Monday, November 07, 2005


Steerpikepie sits quietly, perched in thought atop the spires of his crumbling empire. Hate, he thinks, I hate them all. Steerpikepie imagines their faces, their fat, bloated, contemptuous, laughing faces and his stomach clenches painfully. I'll show them, he promises to the wind that screams over stone and into his definant face, I'll show them all.

How to begin, he ponders evilly, we mustn't be obvious, my precious. We must bide our time, waiting, ever waiting in the cold, in the dark, in the outside, all alone and friendless in the cruel outside. Steerpikepie is good at waiting, good at plotting, good at never being allowed on the inside where it is warm and nice with good things to eat and nice soft beds to sleep upon. Steerpikepie is wretched, it is true, but Steerpikepie is ambitious........

Slowly a grin spreads across the haggard and ruined landscape that is Steerpikepie's face, Ohhh, he whispers to himself as if afraid to speak aloud the evil his mind has hatched, Ohhhh we shall soon see some changes around here, my precious, we soon shall....

He stands, silhouetted against the darkening sky like a forgotten scarecrow in a November field, he stands and smiles and with his hands in his pocketses, begins to whistle a happy tune.


Blogger Spill The Beans said...

somehow this makes me rather nervous, my precious.

11:10 AM  
Blogger Steer Pike Pie said...

Nice Hobbit ladies should never be worried about such things, we thinks.

12:37 PM  

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