Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or places. I am making no money from this, and no disrespect is intended. I have no affiliation with the Tolkien estate. I also have no affiliation with any of the companies and bands named herein, and I am not promoting the use of drugs. No offense is intended with the writing and posting of this story. Do not sue; repeat, do not sue. I own a cat and a pair of track-suit pants only.

Author's Note: This is a complete and utter mockery. Just. . . don't take it too seriously. I have no idea why I wrote this. There's no excuse anyway. However, if for some strange reason, you feel that you'd like to read a second or further chapter, then do let me know. Please. Thank you.

BRING DOWN THE ESTABLISHMENT

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It didn't take Sauron all that long after Isildur buggered off with his ring, to realise that there really wasn't all that much money to be made in the ring business.

After all, he'd gone to a lot of trouble making the frigging things only to find himself disembodied and almost utterly powerless. This annoyed him most severely. He must have burned his fingers fifty times on that molten metal, FIFTY BLOODY TIMES. And then after it all he didn't even have any fingers to burn. Oh yes, Sauron was quite pissed off.

Thus, he decided that some other way to rule the world (and get rich quick) was in order. After a bit of wondering and general pissing about Middle-earth, Sauron got sick and tired and, as a result, a little mean. He killed a passing short, stout, balding businessman and possessed his body. He then marched his stout self right into Minas Tirith looking for opportunities to come knocking.

After a few weeks and a complete lack of knocking opportunities, Sauron found himself sitting dejectedly on the footpath of Fence (erm. . . there aren't all that many synonyms for 'wall' are there?) Street and eating almost the last of his (or, rather, the businessman's) money in the form of a sad-looking hot dog. The rings were suddenly looking rather sunny, the megalomania was growing, and he was having pleasant visions of an unholy army of the night, when someone tapped on the shoulder.

"You there. . . " said a red-faced young man wearing a crisp white shirt and a natty brocade vest, " are you one of the investors?"

"Er. . . " was Sauron's eloquent answer.

"The investors, you know," the young man continued in an irritated voice, gesturing with a sweeping hand to the large amassing of short, stout business men behind him. "It's for that new business, Macrohard, it's about to go on the share market. And I'd suggest that you hurry yourself up if you're waiting about here to invest. Good growth opportunities, you know."

The young man looked sweaty and flustered and had spoken to him quite abruptly, which would have been more than good cause for Sauron to wring his disrespectful neck any other day. However, the word 'opportunity' had piqued his interest, and seeing as he would probably get into trouble if he went about strangling people in the guise of a middle-aged accountant instead of an omnipotent Over-Lord, he fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a small gold coin and a piece of blue fluff. It was all he had left.

He handed it to the young man, gave him his name and followed him into a large building that contained a lot of similarly attired people shouting and waving small lengths of yellow paper at each other. A dour old woman with a tight bun handed him a Styrofoam cup with lukewarm coffee when he sat down in the waiting area, to which he had been directed by the young man while being instructed to wait. He hadn't waited long before a huge cheer erupted from the perspiring, excited crowd that he had noticed earlier and an oily, pimply youth in candy-stripes came running toward him carrying three clinking leather bags.

"You, Mr. Sauron sir," gasped the youth, trying to keep his breaking voice under control, "This is yours. Macrohard just boomed! That Ben Door is a marvel! Jeffery says that if you want to invest some more you'll have to go and see him, he's just over there." The adolescent indicated the neatly dressed young man that had spoken to Sauron on the street previously, and then sprinted off to deliver gold to the others that had invested in Macrohard.

It did not require the genius of a nuclear physicist to understand that turning one small coin and a portion of lint into three rattling bags of money was a very favourable outcome indeed. Sauron waddled his weighty body toward 'Jeffery', removed a few coins from his leather bags, and then plunked the remains on the young man's ledger.

"I'd like to invest in Macrohard again, Jeffery, and I'll be back to collect my gains tomorrow."

Jeffrey nodded, noted a few things down in his ledger, set the money into a large piled at his side and proceeded to ignore Sauron. Thinking that this was, indeed, even better than the seeing that horrid bugger Elrond's clothes set alight on the fires of Mount Doom after Isildur betrayed him, Sauron took what he had of his new riches and went to the nearest book shop. He emerged onto the street fifteen minutes later with a thick copy of 'The Share Market & Fence Street For Dummies' tucked under his arm along with a few Garfield cartoons guiltily secreted behind it. Sauron went to the shwankiest inn he could find a rented their best room.

He was rather proud of himself that night, looking out over the lights of Minas Tirith after he'd read his new books and now knew exactly what he was going to do. And he wasn't looking out over the lights of Minas Tirith from someone else's penthouse window for much longer. The very next day he strolled himself back to Fence Street, researched the best markets, invested here and there, and after a few months he was an extremely wealthy Dark-Lord. He bought himself concerns in oil-companies, food manufacturers, anything he could get his greedy hands on. He came to love the strange power that money commanded, and the fact that he had lots and lots of it meant that people were practically slithering across the floor to please him. Considering himself a self-made man, he enjoyed the company of similar characters, embracing the commercial world, sharing a love-affair with the consumerist public and admiring kindred spirits.

Life would have been perfect if it hadn't been for the Elves. Sauron loved the money-hungry general populace, who had to work and slave every day over desks in offices to help his fortune grow because they simply hadn't been in the right place at the right time. He was all-powerful over those people – they loved material gain, and as their chances for material gain depended mainly on Sauron's allowing them to be employed by his companies, they were very pleasant to him. Quite obedient too.

But the elves just didn't, quite frankly, give a shit about money. For them, it was all peace, love and daisies. It made Sauron ill to think of their scantily clad bodied frolicking amongst the forget-me-nots while the White Album played incessantly in the background. Bloody Beatles. Blasted Elves. Sauron liked people in smart, crisp, gray power-suits, not tie-dyed robes that looked like they'd seen better days five-hundred years ago. The Elves being a pack of hopeless hippies meant not only that Sauron lacked the ability to control them, but also that a lot of forest area that he could have used either to build tall buildings for more offices or to grow trees for making more small lengths of yellow paper to wave around, was being wasted on large plantations of marijuana.

And they didn't even care!

Once day, however, as Sauron fumed and stamped his short, frumpy body around his spacious corner-office in anger, he had an epiphany. He had been observing the milling of thousands of people around Fence Street, thinking over his billions of dollar and his gripe with the Elves, when he saw a black-clad man mug an old lady as she walked out of one of his chain clothes shops. It had brought a fond smile to his face, and then he realised that HE could do EXACTLY the same thing, and have results even more pleasing than a bag full of money and a wailing old woman.

He called in his secretary, a leggy woman in a short purple suit with bouncing red hair employed more for her 'talent' than her talent, and asked her to get hold of Mordor for him. He was going to speak to someone about getting a bit of an army on the go; an army that would go forth and plunder, take from the Elves the things they held most dear and leave them at his will.

Sauron WOULD be the ultimate power on Middle-earth, by hook and by crook. *insert maniacal laughter*

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Legolas snorted out of his sleepy haze and rolled over. He found himself lying atop the Elrond, who was awoken by the movement and offered him a bleary smile.

"Hey," said Legolas, favouring Elrond with a loving kiss while reaching the grope the floor in the proximity of where they lay. Elrond continued kissing him while they both continued to awaken further, and as this happened Legolas came to the realisation that what he sought was no longer where he had left it.

He frowned and pulled back from Rivendell's lord, "Man, what happened to the bong?"

Elrond mirrored his frown, " It's just here, I left it next to us last night. You can't miss it."

Indeed, you couldn't have missed it if it had been there as it was a huge multi-coloured wizard sitting on a bright-green dragon. It was Legolas' favourite. But it was not there, and this meant that unless it was somewhere else nearby, there would not be a forthcoming breakfast-billy for Elrond or his lover.

Legolas rolled off Elrond and onto his other side to search for the bong, and it occurred to him that he was extremely uncomfortable for some reason. Sitting up, a quick glance round let him know that the beanbag they usually slept upon was missing, as were his candles and Elrond's beaded curtain.

"Elrond, where did the beanbag go?"

Elrond rose upon his elbows and scanned the room.

"And my beaded curtain. Wait. . . where's my collection of Hendrix on vinyl?"

The couple were about to get up and begin an earnest search for both the missing items and the prankster who had pilfered them, when a distressed Glorfindel arrived at the un-curtained doorway, his peace-signs clinking around his neck merrily. He wore only a loosely tied sarong and was rather disheveled, as though he'd run a long distance in a short time.

"Elrond, Legolas," he addressed them frantically, " It's missing! It's all missing!"

"Yes, I know, have you seen my bong Glorf-" began Legolas.

"No, Legolas! It's gone; everything's gone. My whole collection of Rolling Stone records, Elrohir's Beatles posters, Arwen's rainbow guitar – all taken!"

"When did you find this out, Glorfindel? We've only been awake a few minutes and here you are with all the information . . . you wouldn't happen to know anything about their whereabouts, would you?" said Elrond grumpily, longing for his damned breakfast-billy and a plate of porridge. Glorfindel had a reputation for his chicanery.

Glorfindel indicated the position of the sun on the bedroom floor. " It's past midday, Elrond. I've been awake for ages, and I've been around the palace. Everyone is in an uproar. Everything is missing from all over the kingdom."

"All over the kingdom?!" gasped the lovers in unison.

The seneschal added gravely, " I haven't checked the plantation yet, but. . . it doesn't seem hopeful."

"How about everywhere else, has anything been taken at Dad's place?" Legolas asked anxiously, his hand feeling for Elrond's in his need for support.

"I've sent a few kids off to ask," replied Glorfindel, " But something tells me that the news won't be good. I haven't even got any of my clothes left! They've taken all my Hawaiian shirts. I've only got this," he indicated the sarong, " because I slept under it last night. Nothing else, I tell you!"

Elrond squinted at the pink article, patterned with swirls and tassels. "Hey. . . wait. . . isn't that Elrohir's bed cover?"

"Moving right along," said Glorfindel quickly, " I've got Erestor revving 'Pattie' up and we're going to go and see if we can find this stuff."

Pattie was a huge, ancient, purple van that Arwen and Legolas had decorated with flowers, suns and peace signs. They'd written 'All you need is love' on one side, because Legolas had decided it would go faster. It clunked and shuddered and spat out terrible black fumes, but it they wouldn't be allowed to take horses because Elladan claimed that it was cruelty to animals.

Legolas sprang to his feet, " To the love mobile!" he shouted, and ran through the door. Glorfindel followed directly, trying to hold the sarong up to cover his nakedness while being eyed suspiciously by Elrond, who was also trying to pay attention to Legolas' shapely behind as the prince dashed ahead.

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Want more? Let me know, then.

Yours, Black Hole Sun.