Lord of the Coffee Java of the Ainur Chapter 56 Sushilob's Lair, a lord of the rings fanfic

Sushilob's Lair
(dangerously silly txt w/ music)

It may indeed have been daytime now, as Gulp'um had said, but the half-caffs could see little difference, unless perhaps the heavy sky was less utterly black than before. It was way-past time for a coffeebreak, but so few of the precious beans did they have left to them that they were forced to ration themselves. Yet NescaFrodo felt, for all his lack of caffeine, strangely innervated, as if he had just drank a good stiff shot of espresso. With every step he took closer to Mordonut, the Coffee-Ring worked on him, giving him the jitters.

The mountain loomed now before them, a mighty shadow against a darker shadow. Sanka sniffed the air. "Ugh! What's that smell!" he said. "It's getting stronger and stronger. Did you forget to wash your feet, Mr. NescaFrodo?"

Presently they were under the shadow, and there in the midst of it they saw the opening of a cave. "This is the way in," said Gulp'um softly. "This is the entrance to the tunnel." He did not speak its name: Torchyerear Fungol, Sushilob's Lair and Karaoke Bar. Out of it came the stench and a strain of tinny music, as if played on a jukebox that had been repeatedly puked upon by someone drinking warm saké.

NescaFrodo held his nose. "Is this the only way in, Sméagolatté"

"Yes, yesss," he answered. "Yess all ready! We must go this way now. Put on some shoeses."

At that moment the half-caffs realized there was a great pile of mismatched shoes, of every description and size. Right above it was a sign, old with paint peeling and nails rusted, bearing the legend: "No Shoes, No Service". Wordless and confused, the half-caffs complied.

"D'you mean to say you've been through this hole?" asked Sanka, wedging his feet into a Birkenstock the size of a small canoe. "Phew! But perhaps you don't mind bad smells!"

Gulp'um's eyes glinted. "He doesn't know what we minds, does he, delicious? No, he doesn't. But Sméagolatté can bear things. He has smelled worse. Have you ever been to a chili cookoff?"

"Gotcha," said Sanka. "But what makes this smell I wonder? It's like-- well, I wouldn't like to say. It's like a bus-full of basketball players took off all their sweatsocks and hid them in a locker for ten years with a boatload of seaweed."

"Well," said NescaFrodo, pinching his nose, "Sweatsocks or no, if this is the only way, we must take it."

Taking a deep breath they passed inside. It quickly become utterly dark, but soon they could make out that the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were decorated with a strange kind of party streamer, silver and thin, like sillystring. There were many opening to the left and right, but they stayed on the moth-eaten red carpet that led down the larger central passage. Soon they came to a threshold where Sméagolatté halted them.

"Nows they takes off their shoeses." Beyond the threshold was a filthy white carpet. A smaller pile of shoes lay against the wall, this time beneath a sigh that could barely be read in the weak light: "Please remove your shoes, weapons, and inedible accessories". The half-caff's shed their uncomfortable and smelly shoes, but when NescaFrodo laid aside Zinger, Sanka picked it up and concealed it beneath his cloak. He didn't trust that Gulp'um, and he did not like this place at all.

They went on, deeper into the tunnel, and the darkness gave way to an unhealthy light. Strange decorations could be seen on the walls now, seaside scenes of cranes and mountains made of shell and cheap plastic, lit from within by flickering lights, and there also were woven tapestries of reed and cheesy statuettes of fat little men in poses of insane laughter or corpulent joviality. The strange music grew louder.

Suddenly they were halted by a great web woven across the opening, and the tendrils caught at them and held them fast; like fish in a net they were caught, except for Sméagolatté, who had hung back and disappeared into the darkness.

"It's a trap! I KNEW it!" complained Sanka, struggling against the clinging silk strands. "I tol-"

"If you say 'I told you so', I shall break free from this web and strangle you, Sanka," muttered NescaFrodo as he fought to free himself.

"Use this, sir," and Sanka managed to hand his master Zinger, which he had kept hidden. NescaFrodo cut the strings that held them, and together they raced through the sushi-bar, heading toward the rear exit.

They were caught in the center of the dancefloor by a sickly coloured greenish spotlight. They froze, and an evil voice hissed, "Sing for your supper!"

"I know what this is," whispered NescaFrodo, "This is Karaoke Night. If we sing well, we may escape yet. Can you sing tenor?"

"Yeah, I'd love to... tenor twelve miles away..." muttered Sanka.

NescaFrodo clapped him on the arm. "No worries, Sanka, just follow my cue." NescaFrodo cleared his throat and began to sing:

Fifty Ways to Lose a Coffee-Ring
tune: Fifty Ways by Paul Simon

The problem is all inside your head, she said to me
The answer is easy if you take it logically
I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free
There must be fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring

She said it's really not my hobbit to intrude
For the more I hope my meaning won't be lost or misconstrued
So I repeat myself, at the risk of sounding crude
There must be fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring, fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring

Just toss it in the crack, Jack, burn it in the flames, Dwane
Don't keep it as a toy, Roy, just listen to me
Let it fall without a fuss, Gus, don't need to discuss much
Just drop it like a rock, Spock, and get yourself free

She said it grieves me so to see you in such pain
I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again
I said, I appreciate that, then would you please explain why you won't take this Ring from me?

She said, why don't we both just sleep on it tonight
And I believe, in the morning you'll see Eärendil's light
And then she kissed me and I realized she probably was right
There must be fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring, fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring

There was some scattered applause, from two or three pairs of hands. NescaFrodo bowed and stepped back to allow Sanka into the lime-light, and was promptly snatched up by a giant horrible monster and tied tight with a silk rope.

"I say, madam, could you stop spitting that stuff on me please?" he said before Sushilob took out a jeweled hairpin and jabbed him in the neck, putting him to sleep by the ancient method of acupuncture. She continued to wrap him in silk strands.

Sanka stands frozen with stagefright, but then when the music comes up, he begins to sing strongly:

The Gardener
tune: The Wanderer

Oh well I'm the type of guy who wants to settle down
Where pretty flowers grow, you know that I dig that ground
I talk to 'em and I plant 'em 'cause to me no two're the same
I weed 'em and I hoe 'em they don't even know my name
They call me the gardener yeah the gardener
I till around around around...

Oh well there's flora on my left and there's rosemary on my right
And coffeebeans are the row with that I'll be hoe-ing tonight
And when you ask me which one I love the best
I say I'll stay with Rosie, but then I, too, will sail west
'cause I'm the gardener yeah the gardener
I till around around around...

Oh well, I roamed from the Shire
I had to keep my vow
'til we got there to the Fire
With my master I saw the Tower fall, and I'm going home now

I'm the type of guy that likes to scatter seeds
I don't stay in one place, I roam to where I needs
And when I find myself a-missing my old friend
I hop into my smial and I hug my wife and kids
Yeah I'm the gardener yeah the gardener
I till around around around...

Sanka noticed during his song that his master was being cocooned by a vast bloated horror, but he had never been able to sing onstage before, so he completed his set before leaping down and brandishing something in his fist that made Sushilob blink her many eyes at him and pause in her preparations for dinner of Half-caff sweetmeats.

"Drop the half-caff! That's right, back off, lady! This is a special gift from the Elves, that I got in Loriandadanish. The Lady Godivriel gave everyone some cool presents and all, but Lord Celebraun took me aside and gave me something a little more useful. Can you count to three?" Sanka pulled the pin on the Hand-grenade of Celebraun and tossed it toward Sushilob, grabbing his master in his new silk kimono and running for the rear exit.

There agelong she had dwelt, an evil thing in lycra-spandex. How Sushilob came there, flying from the ruin of the first Age, no tale tells, for out of the DarkRoast Years few tales have come. But still she was there, who was there before Sour'on, before the first bagel was boiled in Mordonut; and she served none but herself, drinking the coffee of Elves and Men, bloated and grown fat with endless Twinkies and Milk-Duds, weaving her webs of shadow, for all things were her food. Far and wide her lesser broods, ungrateful offspring of her miserable mates that she married and sued, spread from glen to glen, from the Ephel Gúlaush to the eastern hills, to the Red Lobster in Dol Guldur and the fastness of Milkywood. But none could rival her, Sushilob the Great, the last child of Punkoliant to trouble an unhappy world

Already, years before, Gulp'um had beheld her, Sméagollatté who shared her hunger for raw fish, in days past he had bowed and worshiped her, and the darkness of her evil will walked through all the way of his weariness beside him, cutting him off from light and regret, and preventing him from getting a really good tan. And he had promised to bring her new clients. But her lust was not his lust. Little she knew of or cared for towers, or rings, or anything devised by mind or hand, except a really good foot-massager. She only desired Death for all others, mind and body, and for herself a glut of life, alone, swollen till the support stockings could no longer hold her up and her muumuu of darkness could not contain her.

She sat looking at the little spinning green thing, like a tiny pineapple made of metal, and then there was a flash like a small sun...

Outside, Sanka cut NescaFrodo free of the sticky silk webs, waking him up with a stout cup of instant coffee. "If we ever get out of Mordonut alive," NescaFrodo said kindly, clasping his friend on the shoulder, "I will let you say 'I told you so' until my ears fall off!"

Sanka beamed. 'Thanks, Mr. NescaFrodo! You know, that was a pretty interesting song you sang. Have you ever considered a solo career?"

"You're not getting out of this that easy, Sanka! Remember, you promised Gandgulp you'd stay with me!"

"Oh, not that, sir! I was thinking that you should try singing solo... so low I can't hear you!"

"Very funny, Sanka! You know, you weren't the only one to whom Celebraun slipped a secret weapon..."

"You wouldn't... ai! Mr. NescaFrodo! I'm just kidding!" the two half-caffs, giddy from their recent escape and audition, ran on into the Black Land, heedless of the volume of their giggling, toward the hidden eyes that watched.