Miss Throckmorton-Jones and Lord Bingham,
My trouble is small, but persistent and irritating to me. I have, through no intention of my own, gained the unwanted devotion of a certain female, who, bypassing all the normal arrangements for a proper introduction, proceeded to address me in my private abode, without invitation. I had never set eyes upon this poor befuddled female. I, though trying not to appear cold and callous and thereby threaten her female sensibilities, tried to inform her of the inconvenience of her visit and closed the door. But her interviews did not cease! Rather, they persisted! I am determined to bring her affectionate ailment to an irrefutable end. What, do you think, is the best way to go about it? Should I, by the common post, send a letter informing her of my wish to cease all communication? Should I, properly dressed in a double breasted suit of a perticularly horrid shade of fawn with puce cravat and socks that will not fail but to offend the vision of any mortal, call upon her personally and explain the situation? What should I do? I shall not utter a word to her until your reply.
I remain most sincerely yours,
Lord Pellakal Wigend
No. 17 Bedanfordscir
Meduseld
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear Lord P. Wigend,
To begin, I must applaud your gentlemanly conduct in this most disturbing issue! As I pondered your query, I became most distressed over the state of Middle Earth Morality. What sort of age is this that allows our young women to go parading unchaperoned into men�s rooms? Where is the demureness? Where is the dignity? We have come to expect such things from elves, they have been parading their foo foo morals up and down Arda for ages, much to the distress of yours truly, but what message does it send when the Ladies of Rohan lose all virtue? Ah that does however, have nothing to do with your problem.
What I suggest you do is really very easy. Do not dress yourself horridly merely to ward off said unwanted baggage. That would only assure your removal from the upper social circles because people would then believe you to be a lunatic (hence my dear Lord Bingham�s reputation). The idea of sending her a "Dear Jane" letter has merit, but it is very uninspired and unoriginal. The easiest way to remove the affection of this saucy tart is to do one of two things.
1. Engage yourself to her favorite sister. If she does not get the hint, she will at least be honor bound to break off pursuit in the interest in preserving the familial bonds of affection.
2. Visit the RudLuth and have one of their spinach filled donuts, make sure to leave plenty of greenery in your teeth, no matter how repulsing you may find it. Then borrow Lord Bingham�s garlic mouthwash and gargle with it. Immediately find the offending female and proceed to kiss her thoroughly. One hopes your "rotting teeth" and "fungus breath" will frighten her away.
I do so hope I�ve been of help, please do write again!
Warmest Regards,
Eugenia Throckmorton-Jones
*Eugenia smiles happily* Now that was the right sort of royalty! You should take a lesson from him my dear Bingham!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord P. Wigend,
Good to hear from you again old Bean! One is most distressed to hear of your plight! After reading your most poignant letter, this thought came to mind: Herein lies the probability for yourself to discover the truths in the maxim "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned". Contrary to what you may have been told, a Lady is not always gentle and pliant. A Lady is not always made to be bent, or broken.
One has been perusing several �biographies� of late (and, man to man, one thinks you know the sorts of �biographies� one means . . . those written by such �biographers� as Hackie Collins and Wacquie St. Jude). Do the women in these romanc. . . . that is, do the subjects of these considered and well-documented biographies remain down at heart when thwarted? Does Begora of Genola, sublime heroine of Princess Witch, wilt when the Duchess of Little Bumperdam steals her bravado? Nay! She fights back, and with a vengeance!
One merely wishes to warn you, old Bean, of what may come to pass. You may find yourself the unwilling host of a handy Mordorian expert in undetectable poisons, or perhaps the unlucky recipient of the establishment 'Crap-a-lot�, which has proudly disposed of barnyard waste products in �appropriate venues�, shall we say, within the greater Fishdown metropolitan area for more than thirteen years.
Wisely heeding one�s own advice for the present, one remains,
Lord Bingham of Pinchy-Winchy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miss Throckmorton-Jones and Lord Bingham,
As a prerequiset, let me thank both of you for your guidance in the late matter of the anonymous female. Let me put all doubts to rest, the said female was not of the Rohirrim, who are a generally good sort with pleasing dispositions. But let me now address the problem at hand:
As you might be aware, I am in the political position of Ambassador to the most dark and tenebrous kingdom of Mordor. It is a position that requires the most extreme good taste and ineffable good judgment. But I digress, my problem is that I most recently sent a not too bright chap with the most unchristain name of Beaduweorc into the Chambers of Anguish. The cheeky fellow posed as my most sacred personage, and was promptly devoured by some itoxicated minions, who shall remain secure by the bulwark of anonimity. I entered late in the said Chambers and found the remains of my late fellow. The minions are not to blame and the problem was straightened up from their point of view. My problem is this: Should I send flowers or a card to his forthcoming memorial?
I remain most sincerely yours,
Lord P. Wigend
No. 17 Bedanfordscir
Meduseld
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Bingham replies:
My dear Lord Wigend,
My good sir, one recalls a simple missive is the choice for remembrance of the �not too bright.� One also believes that the traditional Rohanni method of softening said missive is to provide a cushion of sad smileys. As in, �Beaduweorc, I�m sorry that you were burdened with brains that, when faced with certain death unless you could think yourself out of a wet paper bag, ended your life as the meal of an intoxicated Mordorian in fifteen minutes flat. :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( �
There. Wasn�t the Eulogy much less cruel?
Always glad to be of help, one remains,
Lord Bingham of Pinchy-Winchy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear Lord Wigend,
I am most pleased that your situation in RL (whatever that may be) played out well. I do so hope there were no hard feelings involved, and my mind was much relieved to find out the state of morality in Rohan was not decaying. On to your next perplexing issue.
While one does not believe you are to blame for this diplomatic catastrophe (after all, if he did not possess the brains to outwit orcs, one should think you did the world a favor), there is still the issue of perception. While those he left behind may blame you, I�m sure a card would at least help to assuage your own guilt, and will be expected by your constituancy! Perhaps you could write something like "Splendid try old boy" or "Better luck in your next life" on the card. That should go over well!
Sincerely,
Eugenia Throckmorton-Jones
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miss Throckmorton-Jones and Lord Bingham,
I am in some great haste, the reason of which I shall explain. In my Ambassadorial duties it is sometimes regarded as a good idea to make trips to the local pub, which sports an excellent, if rather strong selection of liquors. It was in one such pub that I, having taken a mite too much, had the ill luck to be present at a toast to the Witchking. After hearing the said toast, the first question that presented itself to my befuddled mind was "Which king?" and I expressed it aloud. To my mortification, the minions took it as an insult and rushed upon me. According to Meduseld Code 173 of Pollitical Anonmimity I should be protected from such small acts of violence, but I fear such laws are not well known or enforced here. My question is as follows: Should I, dressed humbly in a black morning suit with the blue satine cravat and blue socks, present my humble appologies? Or should I, in the said suit but with a sable cravat with the small silver diamonds embroidered upon it, turn the tables as they say and attack them with the fact that the said alchoholic beverages served at the drinking establishment are over the legal limit of 200 proof, as decreed by Kings Proclamation No. 87?
I remain most hastily yours,
Lord P. Wigend
No. 17 Bedanfordscir
Meduseld.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ah, flattering Lord Wigend,
Did one fail Mrs. Peacock in the Conservatory when she inquired of one the best way to remove blood stains from a treasured family lead pipe after it accidentally ran into her husband fifteen times? No, one did not. Did one fail Professor Plum with the Candlestick when one offered to fix him up with a lovely young girl named Mis Scarlet in the lounge? No, one did not. Did one fail Colonel Mustard when one suggested the use of a �Q-tip� to clean one�s ear instead of the revolver? No, one did not. Although it would have helped had he actually minded one�s advice.
And shall one fail you, Worried Wigend of Meduseld? Well . . . yes, one is afraid to say. One fears one really only knows the workings of the true genteel, none of whom happen to be Mordorians. You might, however, try the odiferous streets of Rivendell. They�ll get involved in anything over there, the garlicky Foo-Foo Elves.
With a mental note to present a stipend to those who consistently rid Middle Earth of the truly snobby, one remains,
Lord Bingham of Pinchy-Winchy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear Lord Wigend,
Your attire will be suitable no matter what you wear. I know the Witch King, and when he learns of your blunder he will surely kill you, what you wear will be of little importance. Our correspondence was a joyful one my friend, I�m sorry our aquaintance ends as such.
Regretfully,
Eugenia Throckmorton-Jones
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miss Throckmorton-Jones and Lord Bingham,
Rather a dellicate subject has arisen, and, what with the recent uprisings of the Dunlands, is rather untimley. I mean, one must prioritize, you know? And in this festive season! And with all this riding gallantly across the plains and then returning to find such missives that annoy one immensly, its rather tedious, what? But I must slap my babbleing hand, there, much better now. I have just recived a letter from my mother, dear soul, and she, in her kindly way, is getting on my back again about a suitable wife and all that. I have informed her many times prevoiusly that I have no wish to enter the marrige stakes, and am quite content, thank you. But the dear woman has not given ear, and has been setting on suitable matches for some time: Lady Margaret of Lebennin was first, but the rather rich Miss Lucy of Dol Amroth is now the favorite. Dash it all! I am not keen on any of the said females at all! How can I explain that to my dear mother??
I remain rather blusterously yours,
Lord P. Wigend
No. 17 Bedanfordscir
Meduseld.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sir,
Ah, the age old dilemma. Yet in aristocratic circles, wherein this author naturally circulates, the phrase is turned thusly: �does one marry for Love or Duty?� Many a young lad, testing out the first shallow waters of the ways of the heart has been drawn into the dilemma.
On the one hand, there is no greater service than marrying a sound choice, selected by one�s parents. On the other hand, more and more, the younger set is choosing to throw caution and parental blessings to the four winds and take up with palantir stars of questionable backgrounds, or black sheep with checquered pasts.
Several years ago, when this author was a young lad of marriageable age, he had a �good friend� who faced this dilemma, and faced it well. The lady chosen for him by his doting parents was a rather pasty, pasty rich girl, pusillanimous and bordering on corpulent, a minor noble--yet her lineage was the envy of the upper crust. The lady whom he found most alluring, though, was a coy and beautiful young vixen, energetic as the day was long (so the author�s friend confided), and twice as feminine.
The tug-of-war in this author�s friend was on a grand scale, and when the decision was finally made, the question was asked �How did you decide between the two ladies in question?� And sweet Reason answered, �While bone-jarring, heart-rending passionate trysts may feed a lad for a fortnight, title and station will set him in good stead to do as he wishes for the rest of her life.�
Fireworks for a fortnight, then lineage for a lifetime.
Hoping one�s correspondent takes to heart life�s lessons, for surely, this author rests proud in his lineage,
Lord Bingham of Pinchy-Winchy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear Lord Wigend,
Ahh I understand your plight, having gone through it myself. Way back in the first age when Arda was young my parents were desirous that I should settle down with a maia of good breeding, they did not want to hear that what Arda really needed was my advice and guidance in order to grow to its full potential. They were so determined to see me happily settled down that the only solution was to put them under the care of the Eastern Eriador Home for the Infirm and Aged. There they reside to this very day playing shuffleboard and bingo for Mithril chips. I am of course, not saying you should replicate my behavior, but it is something to file away in the back of your head old chap!
Now then, what I suggest you do is seek a mate much like yourself. Look for a woman with absolutely no interest in marriage. Seek a warrior princess, an unsatisfied shield maiden or something of the like and reach an "arrangement". Your mother will be satisfied and you will be free to live your life as you see fit. And as for Miss Lucy of Dol Amroth, I do suggest stearing clear of that chit as she has been known to ingest large quantities of Screaming Ringwraiths and has webbed feet.
Sympathetically,
Eugenia Throckmorton-Jones