The Diary of an Incompetent Nazgûl

"Grishnakh, I told you I'm not that incompetent. I only caused thirty-eight fires in the past forty-eight hours. Do you really think that calls for calling me incompetent?"

He made no reply.

Several hours later

I was a "pre-raid meeting" (for meeting, read "group of Nazgûl singing(screeching) while an unfortunate orc attempts to conduct them and keep the wads of cotton in his ears at the same time"). Apparently Master wants to avoid "another [censored] bungling like the last one. Witch-king doesn't even have his face back yet!". I can't say I blame him, but having a bunch of Nazgûl get together and sing "Killing Hobbits"(1) is not the best way to avoid another Nazgûl having its face melted off. Or even a remotely good way. In fact, it's a downright terrible way. I tried telling Master that, but he just threatened to melt my face off and put me in the same hospital room as Witch-King. It's not my fault I threw that torch at him. Really! I didn't mean to. And the singing. It gets in the way of having any kind of strategical discussion.

"Hey Nazgûl no. 7, would you mind lending me your morgul blade for this raid? I think I dropped mine in Mount Doom on my last patrol"

"Sure Khamûl! I'd be

"COME TIGHTEN YOUR GIRTH AND SLACKEN YOUR REIN;

COME BUCKLE YOUR BLANKET AND SCABBARD AGAIN;

TRY THE SWISH OF YOUR BLACK ROBES AND POISON YOUR BLADE,

FOR HE MUST RIDE SURE THAT GOES KILLING HOBBITS."

"glad to. I just have one favor to ask you. Would you mind staying away from torches for the next five of your lives?"

"But torches are so fun! I love bur-"

"COME TIGHTEN YOUR GIRTH AND SLACKEN YOUR REIN;

COME BUCKLE YOUR BLANKET AND SCABBARD AGAIN;

TRY THE SWISH OF YOUR BLACK ROBES AND POISON YOUR BLADE,

FOR HE MUST RIDE SURE THAT GOES KILLING HOBBITS."

'-ning things. You can't possibly expect me to stay away from them"

He proceeded to chase me out of the meeting with a torch. A burning torch. I forgot how much I hate fire.

One week later

We had the raid a few days ago. My morgul blade broke when I stabbed some random passer-by. I tried calling Morgoth Support Co., but they were most unhelpful

Me: "Hello? Is this Morgoth Support Co.? Oh good. My Morgul blade broke and I was wondering if I could get a replacement"

Orc at Morgoth: "Hello. My name is Fred. Would you describe the problem in less than ten words please?"

Me: "My Morgul blade broke."

Orc: "I'm sorry. Maces, axes, hammers, and miscellaneous battering weapons are another department. This is blades, knives, and other sharp pointy things.

Me: "I said Morgul BLADE"

Orc: "Oh, enchanted blades are another department. You want Shirley down in enchantments."

Me: "Surely you can't be serious. All I want is a new Morgul blade and I have to go through all these layers of support?"

Orc: "Yes, that's right, Shirley. Just turn your dial until flames come out of the telephone, then yell "ENCHANTMENTS" as loud as you can."

I don't think he heard me. He also seems to think that we still use dial phones, when touch tone phones were issued to us Nazgûl at least twenty seconds before I made my call.

12 hours, one long march down to Morgoth Support Co., and one sword pointing at "Ned"'s (Shirley told me that broken enchanted blades are yet another department) throat later

"I'm sorry sir, but I cannot replace your Morgul blade. Your warranty does not cover regular use-caused wear, acts of Valar or Morgoth, ingestion by Fell Beasts, chewing by orcs, immersion in lava, or factory defects."

"Well, what does it cover"

"Obliteration by angry Mumakil who are painted orange, have exactly ninety-three arrows in them, and are rampaging in Near Harad."

"That's what happened to my Morgul blade. I swear!"

He just looked at me. "I'm sorry sir. I cannot help you. Would you mind filling out this survey and telling us how we did?"

I obliterated him. Being able to kill annoying orcs is one of the perks of being Head Nazgûl.

Ten minutes later

"Khamûl, how many times have I told you that orcs are expensive and you are not to obliterate them"

"nine thousand, seven hundred and thirty-seven."

"Then WHY is it that you have obliterated no less than TWENTY THREE ORCS in the past day?" Master brought his fist crashing down on his assistant orc's head. "WELL?"

"Err. Em. Um. Well, you see… Actually, the support orcs refused to replace my Morgul blade after I broke it stabbing someone"

"YOU IDIOT! IT'S SUPPOSED TO BREAK AFTER STABBING SOMEONE" He pounded the orcs head several more times.

"Master, couldn't we at least move back to Erebor Support Co.? They were willing to replace things, if you paid them enough"

"But nobody could UNDERSTAND THEIR ABSURDLY THICK SCOTTISH ACCENTS, AND WE RAN OUT OF GOLD IN LESS THAN A WEEK! A WEEK! DO YOU HEAR? NOW GET OUT OF MIGHT SIGHT, AND IF I CATCH YOU KILLING ONE MORE ORC, I'll KILL YOU!" He tried to bang his assistant again and found that he'd been reduced to a pile of goo by "repeated impacts to the head by a blunt object"

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