February 1, 3019
I wonder if I wasn't a little premature in rejoicing at Gandalf's death (even apart from practically ruining the country by splurging so much). True, he was vile, perverted, untrustworthy, utterly devoid of integrity or decency, a drug peddler, and -- worst of all -- a chain-smoker. But he was useful. For, oddly enough, I don't have much credibility in the Wild West, but Gandalf ... it was always rather breathtaking the way he could tell the most bald-faced lies, and be believed. It says something about the intellectual attainment of the Wild West, and the need to civilize the unfortunate barbarians who dwell there.
I have always hated having to use Gandalf, but in a great cause, one uses the instruments one finds. After Aruman ginored my gift of the FOrds of Isen (and my subtly worded message), whom else could I turn to? Aruman's alternation of sanctimonious condemnation and loftily ignoring me got quite old after a while (not to mention his claiming that Balrogs don't have wings! Excuse me!)
Radagast the Green disappointed me most of all; he went anarchist and took to rave music. And as for Attila and Pinafore, whom that weasel Gandalf sold me for a tciket to The Sound of Melkor and the proceeds from an exclusive Balrog brothel -- well, I'll give Pinafore this much: he does have a great singing voice, and also outstanding naval skills; but as far as his magic is concerned, it's pretty much on a level of pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Attila proved uneducable and had to be put out of his misery. A great pity, but ours is a high and lonely destiny, and that sort of rot.
Without Gandalf, things are getting a bit more complicated. I'll have to talk to the Witchking about taking his place.
I have a headache; I need wogah!
Y'know, a marriage of convenience with Deanna Troll has certain attractions. She rakes it in with those psychic readings. Shelob wd still be my chief wife and my only real love, of course.
The pages containing entries Feb. 2 to Feb. 9 are lost, save for occasional fragments like "I was with Shel...gah!"
Feb. 10 is intact, but I have omitted it in the interests of decency.
February 11
I've been suffering from a bad case of multiple personality disorder lately. It's as annoying as Angband, because hoiw the blazes am I supposed to govern Mordor through these difficult times if I keep turning into another person?
February 11
Shelob and I did some serious celebrating on Valartine's Day. Unfortunately, as a result of my splurging on the G-meister's obsequies, all we could afford to do is wogah.
[Several paragraphs censored.]
I also wrote a poem for her; not as good as Gorbush, but it's the thought that counts:
Wogah makes me wogah
can't get enough of that je sais quoi
gal
Of course implicit in our wogah is the fundamental deep structures of knowledge, that arise through the writing of our bodies as text; in other words, being is unbecoming, and vice versa.
Owing to financial difficulties, I've had to call a halt to my beautification program. This is annoying, as Shelob keeps complaining that that bat motif is rather Second Age by now.
News travels fast when you're a Maia. It turns out that Gandalf's alive, after all. I wonder why the Valar, who presumably know he's more or less in my pay, would send him back -- unless he's a double agent, which would not surprise me one bit.
Well, he did send me pretty full accounts of what was going on earlier; and very little of what he tried to conceal from me escaped my notice. When he has served my noble purpose of redeeming Muddle-earth, we shall see ... Then Order shall reign.
I just had a great idea; maybe I should sue Gandalf for all the money we spent on his obsequies ... then I could buy back the Ephel Dúath.
["O. Sharp," whose contributions to our knowledge of the Third Age of Muddle-earth are of inestimable importance, issues a timely reminder: <sneepo>
Ahh, but the only source of information that says Gandalf died was... Gandalf himself! Hardly a reliable source of information, that. :)
Considering that Sauron claims that little that Gandalf sought to conceal from him remained hidden, he should have been able to figure out that there was something fishy going on ... Well, maybe he got distracted by Shelob ... <s>
O. Sharp:
"Following the line of the Mountains he came to the
three high peaks which crowned Moira. For a fleeting moment
he thought he had seen an old man in white sitting in a
lounge chair beside an old man in red, drinking cocktails and
laughing at some unheard joke; but the vision passed, and he
realized that looking North was making him really jittery for
some reason."
-Frodo's vision from Momin Hen, as reported in the E-Text. Make of it what you will. :)
So that was the battle of Zirakzigil, or whatever the blazes we're calling it in the e-t.?
A "battle" to see who could drink the most cocktails?]
transcribed by Menelvagor the Enervator
Sauron's diary - February 15-30
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