Sunny Day growls in frustration. She would get a story for the Middle Earth Times if it killed her! Her first interview between herself and Maegaldiel the Nearsighted Elf had been cut short by that Thunder Mistress, and her other appointments had been severely postponed by the Uruk guard at the door. But she was determined to get her story. Slipping through a convieniently-placed window, she eyes the crowd hungrilly for some poor innocent to pounce upon. The voice of the people must be heard!!
Meanwhile, Maegaladiel polished off a plate of delacacies, and is now sipping on a Pepsi, (Too early for a Martini, you see) looking at the dancers and chatters. Beneath her green satin dress, her tennis shoes squeak on the polished floor as she makes her way to the dessert tray. She had recieved several odd looks for her choice in footwear, but how is one supposed to really dance in high heels?
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OK, which one of you wise guys bought Denethor a flame thrower?!?
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I can tell a hawk from a handsaw.
GET THEE TO A NUNNERY!
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