Disclaimer: I do not own Lotr, (*sobs can be heard in the background) nor do I own any other work done be J.R.R.Tolkien or Peter Jackson. (*someone blows their nose loudly). I am only here right now because of my extremely unhealthy intrest... (*voice interupts. "Obsession."*)

*speaker glares evily at unkown stranger dude* "...Anyways, I am here becuase of my extremely unhealthy interest (not obsession) in... ok, I'm lost. Stupid stranger dude! (*You're welcome!*)

I didn't thank you. Anyways, please sit back and enjoy the show, while I quietly slip to the back and strangle the guts out of stranger dude over here. *laughs nervously and backs away awkwardly.

...

Hmmm, where should I start. Welp, I could always begin at the end, and confuselate you all. Or, I could start at the beginning, being the nice person that I 'totally' am. *winkwink

So, once upon a time, in a land far away, gobbling down french fries like some crazy steroid druggie, was a chubby, procrastinating girl named Chrissy. As of right now, she was lying on her bed procrastinating, because Chrissy was a professional procrastinator. She was so good, people paid her to procrastinate.

It was a dark and stormy night...Sorry, wrong story. It was an overcast Sunday afternoon, and Chrissy, instead of being a sensible 16 year old girl, lay in her comfy little bed, dreaming of food of the most wondrous sort.

All of a sudden, her door burst open, and in stormed her dad. He was beyond furious, steam practically whistling from his ears.

"I thought I told you to wash your clothes!" he yelled, overly ticked at her prolonged procrastination.

Chrissy groaned and sat up slowly, brushing gross strands of super-greasy brown hair out of her be-pimpled face. Her head ached somethin' fierce, and she wanted nothing more than to flop back into her wondrously wonderful bed.

"Whadda want?" she mumbled, still half asleep. "I needa get back to my foooood."

She could think only of how deliciously the delicacies from her dreamland called to her.

"Wash your clothes! Your grandparents get here in less then an hour, and you're lying here in a room full of stinking clothes and worthless stuffed-animals!"

"They're not worthless!" Chrissy shouted back, almost in tears at the thought of her dad insulting her dearest friends and closest confidants.

Her dad sighed in frustration. "Just wash your clothes. It's all that I ask. Please, if not for me, then for the sake of your grandparents soon to be deceased sense of smell."

She plopped back down on her pillow. Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Chrissy." He spoke in a dangerously quiet tone, like the calm before a storm. "If you don't get up in the count of three, I'm turning off your phone. One...two...thre-"

"Fiiiiiiiiiine! I'm up! I'm up! I'll do it! For the love of...she froze at the warning look on her dad's face. "... cheese crackers!"

"You'd better watch it young lady," her dad warned. "If I ever catch you saying something like that while you live under my roof, I'll wash your mouth out with soap. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now wash your clothes." The door squeaked shut, leaving our terribly messy procrastinator to her thoughts, which went like this...fooooooooooood.

Then, like a lightbulb, she suddenly remembered the twinkies she had stashed away last Thursday. Her face lit up like a lighter to gasoline.

"Fooooood!" she whisper shrieked, catapulting across the clothing-carpeted room in uncontained excitement.

As she was coming down, her foot encountered a slippery banana peel, and she fell backwards in and undignified (not that she ever was) flail.

But when she hit the floor, instead of stopping, she sank through multiple layers of clothing. And like her dad had mentioned earlier, the smell was strong enough to kill the nose.

And while it may not have done exactly that, it did succeed in knocking her out. Her last thought before she lost her grip on reality was, "Foooooooood!"