Grizlok and his fellow orc conspirators, Fungen and Trasher, snuck past the front door of Sauron's Throne Room. A new sign hung from it that read, "No Admittance Except On Party Business!" They shook their heads in dismay, and yet the sign strengthened their resolve. They had to do something - now! Continuing on, they stealthily entered the kitchen by the back servant's entrance.
The orcs selected their weapons, hefting them in their hands to get familiar with the weight. Satisfied, Grizlok lead them from the kitchen down a dim corridor, towards the Throne Room not far away.
Meanwhile, in that very Throne Room, Sauron lay face down on the stone floor, the various rugs and animal skins pushed aside in a haphazard manner. In front of him lay nineteen rings of various shapes and sizes. They'd arrived this morning and Sauron had been fussing with them ever since. Pushing aside the ones with stones, jewels or elaborate shapes, he kept four or five simple round rings.
Selecting one, he set it on its edge, holding it in that position with one finger. With his other hand, he flicked the ring into a spinning motion. The ring span before him on its edge, tracing lazy circles on the smooth stone surface. It showed no sign of slowing down. Taking another of the symmetrical rings, Sauron set it to spinning in the same manner. Then he did another, then another until all the rings were spinning together on the floor.
On a whim, he grabbed one of the more elaborate rings, and set in motion. To his delight it, too, span happily before him, showing no sign of slowing down. Sauron clapped his hands in glee, and span the remaining rings. Soon all the Rings of Power were spinning a beautiful dance in front of the Dark Lord's rapt face.
He watched on in amazement as the rings cavorted about, zipping in and out about each other, crossing each other's paths but never colliding. Eventually, it become clear that three of the rings – the elven ones - were following the same path, while another seven, fatter rings – the dwarf rings, of course – were following their own path. Even the nine rings for mortal men followed each other. In fact, they seemed to be running around all the other rings, maintaining some sort of barrier. Interesting, thought Sauron.
Then Sauron produced the One Ring from his pocket. What have I got in my pocketses? he joked with himself. The Ring was warm in his hand as he brought it in front of his face. Looking at it, he saw the thin script traced all about it, glowing with a satisfying heat. Such a pretty thing, he thought. I do love it so. My precious, cutsie little ringy. He set the ring on its edge as he'd done with the others, and gave it a flick.
The One Ring went straight for the Three, smashing into the slowest one, sending it careening off to one side. It was quickly intercepted by the Nine, who took it down and it slid off and stopped not far from the others. The One Ring then hit the remaining two elf rings, with the Nine backing it up. The dwarf rings faired no better when the One attacked them, and with the aid of the Nine, the Seven were quickly dispatched.
Sauron looked on in glee, clapping his hands in applause. "I win!" he cried. He snatched up the One Ring and stood up, doing a little victory dance. Inadvertently, he kicked one of the dwarf rings and it went flying off across the room, sliding under the door to his closet.
"Morgoth's balls!" Sauron cursed and stopped dancing. He picked up the other rings, tossed them on his desk and went over to the closet. The rings landed on the party invitations strewn across the desk, each hand written by Sauron himself. One in particular was duplicated several times, but all the variations were crossed out. Some read "Dear Galadriel, I would be honoured..." or "Dearest Queen Galadriel, it would be a pleasure if..." and another read, "Hey, hot pants! Why don't you come over and we'll..." Obviously the Dark Lord was having trouble with that one.
Sauron approached the closet and opened the door. It was packed full of discarded ski equipment, boxes, magazines and other junk. But no sign of the missing ring. He got on his hands and knees and started rummaging through the shoes on the floor, tossing them out over his head one at a time.
Unseen by the Dark Lord, Grizlok, Fungen and Trasher snuck into the Throne Room from the rear entrance. Trasher started to giggle as they made their way to the Throne. Grizlok elbowed him in the stomach, and he stopped his girlish laughter. They ducked down behind the Throne and waited with baited breath.
In the closet, Sauron pushed aside a hockey stick which struck a shelf above him, shaking loose its contents. He spotted the ring on the floor and said "A-ha! Got you!" and grabbed it just as a bowling bowl rolled silently across the jostled shelf, falling straight down onto the Dark Lord's head in the clichéd tradition of many great cartoons. Thud!
Stars crossed in front of his eyes. The jolt carried right through his head, causing a wild pain, but he began to see things clearer. What have I been doing!? he thought to himself. I am the Dark Lord Of Mordor, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings! I have no time for such games! And the evil Dark Lord stormed out of the closet, his stride swift and purposeful.
Depositing the dwarf ring on the desk, he noticed the invitations scattered about the top. Summoning an evil, burning touch, he ran his hand across the papers, incinerating them all. Enough of this foolishness, he thought. All of Middle Earth will be mine, I must plan my dominion. With that he strode across the room to his Dark Throne.
He hesitated as he stepped up to it, noticing the hole in the seat and the chain dangling from a water reserve suspended above. What nonsense is this? he wondered angrily. Noticing a lid attached to the seat, he pushed it down and sat upon his Throne and started devising his dark plans. How hard is it to put the lid down?
At that very moment, Grizlok stood up behind him, quietly beckoning the others to mimic him. Each raised their weapons and, on a signal from Grizlok, slammed them down upon the Dark Lord's exposed head. Grizlok's frying pan made a loud ding sound on impact, while Fengen's wooden mallet made a dull thud. Trasher's egg whisk was less effective and he shrugged embarrassedly at the others.
The Dark Lord Sauron toppled from his Throne. The conspirators rushed around as he slid down onto the floor, a groan emanating from his slack jawed mouth. Grizlok bent down by his lord and master, looking into his bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry, my Lord, it was the only way could help you," he said.
Looking back at the orc, the Dark Lord Sauron, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, King of the Earth, the Nameless Enemy said, "Et tu, Fluffy?" and promptly fainted.
"Oh shi-i-i-t!" exclaimed the orcs in unison.