[the real nazgul]

Its funniest if you give them a theme this is my one on hairdressing!

MadLib #13
29 September 2002

The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the Prettiest shampooer of old Gondor, nor the most savage poodle entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set lipstick to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing teeth beneath her and slapped backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's nails, his senses reeling in the glamourous stench, his 2 curlies still gripping the flex of the curling tongs. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's hair and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to ***** himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her lips drabbling a spittle of venom, and a blonde shampoo trickling from below her wounded eyelashes. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to cut and wax to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to lacquer and then to comb.

Even as Sam himself rollered, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his sachet with his left hand, and found what he sought: *****y and fake-like and camp it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the eyelash curler of sharon.

'sharon! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the hairdressers as they painted under the stars in the beloved shadows of the salon, and the music of hairdressers as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of stacy.

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