…
Presently there was another knock at the door, quiet,
but portentous. As Sam opened the door, he beheld a legion
of female Orcs, fawning all over none other than the dread
Sauron in person. Sam easily recognized him from the
portraits he had seen, but yet more from the sinister menace
of his urbanity, the elegant veneer of malignancy that
concealed a fundamental dorkiness. Sauron waved a gloved
hand, and the Orcs vanished.
In the Shelob nightclub:
"So many female admirers," he sighed. "A wise
loremaster once pointed out that we males are not naturally
monogamous. Having used the Ring, I'm sure you know what
it's like. I am pleased to meet you," he continued in a
pleasant, yet insidious, baritone, recalling the refined
accents of Sideshow Bob. "We were so worried that those
narcoterrorists might have done something nasty to you. The
Western part of my domain isn't as safe as I would like; too
close to Gondor™. I am Sauron the Great, at your
service."
Sam smiled grimly, before asking Sauron, "What's it
wairth tae ye?"
"What do you mean?" inquired Sauron.
"Dinnae be sae Foucauldian. I ken ye wants the Ring.
Mak us an offer, or we'll do nocht, and say nocht."
Sauron laughed a sonorous laugh. Spiegel began to find
him almost more irresistable than Gorbush.
"Oh, the Ring!" he smiled. "We can talk about
that later. Though I wouldn't use it if I were you; it was
really only meant for Maiar. And whatever you do, don't drop
it into Mt. Viagra, or Gandalf and his evil allies will take
over the world and enslave everyone and turn them into
drugged out zombies without hope."