A Long-Expected Party
- The One Ring
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A Long-Expected Party
A Long-Expected Party
When it was announced in the Hall of Fire that they would shortly be celebrating their one-year anniversary with a party of special magnificence, much talk and excitement was expected in all the forums.
The Marshals in the Hall of Fire were not very rich but they were very peculiar and promised suitably astounding celebrations for the day.
The volume and quality of friends they had made on their travels was a matter of local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the oldbies might say, that the Naith in the Hall of Fire was full of tunnels stuffed with things belonging to other people.
If that were not enough, there is the fact that these friends had kept the Hall of Fire thriving for a whole virtual year, which, as everyone knows, is the same as five real-life years. Though HoF was not unchanged from its beginnings, it definitely was being well-preserved.
There are some who shake their heads and think this too much of a good thing. It seems unfair that any message board should possess both younger people and older people, male people and female people, gay people and straight people, artists and musicians, religion and politics, scholars and acrobats, people on one side of the Atlantic Ocean and people on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean ... without coming apart at the seams. And surely it is by elvish magic that there is seated at the same hearth both the Spirit of Professor Tolkien and a cat. Not to mention the tunnels stuffed with other people’s things.
“It will have to be paid for,” we heard, over the telephone, from voices that disguised themselves by talking through pillow cushions.
________________________
And so it shall be paid for, dear friends and beloved members of this community, with a party of special magnificence to celebrate the First Year Anniversary of the Hall of Fire on Friday, December 1, 2006.
There will be some fun and games and some fabulous prizes, and of course a hobbit-sized breakfast, second breakfast, bruncheon, luncheon, supper, dinner, and filling in the corners with the foods brought to our table by all our members over the past year. We promise to cook them fresh and not serve year-old leftovers.
If you have any ideas popping into your head for how to augment our anniversary celebrations in glamorous fashion, please tell us about them here. Or .. surprise us on December 1.
Voronwë the Faithful
Jnyusa
Primula Baggins
Sassafras
truehobbit
Athrabeth
Cerin
Whistler
When it was announced in the Hall of Fire that they would shortly be celebrating their one-year anniversary with a party of special magnificence, much talk and excitement was expected in all the forums.
The Marshals in the Hall of Fire were not very rich but they were very peculiar and promised suitably astounding celebrations for the day.
The volume and quality of friends they had made on their travels was a matter of local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the oldbies might say, that the Naith in the Hall of Fire was full of tunnels stuffed with things belonging to other people.
If that were not enough, there is the fact that these friends had kept the Hall of Fire thriving for a whole virtual year, which, as everyone knows, is the same as five real-life years. Though HoF was not unchanged from its beginnings, it definitely was being well-preserved.
There are some who shake their heads and think this too much of a good thing. It seems unfair that any message board should possess both younger people and older people, male people and female people, gay people and straight people, artists and musicians, religion and politics, scholars and acrobats, people on one side of the Atlantic Ocean and people on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean ... without coming apart at the seams. And surely it is by elvish magic that there is seated at the same hearth both the Spirit of Professor Tolkien and a cat. Not to mention the tunnels stuffed with other people’s things.
“It will have to be paid for,” we heard, over the telephone, from voices that disguised themselves by talking through pillow cushions.
________________________
And so it shall be paid for, dear friends and beloved members of this community, with a party of special magnificence to celebrate the First Year Anniversary of the Hall of Fire on Friday, December 1, 2006.
There will be some fun and games and some fabulous prizes, and of course a hobbit-sized breakfast, second breakfast, bruncheon, luncheon, supper, dinner, and filling in the corners with the foods brought to our table by all our members over the past year. We promise to cook them fresh and not serve year-old leftovers.
If you have any ideas popping into your head for how to augment our anniversary celebrations in glamorous fashion, please tell us about them here. Or .. surprise us on December 1.
Voronwë the Faithful
Jnyusa
Primula Baggins
Sassafras
truehobbit
Athrabeth
Cerin
Whistler
- Voronwë the Faithful
- At the intersection of here and now
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- Primula Baggins
- Living in hope
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I've just about finished sewing the sequins onto your costume, yov. They might be a little itchy, though. (Have you seen BORAT?)
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
I'm quite sure I don't qualify.dictionary.com wrote:ac‧ro‧bat
–noun
1. a skilled performer of gymnastic feats, as walking on a tightrope or swinging on a trapeze.
And yes, I have seen Borat...why?
I wanna love somebody but I don't know how
I wanna throw my body in the river and drown
-The Decemberists
I wanna throw my body in the river and drown
-The Decemberists
- Primula Baggins
- Living in hope
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It just gave me a costuming idea is all.
Don't worry. I've made the shoulder straps adjustable.
Don't worry. I've made the shoulder straps adjustable.
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
yov, here's a preview of the dress prim has in mind, I *think*
http://www.necrolounge.com/wordpress/wp ... _borat.jpg
Be grateful its not Borat's lime-green swimming costume, thats all.
http://www.necrolounge.com/wordpress/wp ... _borat.jpg
Be grateful its not Borat's lime-green swimming costume, thats all.
'You just said "your getting shorter": you've obviously been drinking too much ent-draught and not enough Prim's.' - Jude
- Primula Baggins
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Ah, er . . .
<toes lime-green costume out of sight under coffee table>
I can do a little tailoring. . . .
<toes lime-green costume out of sight under coffee table>
I can do a little tailoring. . . .
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
- Sassafras
- still raining, still dreaming
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Au contraire, mon cher yov,yovargas wrote:Two observations:
1 - Hippos are known for many things, but their gracefulness is not one of them.
Perhaps not thongs. But tutus .... tutus are a distinct possibility.
Surely you recall the equisite grace with which these behemoths execute the ballet Dance of the Hours from Ponchielli's opera La Gioconda?
Behold!
A thing of beauty ....
Ever mindful of the maxim that brevity is the soul of wit, axordil sums up the Sil:
"Too many Fingolfins, not enough Sams."
Yes.
An appropriately celebratory song for Yov and all other hippopotamus lovers, from Flanders and Swann:
A bold Hippopotamus was standing one day
On the banks of the cool Shalimar;
He gazed at the bottom as it peacefully lay
By the light of the evening star.
Away on a hilltop, sat combing her hair
A fair Hippopotami maid;
The HippopoTAmus was no ignoramus
And sang her this sweet serenade:
'Mud, Mud, glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow
In glorious mud!'
The fair Hippopotama he aimed to entice
From her seat on that hilltop above
(As she hadn't got a ma to give her advice)
Came tiptoeing down to her love.
Like thunder the forest re-echoed the sound
Of the song that they sang when they met;
His inamorata adjusted her garter
And lifted her voice in duet:
'Mud, Mud, glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow
In glorious mud!'
The bold Hippopotami began to convene
On the banks of that river so wide:
I wonder, now, what am I to say of the scene
That ensued by the Shalimar side?
They dived all at once, with an ear-splitting splosh
Then rose to the surface again:
A regular army of HippopoTAMi
All singing this haunting refrain:
'Mud, Mud, glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow
In glorious mud!’
A bold Hippopotamus was standing one day
On the banks of the cool Shalimar;
He gazed at the bottom as it peacefully lay
By the light of the evening star.
Away on a hilltop, sat combing her hair
A fair Hippopotami maid;
The HippopoTAmus was no ignoramus
And sang her this sweet serenade:
'Mud, Mud, glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow
In glorious mud!'
The fair Hippopotama he aimed to entice
From her seat on that hilltop above
(As she hadn't got a ma to give her advice)
Came tiptoeing down to her love.
Like thunder the forest re-echoed the sound
Of the song that they sang when they met;
His inamorata adjusted her garter
And lifted her voice in duet:
'Mud, Mud, glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow
In glorious mud!'
The bold Hippopotami began to convene
On the banks of that river so wide:
I wonder, now, what am I to say of the scene
That ensued by the Shalimar side?
They dived all at once, with an ear-splitting splosh
Then rose to the surface again:
A regular army of HippopoTAMi
All singing this haunting refrain:
'Mud, Mud, glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow
In glorious mud!’
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- Deluded Simpleton
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I feel very strongly that this occasion should involve Whistler's potholders.
Also...I hope it wasn't a problem to call all of the Marshals that one Tuesday night at 3 AM and disguise my voice by speaking through pillow cushions. It just felt like the right thing to do, in the moment.
Lastly, is bruncheon one part breakfast and two parts lunch?
Also...I hope it wasn't a problem to call all of the Marshals that one Tuesday night at 3 AM and disguise my voice by speaking through pillow cushions. It just felt like the right thing to do, in the moment.
Lastly, is bruncheon one part breakfast and two parts lunch?
I won't just survive
Oh, you will see me thrive
Can't write my story
I'm beyond the archetype
I won't just conform
No matter how you shake my core
'Cause my roots, they run deep, oh
When, when the fire's at my feet again
And the vultures all start circling
They're whispering, "You're out of time,"
But still I rise
This is no mistake, no accident
When you think the final nail is in, think again
Don't be surprised, I will still rise
Oh, you will see me thrive
Can't write my story
I'm beyond the archetype
I won't just conform
No matter how you shake my core
'Cause my roots, they run deep, oh
When, when the fire's at my feet again
And the vultures all start circling
They're whispering, "You're out of time,"
But still I rise
This is no mistake, no accident
When you think the final nail is in, think again
Don't be surprised, I will still rise
- Primula Baggins
- Living in hope
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Bruncheon is what didn't get eaten at breakfast, rolled up in what hasn't yet been set out for lunch.
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
- Rowanberry
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