Disclaimer: All characters except for Mrs. Sauron's Mum and the salespersons belong to the Great Lord Tolkien.
A Day in the Life of Sauron
Imagine a dark, desolate land, a barren wasteland riddled with ash and fire. The very earth itself seems to loath and despise what it has become in this dreaded corner of the land.
Imagine, if you will, an ominous, dark tower, rising from the earth. The sight of this tower, the sound of its very name, is enough to make the pants of the mightiest warrior feel rather damp. But the most fearsome of all is He Who Dwells in this tower. The Dark Lord Sauron, forger of the One Ring, master of the Nine Nazgul, the one who shall...
I said, THE DARK LORD SAURON, FORGER OF-
Oh, I see. Ahem. The Dark Lord Sauron, who is asleep in bed right now, snoring loud enough to pull Isildur from his grave.
BZZZT!!!
BZZZT!!!
BZZ- CRASH!
Sauron smashed the alarm clock with his fist, and growled. "There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of Men to describe Monday mornings!" he muttered, rolling out of bed.
"Hey Saurkraut!" Nazgul #3 said, passing by Sauron's bedroom door. "Morgoth called. He wants his Palm Palantir back."
"Tell him no, and give him full permission to use the "kill the messanger" method," grumbled Sauron.
"... I'll have Nazgul #7 give him the message," Nazgul #3 said.
"Whatever! Just keep that off-key idiot off my back!" Sauron said. He pulled on his bathrobe and stomped off to the bathroom, muttering as he went, "I am not a morning person!"
The bathroom was, unfortunately, currently inhabited by Nazgul #2, who was in the shower singing merrily about purple oliphaunts at the top of his lungs. Sauron considered bashing the door down, sending Nazgul #2 in to the next age, and making Nazgul #4 pay the repair bill for the door, but then Sauron remembered the last time he had had a brilliant plan like that, he ended up having to pay for an entire dungeon to be replaced.
So the Dark Lord stomped off the the kitchen hoping fervently that Nazgul #8 hadn't used up all the coffee like he had last Thursday morning. Fortunately for Nazgul #8, he hadn't. Of course, would you want a coffee pot stuffed down your undead throat twice in one week?
Sauron pulled a chipped mug with the words "I LOVE MY MOMMY" written on the side out of the cupboard and poured his coffee. This coffee was so strong that it could burn the roof off of a mere mortal's mouth, and was only safe for the Nazgul and the Dark Lord to drink. It was like fire running through your veins, lava searing your arteries and pillaging your heart. It felt like acid eating away at your innards, destroying your vital organs. Sauron loved it.
Just as he sat down at the kitchen table to drink his coffee in peace, the Palantir rang. "If it's a Salesman, tell him to go stick his ass in Mount Doom," Sauron said to Nazgul #1, who was also in the kitchen. He preferred to be called The Witch King, but for the sake of continuity, we'll stick with numbers.
"Right," said Nazgul #1, and went to answer the Palantir. A moment later he stuck his head back in the kitchen door and said, "It's your mom."
"Shit," muttered Sauron and reluctantly went to the Palantir.
"Is that my little Saurikins?" came a chipper, elderly voice from the Palantir when Sauron entered the room where it was kept.
"Good morning, Mother," sighed Sauron.
"And how's my best boy?" Mrs. Sauron's Mum asked.
"I'm well, Mother," replied Sauron dutifully.
"Did you remember your eye-doctor appointment last Thursday?" asked Mrs. Sauron's Mum.
"No, Mother, I didn't," Sauron answered. He had actually made sure that he was busy buying more coffee at the time of his appointment. He liked his eye the way it was, thankyouverymuch.
"You know, you wouldn't forget these things if you hadn't lost that Ring of yours," Mrs. Sauron's Mumchided sternly.
"I didn't lose it, Isildur stole it from me," Sauron said testily. "It was his fault!"
"Now, don't you go blaming that nice boy!" scolded Mrs. Sauron's Mum. "What ever happened to him, anyway?"
"He was slain by orcs three thousand years ago," said Sauron flatly.
"Oh, that's right! Was it really three thousand years ago? Well time certainly does fly!"exclaimed Mrs. Sauron's Mum.
"Whatever," said Sauron.
"Are your feet warm, dear?"
"What?"
"I asked you if your feet are warm!" Mrs. Sauron's Mum repeated. "In Valar Weekly it said that if your feet aren't warm, you could get a cold. I don't want my little Saurikins getting a cold!"
"I won't get a cold, Mother," Sauron said, exasperated.
"Why don't you have that friend of yours... what's his name? The one who's always knitting..." Mrs. Sauron's Mum trailed off.
"Nazgul #5?" suggested Sauron.
"Yes, that's the one!" Mrs. Sauron's Mum cried. "You should have him make you some socks. A nice, wooly pair of socks."
"He's in the middle of knitting a neck warmer for his Winged Steed and he doesn't like working on more than one project at once," answered Sauron.
"Oh, isn't that sweet!" Mrs. Sauron's Mum cooed. "Boys are so cute with their little pets. Well when he's done tell him that Mrs. Sauron's Mum asked him to knit a pair of socks for her little Saurikins."
"Of course, Mother, I'll say just that!" said Sauron sarcastically.
"There's a good boy." Mrs. Sauron's Mum paused, and then went on. "I got a call from Morgoth's Mummy the other day. She says that you borrowed Morgoth's Palm Palantir and won't give it back!"
"But I like it!" Sauron complained.
"Sauron! That's no way to act toward your betters!"
"Morgoth isn't my better; he's just a tone-deaf git who can't see when his reign of terror is over!" Sauron grumbled.
"Sauron!" cried Mrs. Sauron's Mum, shocked. "I thought I'd raised you better! Shame on you for talking like that!"
From somewhere else in Barad-dur, Sauron heard one of the Nazgul calling his name. "Mother," he said hastily, "I'm sorry, but I really must be going."
"Alright dear," Mrs. Sauron's Mum said. "Be a good boy and keep your feet warm. And remember your Mummy loves you. Buh bye!"
"Good bye, Mother," said Sauron, praising theValar that he was not speaking to his mother in person, and so didn't have to kiss her good bye. Then he went off to see why his name was being called.
"SAURON!!!" shouted Nazgul #9 as Sauron neared the bathroom.
"What?!" asked Sauron. "What in the Voidis going on??"
"Nazgul #2 used up all the hot water in his shower!" Nazgul #9 complained. "If I have to take one more cold shower this week then I will be forced to whine at a very high-pitched frequency!"
"If you keep complaining you'll find out what it feels like to lose a staring contest with a giant flaming eyeball." growled Sauron. "I am a sore winner.
"'K," Nazgul #9 said meekly. "S... Sorry to bother you, Boss Man!"
Just then, Nazgul #5 walked by, his knitting basket over his arm. "Hey, dude," Sauron said, stopping him. "If my mom asks, you knitted me a pair of socks, ok?"
"Sure!" Nazgul #5 gave Sauron a thumbs up, and walked away laughing.