(A/N: This is not a violation of canon, I made very sure of that. This is
just one of the many possible dreams that Samwise Gamgee could have had
while traipsing oh-so-merrily through Mordor w/ Mr. Frodo. Insane? Yes.
Probable? Nooo.)
Dreams of Taters (aka When Taters Rule The Earth)
Samwise Gamgee was hating Mordor more and more every day. He hated Stinker, he hated the rocks, the heat, the lack of food, and the effect the proximity to Sauron was having on Mr. Frodo. He hated the lack of food most of all, and was often heard saying "I'd pay a lot for a half-dozen taters". He would've also paid a lot for a good pint and a pub to enjoy it in, but taters were what he mentioned. And so it came, that in one of the stolen moments of sleep, Samwise dreamed…
Spread out before him like a tapestry was a valley of trees and greenery and a lovely river, surrounded by small mountains and rolling hills. In this valley was a city, unlike anything Sam had ever heard tell of. It was great, and huge, but not walled. It sprawled like many villages sort of hodge-podged together, across the valley floor. The roads were paved, there were pubs every ten feet it seemed in the "down-town" area, and people were walking everywhere.
Oh, what people. At first sight, Sam thought that a lot of 'em were Hobbits, but then he found himself standing among them. One, a pretty lass, Hobbit-plump with a twinkle in her eyes and a dimple in her cheeks, nearly bumped into him as she came out of a pub called "Joe's."
"Bless me, but you're tall for a hobbit!" he said in astonishment. She grinned and dimpled at him, replying only with "I know."
And so Sam wandered this beautiful, strange place, and found many, many more of these over-tall hobbitish folk. They were enjoying a pint or a song at the pub, walking among the pretty shops, or just floating down the river in round contrivances. And they all worshipped the Tater.
Everywhere Sam went, he saw taters. Taters in trucks. Taters in pubs. Tater toys with arms and legs for the kiddies. Even the leader of this place, a man called "Gov'nor Kempthorn", posed with a drawing of a tater. In bemusement, Sam took a seat at the very pub that the first pretty lass had been exiting.
"Fried mushrooms! Taters! More taters! Tater skins! How'dyou eat just the skin? Colossal Taters…" he murmured, reading the menu. The language was something like the common tounge spoken in the Shire and Bree, and with the name of the "Gov'nor" being Kempthorn, a Breefolk sort of name, Sam wondered if in some part of Breeland Big and Little folk hadn't wed, producing all these tall hobbits.
So he ordered a pint of local beer, plate of fried mushrooms, and a Colossal Tater. The mushrooms were of great quality, better even than Farmer Maggot's, dipped in a beer-based batter and fried golden brown. He ate the whole generous serving, and tucked in his napkin to prepare for this so-called Colossal Tater.
"Great Oliphants!" Sam exclaimed as the serving-girl put down the tater. "it's as big as me head! What sort of place is this?"
"Boise, Idaho."
Dreams of Taters (aka When Taters Rule The Earth)
Samwise Gamgee was hating Mordor more and more every day. He hated Stinker, he hated the rocks, the heat, the lack of food, and the effect the proximity to Sauron was having on Mr. Frodo. He hated the lack of food most of all, and was often heard saying "I'd pay a lot for a half-dozen taters". He would've also paid a lot for a good pint and a pub to enjoy it in, but taters were what he mentioned. And so it came, that in one of the stolen moments of sleep, Samwise dreamed…
Spread out before him like a tapestry was a valley of trees and greenery and a lovely river, surrounded by small mountains and rolling hills. In this valley was a city, unlike anything Sam had ever heard tell of. It was great, and huge, but not walled. It sprawled like many villages sort of hodge-podged together, across the valley floor. The roads were paved, there were pubs every ten feet it seemed in the "down-town" area, and people were walking everywhere.
Oh, what people. At first sight, Sam thought that a lot of 'em were Hobbits, but then he found himself standing among them. One, a pretty lass, Hobbit-plump with a twinkle in her eyes and a dimple in her cheeks, nearly bumped into him as she came out of a pub called "Joe's."
"Bless me, but you're tall for a hobbit!" he said in astonishment. She grinned and dimpled at him, replying only with "I know."
And so Sam wandered this beautiful, strange place, and found many, many more of these over-tall hobbitish folk. They were enjoying a pint or a song at the pub, walking among the pretty shops, or just floating down the river in round contrivances. And they all worshipped the Tater.
Everywhere Sam went, he saw taters. Taters in trucks. Taters in pubs. Tater toys with arms and legs for the kiddies. Even the leader of this place, a man called "Gov'nor Kempthorn", posed with a drawing of a tater. In bemusement, Sam took a seat at the very pub that the first pretty lass had been exiting.
"Fried mushrooms! Taters! More taters! Tater skins! How'dyou eat just the skin? Colossal Taters…" he murmured, reading the menu. The language was something like the common tounge spoken in the Shire and Bree, and with the name of the "Gov'nor" being Kempthorn, a Breefolk sort of name, Sam wondered if in some part of Breeland Big and Little folk hadn't wed, producing all these tall hobbits.
So he ordered a pint of local beer, plate of fried mushrooms, and a Colossal Tater. The mushrooms were of great quality, better even than Farmer Maggot's, dipped in a beer-based batter and fried golden brown. He ate the whole generous serving, and tucked in his napkin to prepare for this so-called Colossal Tater.
"Great Oliphants!" Sam exclaimed as the serving-girl put down the tater. "it's as big as me head! What sort of place is this?"
"Boise, Idaho."