A chronicle of Saruman's progression into evil, from the original diary. Parody and Humor.
Disclaimer: Parody is protected by law.
Have decided to turn evil.
Need 1) Seat of power. 2) Minions. 3) Ring.
1-Already have Orthanc. Was originally eyeing Necromancer's acreage in Mirkwood, but Gandalf says he's Sauron. Curses.
2-Minions? They say the elves have declined since the Elder days. Found out so have orcs.
Either dwarves really kicked butt in Battle of Azanulbizer, or orcs have always hidden their penchant for Ikebana-type flower arranging and Petit point. Dragged a few orcs home for breeding stock anyway.
(The diary here is hacked multiple times, as if a knife has been driven into the paper.)
Quest for ring. Know Isildur went galoop into the Anduin. Have spent last 200 years on river with fishing pole and parasol. No luck yet. Bent pin and evil intent apparently not enough to seduce Isildur's bane. Gandalf's crack about world's worst fisherman not funny.
I FOUND THE RING! I FOUND THE RING! HAD IT IN MY HAND! Was capering with joy on banks just above the rapids of the Rauros when Radagast the Brown dropped by. “Finally landed a fish, have you? Congratulations!” He slapped me on the back. Ring flew out of my hand and splashed into the rushing water, zipping past like an arrow-shot.
Stunned beyond imagining. Stupid Radagast standing there with woeful face, “Did I do that? Opsy me. Too bad. I came to invite you to tea, by the way.”
Bringing arsenic for dear colleague's Keemun.
Meeting of the White Council and 1/2.
The 1/2 is Radagast, who has just introduced me to Alvin, a large, buzzing green iridescent beetle he has on a leash of thread. Alvin can fly, and has been making a racket around my ears.
“But are you certain you know what's happened to the ring?” says Elrond. “We know you've researched the topic deeply.”
“Do not ask me again!” I reply with heat. “How many times do I have to re—Snerk!”
White Council frozen. Alvin has just propelled himself into my left nostril. Gandalf falls over laughing, Radagast round-eyed. Brown idiot tugs Alvin out, slimed, and gives bug urgent medical once-over.
“Holy Morg--Valar,” I groan. “You imbecile! Why must your little pets always try to invade my person!?”
“Maybe because they are drawn to the scent of—corruption,” says Galadriel meaningfully, giving me an unpleasant, toothy smile.
“But where is the ring?” continues Elrond impatiently.
“IT-FELL-INTO-THE-ANDUIN-AND-ROLLED-DOWN-TO-THE-SEA!” I reply as one word.
“Do NOT ask--
Alvin shoots right down my throat to my stomach, snapping his thread. He goes down easily, well-slicked (and flavored) from my nose.
Radagast hoists my jaws apart, shrieking, “No! Alvin, come out of there! YOU CAN'T DIE.”
White Council meets once every hundred years or so. It's too soon.
Tea With Radagast. Should have known better, since he's a vegan. Served brown rice with lima beans and brussel sprouts. Found ants swarming in the sugarbowl, a mouse nibbling my tofu. I’ve eaten better foraging in the Dead Marshes. For drinks he served a tea of miscellaneous twigs, and I found a spider rafting on the debris in my cup. Flicked spider et. al. out and asked for scotch and soda instead. His conversation all eagle gossip, who’s sitting on whose nest, who’s molted, who’s claimed what rock-crag, and so forth.
R feeding an entire zoo. He's seated me between some bear and a seedy derelict named Maglor. Derelict had dreadlocks to his knees. Not sure if he's just a tall dwarf.
SD croaks out to me, “I was a Feanorian, you know.”
I muttered aside, “Shut up, old coot,” and slammed his head down in his plate of brown rice with a satisfying spat when Radagast wasn't looking. R occupied with a squirming, bulgy-eyed hairless animal in his lap. R just finished wrestling it into clothes and a bow tie.
“Look what I found by the river,” says R with smarmy tones of fond motherhood. “It's a frog-loris cross!”
“Gollum!” says Bulgy-eyes.
“And little Gollum wants his bowl of soup, doesn't he?”
“What is it? What is soup, precious? Birdy? Fishy? Baby?”
“Wheatgrass!” yodeled Radagast.
The bear and I exchanged woeful looks.
“You can't possibly want to eat what you just mentioned,” Radagast remonstrated. “Let's all show Gollum the error of his ways. All together now!” He waved his arms and led the table in a round of Little Rabbit Foo-Foo. Even the bear made the bopping gestures.
When finished, Radagast gave Gollum's bald head a bunch of syrupy wizard kisses.
“Keep that up and you're going to be promoted to Radagast the Grey prematurely,” I warned.
“What's next, cozening the Mirkwood spiders?”
Radagast went all big-eyed. “You mean I'm not supposed to?”
I sputtered on wheatgrass. “NO!”
“But if you stroke them just right, their little legs go all limp.”
“How could you possibly have found that out?” Trust Radagast to have actually made the experiment.
“I invited one of my neighbors in Southern Mirkwood to drop by for tea. He was rather shy, all cloaked up so you couldn't see his face. He came in a chariot drawn by Mirkwood Spiders.”
“Drawn by—Radagast, you FOOL, you invited SAURON to tea!” I put my face in my hands. How were we ever going to defeat--sorry, enable me to supplant--Sauron at this rate?
A mosquito bit my shoulder and I slapped it. Radagast fainted at the sight, dislodging his frog-loris thing right into my soup bowl. “Where is the precious, where is it,” mumbled the animal, nosing my chest. I slapped it away. “In Mordor,” I said in ominous tones (wizard voice comes in very handy at times). “Mordor draws all precious things to it eventually. Go east and south to Mordor and you'll find your precious,” I commanded.
The frog-loris left my soup with a bound and hopped out the window. I tipped the remains of bowl over Radagast's face to revive him.
Rest of evening ghastly, as only R could make it. Had to de-spider my hair after leaving. Wait until I’m in power and R forced to eat barbequed man-flesh. Cackled evilly on the way home.
Dissolved an orc in basin of primordial soup (got idea from R the other day) and used spells of great power. Had plenty of orcs by now, but needed a breed more terrifying.
“Give me an orc! Give me an orc of surpassing vileness, so evil even the sun will blanch! Give me filth incarnate!” I shrieked the spells to the shade of Morgoth.
Something emerged from the basin, slopping wet. It was wearing Shoes for Crews, a pair of black jeans and T-shirt with a blood-red Metallica logo, a red apron, a topknot of purple hair, and a pad-and-pen set.
“What the fuck?” it said. “I was just taking an order for deep-fried cinnamon rolls.” The thing was missing four teeth across the top, and had an overall shriveled aspect. I reared back, alarmed despite myself. My magic had been more powerful than I thought. Then I realized that this thing was human.
“How the fuck did I get here? Who are you?”
“I am Saruman the Wise, and you are my slave, whatever your name is.”
“Oh yeah?” The thing whined. “I'll have you know, Mr. Weirdo, that my name is Mary Sue-the -fuck-out-of-you McKeller, and I didn't get out of jail on those meth charges only to be kidnapped by you. I'm calling my boyfriend Darnell and tellin' 'em to stomp your ugly face in.” It snapped open an oblong device and began to stab it with blood-red chipped fingernails.
I laughed and levitated the device from her—I had to face facts, it was indeed female.
“Let me correct you, slave. I am making an army of orcs, and have bred 10,000 of them already. You are obviously an aberration, but can still be put to work. Your new duties will resemble your old, if I guess correctly at your job, though the pay will be worse.” I cackled for effect. “In other words, none.”
“Fuck you!” she hissed. She tried to gouge my eyes out with her pen while grabbing my beard. My orcs seized her in time.
“Insults sound more effective without all that gum-snapping,” I retorted. “Lugaluk, introduce her to 10,000 potatoes and a peeler.” I smirked as Sue was dragged shrieking off to the scullery.
“I'll cast a murrain on you, motherfucker! I'm a high priestess in the Covenant of UU pagans, I'll have you know.”
I only snickered at her, (I AM the most powerful wizard in Middle-earth, save Sauron, remember) then went to look up ‘murrain’ in my library. Not the time to admit I flunked Manwe’s ancient Scottish curses class back in the Undying Lands.
I reviewed my army the next day. 10,000 arms were presented as they marched past, clashing their spears against their chests as they saluted me. No enemy could face them without abject terror! My wonderful, vile army of orcs! I was so proud of myself.
Then, floating out of the scullery window, I heard the voice of the Sue-thing saying, “Aw, they’re not so bad. They sorta remind me of some of my old boyfriends back in the Bronx. They're actually kinda cute.”
I burst into unashamed tears at this, and snarled to my captains to lead the whole army back into the flesh-dissolving pits.
Have returned to orc drawing-board and buried face in hands. I cannot believe it. That woman has destroyed an army with a single comment.
Took time off project to find out how the other fellow does it. Made compact with Sauron and began to study his lore.
Noon mail-eagle brought me a pair of bunny slippers from Radagast for my birthday. Fed them to Lugaluk, who had been eyeing them hungrily.
Treebeard dropped by in the afternoon to borrow a cup of Miracle Gro for a sick beech. Was tempted to hand him a cup of Dioxin instead, but I can’t unmask myself yet. Was forced to stand there smiling hard for the hour it took him to get from ‘Thank’ to ‘You.’
Pondered Sauron’s xeriscaping with envy.
Used palantir to ‘speak’ to Sauron. At first I could see nothing but a black, drifting cloud.
“You’re looking good. Lost some weight?” I said.
The palantir filled with roaring flame for a moment. I swear, disembodied wraiths have no sense of humor.
Slowly, the form of a bloodshot Eye appeared out of the murk. Very hard to resist power of Eye, even for me. Distracted self by mental trick of imagining it wearing a grass skirt and dancing the hula.
‘What do you have to report?’ it thought at me.
“The White Council is planning your ouster from Dol Guldur. We cannot allow them to give us a poke in the eye.” Mentally, I kicked myself.
The flames around the edge seemed to hiss. “They must be prevented. When will they make the attempt?”
“They are being coy with me about the details. Galadriel does not trust me, but they’re not going to throw mud in my eye!”
And so forth. Got off palantir very weary, and needed a large tot of brandy afterwards.
It’s not fair. We’re both Maiar, so it shouldn’t matter that he’s an eye. Must find ring!
In hallway, came across Sue goosing Lugaluk. Promptly lost lunch, and fled to watch orcs spawning to help settle stomach. Actually gave thought to breeding Sue to Lugaluk, but realized the Enemy might not give this the tans-on-Undying Lands-beach-rehab treatment they stupidly tried with Morgoth the first time. Feared I would receive the stuck-playing-Crazy-Eights-in-the-Void-with-boss' ex-boss type of punishment, instead.
While in my study was hit with profound food cravings. Sue was smirking when she brought in my strawberry water-ice with pickles.
“Noticed anything?” she purred. “My murrains may take time to work, but they hit hard.”
“Not to my knowledge,” I replied haughtily. “Woman! Where are the extra pickles I asked for?”
“I’ll get you some more.” She tittered evilly to herself. “Of course Mr. Big Wizard can’t be expected to fetch them for himself on his poor, swollen feet.”
How did she know my feet were strangely swollen this morning?
Gandalf, that doddering parasite, dropped by. Had to make all the orcs hide in the basement and pretend to be a liberal employer.
“Sue,” I said with gritted teeth over dinner, “would you please bring out the brandy and pipeweed for our guest?” I was coughing on those blasted smoke-rings Gandalf blows so saucily.
“What’s this? Pul–eeze? Am I hearing the magic word?”
“Just. Fetch. The. Booze,” I gritted again. Meanwhile, Gandalf was examining me with curiosity.
“By the way,” said Gandalf. “You seem to be pregnant. Unusual condition in a male Maia, but not impossible.” He snickered in a low manner. “Who’s the father? Sorry! Rude question.” He snickered again, and said in a patronizing way, “Now, you can’t possibly have brandy, you’ll hurt the ickle ittle baby.” He commandeered the bottle from Sue, and bade her pour me some apple juice instead.
Anyone who thinks I was too harsh the day I finally had the chance to slam him around with my staff, is an idiot.
Gave birth. When asked what to do with the baby, I looked up from my sweat-soaked pillow and said, quite reasonably, “Drop it out the window.”
Sue cried out in protest. (She had been attending, along with Lugaluk). “You can’t do that! That’s inhuman! He’s a wonderful, healthy baby boy! Look!”
I looked. “I’m not human,” I replied. “Sell it to the horse-lords. If it made me suffer, I’m going to make it suffer right back, by Morgoth.”
“Horse-men not have slavery,” Lugaluk replied.
“Then make them start!” I shrilled. I was exhausted and hysterical. “Get it out of my sight!”
Sue left with the bundle. She was already cooing and calling it ‘Grima.’
Have heard of postpartum depression, but not postpartum nausea. Sue is pregnant by Lugaluk. The Valar cannot blame me for this one. Kept vomiting at sight of her. Have banished her until she spawns.
Was brewing primordial soup again and ordered chopped eyeballs. These were brought in by a non-waddling and flat-stomached Sue. “So you've finally spawned, sleazy wench?” I enquired.
“Damn right, asshole, and he's the most beautiful baby boy in the world. He's even more handsome than your Grima.”
This gave me pause. I definitely had to see the beast if he was even more hair-raising then Grima.
Sue sneezed copiously right into the basin of soup, contaminating it. I threw her out of the room with a kick and added orc-spawn to the basin, just to see what would happen. This would almost certainly be a failure.
Something rose from the basin and stepped out. It was clean-limbed, tall and fair, with eyes that shone with an ancient memory of starlight.
“You're—you're an elf!” I exclaimed. Wizards should never stutter, but this was a shock.
“No shit,” said the elf.
“!?!” said I.
The elf kicked me in the crotch and bolted, and was last seen melting into trees of Fangorn Forest.
Went to visit Sue's spawn. Just as I was about to tip the bassinet, something dropped on my back and tried to throttle me. A familiar voice was hissing, “Tricksy wizard! Wizard tricks me into going to Mordor. No precious, only evil eyesies! Will kill wizard now!”
With a violent twist I ripped it from my neck and threw it into the conveniently placed bassinet.
Just as I was preparing a spell, I heard a pitiful shrieking. It was the Gollum creature making the noises, and he was holding up a hand.
One of the fingers had been shorn clean off. Gollum fled the bassinet like it was a dragon's den and was out the window before I could seize him.
Cautiously, I peeked inside the bassinet. The baby was sucking on a severed finger like a pacifier. It gripped the gnarled thing in its paw, making contented grunts as it sucked the dripping blood. I patted the baby's head in approval and it snapped at me. “Stop that. You don't want to be giving people ideas.” I examined my hands. I didn't want to resemble Sauron—or Gollum--THAT much.
“You're not half as good looking as Grima,” I said idly. “By the Valar! I mean, Holy Morgoth!
I've got it!”
The baby burped in contentment while I pranced about. “Victory! A human-orc cross more ferocious than either species has just dropped into my hands! Come now, let's off to the spawning grounds. Middle-Earth will soon be in my hands. I will name my new orcs the Uruk-hai, after the noise you just made!”
Orc army prepared and ready to be unleashed. Have heard rumors of creatures called hobbits, and a ring. Rubbing hands with glee. Everything is coming together perfectly. Soon, I will be Lord of all Middle-Earth.
Treebeard came by and asked to borrow a few of my man-orcs, as he calls them.
“Uruk-hai!” I snapped. “Uruk-hai!” Why doesn’t anyone remember the nifty name I dreamed up for them?
“Gesundheit. I just need a few, hoom-hoom.”
“Hoom-hoom,” he pondered. “Say---10,000?”
“What for?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” he hoomed airily.
Are they on to me?
Events taken a turn for the worst. Orcs destroyed, Orthanc made waste. Am now shapeless wraith slain by own minion. Not even allowed to play Crazy Eights with Morgoth.