(Disclaimer: I do not own Sauron, nor would I want to. Neither do I own MS Word – that dubious pleasure belongs to Bill Gates. However, this particularly twisted idea is wholly mine, as are the typo demons, whose souls belong to ME ALONE. Insert evil laughter here.
This is without a doubt the strangest thing I will ever write. Please, all sane people who end up reading this, forgive me for twisting your minds so cruelly.)
The Wedding of the Century
Saruman the jilted lover wept quietly in a corner as Sauron and his new bride marched down the aisle. "I n-never thought it could happen," he sniffled. "H-he really left me!"
"There, there," said Wormtongue, patting his shoulder comfortingly. "There are other fishies in the sea, after all."
Elrond and Gandalf, who, as Sauron's only trustworthy semi-acquaintances, were there to act as witnesses, exchanged glances.
King Aragorn, the only person certified to perform marriages anywhere in the vicinity of Mordor, boomed out, "Do you, Dark Lord Sauron, take this – technological device – to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Sauron, of course, was unable to speak. However, from the nervous jittering of his eye, one could tell he was getting cold feet. The blushing bride hastily grabbed the Mouth of Sauron from the front-row pew and jabbed him in the ribs, hard.
"I do!" squeaked the Mouth hastily, throwing one of Mankind's Rings of Power (borrowed off of Nazgul #7) at the couple, then scurried back to his seat before he could be further abused by his employers, resolving to ask for a much better benefits package next time.
"And do you, Mary Sue Word, take this – evilly glowing eye – to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do," said Mary Sue Word firmly, wrapping a wire around her new husband so that he couldn't bounce away.
"Then I now pronounce you, for lack of a better set of words, man and wife!" There was a pause while Aragorn made sure his eyes were safely shut, with a set of dark glasses over them for good measure; then he added, in tones of resigned horror, "You may now kiss the bride."
Everyone else in the room belatedly shut their eyes as well. Presumably there was a kiss; fortunately for the sanity of all present, nobody actually witnessed it but the two participants themselves.
Mary Sue Word – or, as she liked to call herself, MS – had met the Lord of Darkness during last year's Mankind's Suffering Sweepstakes, and the two of them had quickly discovered that they shared several hobbies and interests, namely, driving mere mortals to the brink of insanity. (They also were both very fond of strawberry martinis, although nowadays Sauron had to resign himself to looking at them.) The romance blossomed, and several months afterwards, Sauron had proposed – or rather, MS had yanked the Mouth of Sauron down on one knee and ordered him to make the request. The two most dreaded powers in the world of fanfiction were now to be united as one. Naturally, there had been some protest to this at first, until Gandalf, Wisest of the Wise, pointed out that when Sauron was busy dealing with MS, little things like Rings of Power would fade into insignificance. Besides, it only served him right. After that, all of Middle Earth gladly sacrificed their time and resources to throw together the biggest wedding bash ever seen.
And for a while, there was peace. Saruman had locked himself into his tower, sulking, and wouldn't come out, but nobody was really bothered by that – not even faithful Wormtongue, who took advantage of the break to go on vacation in Hawaii. (Incidentally, Wormtongue there ran into a blue alien and continued his career of evil by becoming involved with the dreaded Disney Corporation, but that's another story.) The hobbits, who had been instrumental in designing the wedding, were much in demand as party planners now that their skill in providing food enough for every orc in the kingdom was known. Aragorn discovered that he rather liked performing this aspect of his duties as king, and went on a marrying binge, culminating in the nuptials of Orc #577 and a small mulberry bush, who were rather surprised by the whole business. All in all, everyone was relatively happy with their lot.
But then came the evil that not even Gandalf had foreseen.
"We're having a baby shower!" said the friendly little leaflet that arrived in Rivendell's mailbox. "Please come to welcome seventy thousand and six new typo demons into the world. RSVP recommended."
The union of the giant evil eye and the technological device had born fruit – and a new reign of terror in the realm of fan fiction had begun.