Terrors Of The Palantir
Sauron glared down at the world. He was very annoyed, since Mordor's resident optician had told him he needed glasses. The resulting fit of rage/temper tantrum had ended up destroying Mordor Opticians Inc's HQ and the surrounding area.
Sauron remembered what his therapist had said.
Let it all out, remembered the Dark Lord.
Visions of stupid hobbits flashed before his eye. Then that Heir of Isildur. That annoying white wizard. The elves. Those insufferable dwarves. And that... thing that followed the hobbits.
The Dark Lord called for his disguised Palantir to be brought forth. Sauron remembered the being that had appeared to him yesterday, bearing a box marked with hazard signs.
"Load these into your Palantir. Each Palantir is designed to torture one enemy," the being had said. Sauron's Orcs had done so.
"Deliver these!" ordered His Evilness.
The Orcs bowed, and donned postman outfits, then took the packages and left. Sauron cackled evilly.
