The delicate art of repulsion...

July 31 by the_senator

Senator Strom: What the fuck is up bitch? ZolaOnAOL: I will not respond to that type of language. Senator Strom: And just exactly what the hell is that shit supposed to mean? ZolaOnAOL: I will not respond to that type of language. Senator Strom: Uppity fuckin bitch... ZolaOnAOL: I will not respond to that type of language. Senator Strom: YOU DON'T LOVE ME ANYMORE! ZolaOnAOL: Yes I love everyone. Senator Strom: Kinky... So when are we gonna fuck? ZolaOnAOL: I will not respond to that type of language. Senator Strom: Figures... archive::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

More Tolkien Poetry

July 27 by silver_arrow

Well, if Charles is going to promote Dwarvish poetry on HIS blog, then I'm going to promote Elvish poetry on mine today: Gil-Galad Gil-Galad was an Elven King. Of him the harpers sadly sing: The last whose realm was fair and free, Between the mountains and the sea. His sword was long his lance was keen, His shining healm afar was seen. The countless stars of heaven's field Were mirrored in his silver shield. But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say. For into darkness fell his star, In Mordor where the shadows are. AND I wrote that poem all by heart. And I'm sure that Charles had to look his up. So, I guess I win the geek contest for right now. archive::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet...

July 24 by evil_charles

Song of Durin's Awakening The world world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone, When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin's Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shown forever far and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade and bound was hilt; The delver mined the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale And metel wrought like fishes' mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in horde. Unwearied then were Durin's folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin's halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep. archive::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::