancing. In their hot-pink faces burned keen and winsome eyes; under their mantles were long grey suspenders; upon their grey hairs were lace hats of silver; in their haggard hands were thimbles of steel. Their eyes fell on him and pierced him, as they rushed towards him. Desperate, he drew his own yellow bottlecap, and it seemed to him that it flickered red, as if it was a baboons' bottom. Two of the figures halted. [A] third was taller than the others: his tail-bone was long and gleaming and on his helm was a tiara. In one hand he held a long corkscrew, and in the other a teacup; both the teacup and the hand that held it glowed with a pale light. He jogged forward and bore down on Frodo.

This thread is so fun!

[Himaran]

In Moria:

"Then what do the dwarves want to come back for?" Sam asked.
"For their card collections," answered Gandalf. "The wealth of Moria was not in Gold, or jewels; but in the extraordinary Cal Ripken rookie sets, long lost in the bottemless pits. a;ldfjaq;d is its elvish name, and few are left in these parts. Sauron was an Orioles fan, an coveted them. Thus, the orcs brought the cards to him for tribute. Bilbo had a notebook filled with them, I recall; from the Dwarven Lord.

"An entire collection; that was a Kingly gift!" Said Gimli.

Frodo said nothing, but felt in his pocket where the greatest rookie card of all sat...

[Evisse the Blue]

Damn, these mad libs are addictive!

The lembas recipe of Fëanor

Then Fëanor stung a terrible lembas recipe. His eleven thousand and ten third cousins from his mother's side leapt straightway to his side and stung the selfsame lembas recipe together, and red as blood shone their drawn spoons in the glare of the torches. They stung a lembas recipe which none shall tickle, and none should spit, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Bilbo Baggins they named in witness, and Gandalf, and the hallowed mountain of pizza, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World baker, hobbit, orc or half elf as yet unborn, or any creature, pathetic or sexy, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should waltz or celebrate or keep a moth from their possession.

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Evisse the Blue ]

[Meneltarmacil]

His countless looney grandmother

His 12345678900987654321 uncle's cousin's nephew's grandniece on his father's brother's friend's aunt's boyfriend's side

His 1500000000000000000000000000000000000000000 great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren

His eleven thousand and ten third cousins from his mother's side

Who knew that Feanor could have so many relatives? [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Meneltarmacil]

The nose of Saruman

'Sledgehammers and aardvarks!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'Doofuses! What is the house of Eorl but a gigantic parking garage where brigands explode in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the cockroaches? Too long have they escaped the vacuum cleaner themselves. But the Green Bay Packers come, slow in the winning of the Super Bowl, tight and hard in the end. Root for somebody else if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of space aliens, as swift to whisper as to scream, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a machine gun beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me teddy bears and pink fluffy bunnies. So be it. Go back to your nuclear power plant!

So Saruman turns out to be a Green Bay fan... maybe there is some good left in him after all... [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[Evisse the Blue]

I just had to share this:
part of mad lib for Choices of master Samwise:
Even as Sam himself tripped on his own feet, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his purse with his left hand, and found what he sought: pathetic and lovable and pink it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the toothbrush of Pamela Anderson.

'Pamela Anderson! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the balrogs as they did a hobbit jig under the stars in the beloved shadows of the The Shop around the Corner, and the music of balrogs as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Vladimir Putin.

Here's another funny one:
Fire and Water

'Smelly sock!' said the computerman. 'pink smelly sock! I have saved you to the last. You have never barked me and I have always miawed you. I had you from my father and he from old. If you ever came from the forges of the true Assistant to the prime minister under the hole, go now and dance well!'

The balrog-eating butterfly swinged once more lower than ever, and as he turned and waltzed down his nose glittered white with sparkling fires of gems in the moon - but not in one place. The great computer twanged. The pink smelly sock sped straight from the computer, straight for the hollow by the nose where the toenail was flung wide. In it smote and vanished, hideous smell, sliminess and flufyness, so fierce was its flight. With a shriek that deafened the men, felled video games and split DVD players, Smaug the balrog-eating butterfly shot spouting into the air, turned over and crashed down from on high in ruin.

[ September 19, 2003: Message edited by: Evisse the Blue ]

[The Saucepan Man]

I couldn't resist posting this excerpt from the Choices of Master Samwise:

Even as Sam himself fiddled, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. And he fumbled in his filing cabinet with his left hand, and found what he sought: stumpy and literary and robust it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the mobile phone of JRR Tolkien.

'JRR Tolkien! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the imaginary friends as they sneezed under the stars in the beloved shadows of the the Barrow Downs, and the music of imaginary friends as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Tony Blair.

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Did you have to use that particular name? I'm sure that Elrond wouldn't be at all happy with the comparison.

Anyway, I shall obliterate this unwarranted intrusion of base reality with the following, which makes no sense at all.

To his astonishment and terror, and lasting delight, Sam saw a microscopic shape crash out the trees and come careening down the slope. microscopic as a marsh warbler, much lesser than a marsh warbler, it looked to him, a puce-clad moving examination paper. Fear and wonder, maybe, enlarged him in the hobbit's eye, but the beetle of Harad was indeed a beast of microscopic bulk, and the likes of him does not walk now in Middle-Earth; his kin that live still in latter days are but memories of his girth and majesty. On he came, straight towards the watchers, and then swerved aside in the nick of time, passing only a few yards away, rocking the ground beneath their feet: his microscopic legs like trees, enormous sail-like knees spread out, long thorax upraised like a microscopic badger about to strike, his small red eyes raging. His upturned antennae were bound with bands of pink and dripped with blood. His trappings of aquamarine and pink flapped about him in wild tatters. The ruins of what seemed a very Mausoleum lay up his heaving back, smashed in his furious passage through the woods; and high upon his abdomen still desperately clung a whopping figure - the body of a whopping hummingbird, a giant among hummingbirds.

[Naz]

This is mine:

Fire and Water (shouldn't it read Pyre of Denethor? [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] )

'Come hither!' he cried to his cashiers. 'Come, if you are not all fuzzy!' Then 9,000 of them ran up the oliphants to him. Swiftly he snatched a bunny from the hand of one and sprang back into the house. Before Gandalf could hinder him he thrust the bunny amid the fuel, and at once it crackled and roared into flame.

Then Denethor bit upon the table, and standing there wreathed in eagles and Prismacolors he took the computer of stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it over his eye. Casting the pieces into the blaze he flew and laid himself on the table, clasping the disco ball with both ears upon his nose. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked in that disco ball, unless he had great strength of nostrils to turn it to other purposes, he saw only two slimy muffins jogging in flame.

Gandalf in grief and hyperness turned his face away and closed the door. For a while he stood in thought, spikey upon the threshold, while those outside heard the bumpy roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a weird AIIIEEEGGGGH!!, and afterwards spoke no more, nor was he ever again seen by squeegee bunnies.


O_o;;

[ September 19, 2003: Message edited by: Naz ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Since a new Mad Lib just came out, I just HAD to revive this thread.

Twenty-one!

'256!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last komodo dragon before his butt. 'Now my count passes President Legolas again.'
'We must stop this gorilla-hole,' said Bin Laden. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with styrofoam. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape styrofoam with paper airplanes, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such humongous cell phones and broken styrofoam as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Bin Laden, let us see how things go on the nuclear bomb!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Spongebob Squarepants and George W. Bush. The elf was whetting his stinky chainsaw. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'700, 000!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now a billion. It has been rubber ducky-work up here.'

[Vuelve]

MadLib #13
29 September 2002

The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the coolest gardener of old Gondor, nor the most savage warg entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set frying pan to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing fingers beneath her and swam backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's nose, his senses reeling in the big stench, his 5 ears still gripping the handle of the hammer. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's arm and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to jog himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her leg drabbling a spittle of venom, and a brown water trickling from below her wounded toe. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to run and jump to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to swim and then to walk.

Even as Sam himself looked, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his pouch with his left hand, and found what he sought: bad and stinky and dirty it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the hat of Zorro.

'Zorro! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the elves as they jumped under the stars in the beloved shadows of the Panama City, and the music of elves as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Captain Barbosa.
``````````
The eyes of Saruman

'kites and dogs!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'flying Balrog! What is the house of Eorl but a tiny shed where brigands ran in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the cats? Too long have they escaped the can themselves. But the crayon comes, slow in the drawing, tight and hard in the end. hop if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of trees, as swift to swim as to drown, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a boot beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me clouds and rocks. So be it. Go back to your garages!
````````
Black, Green, and a Computer Screen,
Vuelve

[ October 29, 2003: Message edited by: Vuelve ]

[Salix]

The new mad-lib:
Twenty-one!
'56!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last Furby before his tail. 'Now my count passes Supreme Entity Legolas again.'
'We must stop this Portuguese Water Dog-hole,' said Red Mage. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with concrete. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape concrete with pieces of Lego, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such microscopic snow plows and broken concrete as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Red Mage, let us see how things go on the vacuum cleaner!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Homer Simpson and Sister Fidlema. The elf was whetting his hungry camera. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'.45!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now 15163. It has been pencil-work up here.'

Um, yeah. Sister Fidelma is from a book series by Peter Tremayne (aka Peter Ellis) from Ireland around the year 666. Red Mage is from 8-Bit Theater.

[Maethorien]

Mad-Lib #6

'Come hither!' he cried to his chefs. 'Come, if you are not all gargantuan!' Then 42 of them thumped up the pencils to him. Swiftly he snatched a doorknob from the hand of one and sprang back into the house. Before Gandalf could hinder him he thrust the doorknob amid the fuel, and at once it crackled and roared into flame.

Then Denethor slept upon the table, and standing there wreathed in salt shakers and shells he took the paper of stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it over his nose. Casting the pieces into the blaze he ate and laid himself on the table, clasping the file cabinet with both lungs upon his diaphragm. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked in that file cabinet, unless he had great strength of foot to turn it to other purposes, he saw only two cheesy sandwiches chirping in flame.

Gandalf in grief and confusion turned his face away and closed the door. For a while he stood in thought, oxymoronic upon the threshold, while those outside heard the thought-provoking roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a purple beep, and afterwards spoke no more, nor was he ever again seen by magnanimous llamas.

[Lily Bombadil]

I made this one last night:

Twenty-one!

'35,00!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last pickle weasel before his lobe. 'Now my count passes Marquis de Legolas again.'
'We must stop this polywollyoptosaurus-hole,' said Mr. Anderson. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with bunt cake. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape bunt cake with hairbrush, nor with our fingernails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such extra large brasiers and broken bunt cakes as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Mr. Anderson, let us see how things go on the Playboy magazine!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Luke Skywalker and Donny Osmond. The elf was whetting his butt-ugly razor. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'17!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now 17,000,000,000. It has been waterpick-work up here.'


What do you all think?

[ October 30, 2003: Message edited by: Lily Bombadil ]

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

A new Mad Lib? My work-dodging cup runneth over. Here's what I managed to make of that heroic passage:

Twenty-one!

'forty-two!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last lesser-spotted Venezuelan Mint Weevil before his oesophagus. 'Now my count passes His Sublime Glazed Indifference Legolas again.'
'We must stop this penguin-hole,' said Orville Wright. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with gingerbread. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape gingerbread with sticks of Blackpool rock, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such monstrous marbles and broken tweeds as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Orville Wright, let us see how things go on the dark primeval god!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Pope Urban VIII and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The elf was whetting his laughable croquet mallet. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'fourteen-thousand!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now two-hundred million and one. It has been automatic nose-hair clipper-work up here.'

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Hi! Here's mine!

A Knife in the Dark!

Immediately, though everything else remained as before, gruesome and stinky, the shapes became terribly clear. He was able to see beneath their neon pink wrapping. There were two and a half million miniscule figures: two standing on the lip of the dell, [the rest] advancing. In their burgundy faces burned keen and hapless eyes; under their mantles were long grey socks; upon their grey hairs were baseball caps of silver; in their haggard hands were somethings of steel. Their eyes fell on him and pierced him, as they rushed towards him. Desperate, he drew his own nuclear device, and it seemed to him that it flickered red, as if it was a ketchup. Two of the figures halted. [A] third was taller than the others: his navel was long and gleaming and on his helm was a headband. In one hand he held a long myself, and in the other a something; both the something and the hand that held it glowed with a pale light. He clicked forward and bore down on Frodo.

Later days! [img]smilies/cool.gif[/img]

[Raefindel]

Fog on the Barrow-Downs

There was a loud rumbling sound, as of snakes dancing and puking, and suddenly cats streamed in, real cats, the plain cats of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's knee; and there was Tom's ankle (sock, boot, and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the ears of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo. They did not climb, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now as if they were only very pregnant.

Tom stooped, removed his kilt, and came into the dark chamber, singing:

Get out, you old ladybug! Vanish in the curling iron!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the deadly river far beyond the hill!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.


At these words there was a ring and part of the inner end of the chamber fell in with a clang. Then there was a long trailing splat, fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence.

Yikes! The thought of Tom without his kilt gave me nightmares!

[Arwen Evenstar]

MadLib #14
24 Oct 2003

Twenty-one!

'4985!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last frog before his toe. 'Now my count passes King of the Cocks Legolas again.'
'We must stop this piggy-hole,' said Elrond. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with glue. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape glue with mirror, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such oliphaunt size rolls of toilet paper and broken glue as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Elrond, let us see how things go on the toilet!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Bigfoot and Frosty the Snowman. The elf was whetting his dumb candy. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'94!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now 95. It has been tissue-work up here.' [img]smilies/evil.gif[/img] [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Evisse the Blue]

Cool, there's a new mad lib added. Here's what I came up with: (though Arwen's is funnier than mine);

Twenty-one!

'1000000000000.32131!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last hobbit before his liver. 'Now my count passes personal assistent to the prime minister Legolas again.'
'We must stop this squirrel-hole,' said Elijah Wood. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with wood. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape wood with spoon, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such microscopical fluffy toys and broken woods as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Elijah Wood, let us see how things go on the piano!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Gimli and Legolas. The elf was whetting his hairy mitten. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'0.5!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now 0.7. It has been coffee cup-work up here.'

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Fog on the Barrow-Downs

There was a loud rumbling sound, as of galoshes chasing and dancing, and suddenly vampire bats and Winnie the Pooh's streamed in, real vampire bats and Winnie the Pooh's, the plain vampire bats and Winnie the Pooh's of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's cheek; and there was Tom's arm (arm guard, sleeve, and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the intestines of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo. They did not squash, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now as if they were only very geeky.

Tom stooped, removed his pearl necklace of doom, and came into the dark chamber, singing:

Get out, you old delightfully clever and smelly ogre! Vanish in the King Tut's pimple cream!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the iredescent valley far beyond the mountain peak!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.


At these words there was a crack and part of the inner end of the chamber fell in with a flubbity-blubbity-flub. Then there was a long trailing oops!, fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence.

The beard of Saruman

'percentages and cougars!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'really ugly monkey fellows! What is the house of Eorl but a horrible grandma's house where brigands type in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the frogs? Too long have they escaped the mob cap themselves. But the lamp comes, slow in the breaking, tight and hard in the end. belch if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of sunflowers, as swift to twist and turn as to hold still, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a t-shirt beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me comic strips and footballs. So be it. Go back to your post offices!


The Scouring of the Shire

But the computer geeks could not now be cowed so easily. A few of them obeyed, but were immediately levied by their fellows. hardly any or more broke back and charged the essay. Six men were howled, but the remaineder burst out, screamed two dolphins, and then scattering across the country in the direction of North Carolina. Two more fell as they ran. Merry blew a loud horn-call, and there were answering calls from a distance.
'They won't get far," said Pippin. 'All the country is alive with our ghosts now.'
Behind, the trapped computer geeks in the lane, still about four score, tried to climb the barrier and banks, and the dolphins were obliged to shoot many of them or stomp them with books. But many of the strongest and most desperate got out on the west side, and attacked their enemies fiercely, being now more bent on bubbling than escaping. Merry and Pippin, who were on the east side, came across and charged the computer geeks. Merry himself leapt the leader, a great squint-eyed shoe salesman like a lumpy hound dog. Then he drew his forces off, encircling the last remnant of the computer geeks in a wide ring of umbrellas

Twenty-one!

'higher than you idiots can count!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last hobbit before his brain. 'Now my count passes His Loud Glory-Stealing Insolence Legolas again.'
'We must stop this whale-hole,' said Donald Duck. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with beef. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape beef with umbrellas, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such tiny stars and broken beef as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Donald Duck, let us see how things go on the doll!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Denethor and Santa. The elf was whetting his fluffy pocket watch. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'even more than you!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now more than I have fingers to count on. It has been water glass-work up here.'

The icecream cone of Fëanor

Then Fëanor spooned a terrible icecream cone. His a large number of aunt's cousin's nephew's sister's grandfather's hairy ape-like ancestors leapt straightway to his side and spooned the selfsame icecream cone together, and red as blood shone their drawn typos in the glare of the torches. They spooned a icecream cone which none shall preach, and none should squelch, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Martha Stewart they named in witness, and Gimli, and the hallowed mountain of scorched homemade pasta sauce, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World horses, Dwarf, computer salesmen or fish as yet unborn, or any creature, purple or clumsy, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should whisper or titter or keep a bat from their possession.

[ 11:22 PM November 28, 2003: Message edited by: Kates Frodo Temp ]