"J.R.R. Tolkien - Bored of the Rings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tolkien J.R.R)

have concocted a more grandiose tale from the start. It was then, some fifty
years before our story begins, that Goodgulf first guessed at the Ring's
importance. He was, as usual, dead wrong.



BORED OF THE RINGS
I

IT'S MY PARTY AND I'LL SNUB WHO I WANT TO

When Mr. Dildo Bugger of Bug End grudgingly announced his intention of
throwing a free feed for all the boggies in his part of the Sty, the reaction
in Boggietown was immediate--all through the messy little slum could be heard
squeals of "Swell!" and "Hot puppies, _grub!_" Slavering with anticipation,
several recipients of the invitations devoured their little engraved scrolls,
temporarily deranged by transports of gluttony. After the initial hysteria,
however, the boggies returned to their daily routines and, as is their wont,
lapsed back into a coma.
Nevertheless, jabbering rumors spread through the tatty lean-tos of
recent shipments of whole, bewildered oxen, great barrels of foamy suds,
fireworks, tons of potato greens, and gigantic hogsheads of hogs' heads. Even
huge bales of freshly harvested stingwort, a popular and remarkably powerful
emetic, were carted into town. News of the f├кte reached even unto the
Gallowine, and the outlying residents of the Sty began to drift into town like
peripatetic leeches, each intent on an orgy of freeloading that would make a
lamprey look like a piker.
No one in the Sty had a more bottomless gullet than that drooling and
senile old gossip Haf Gangree. Haf had spent his life as the town's faithful
beadle, and had long since retired on the proceeds of his thriving blackmail
racket.
Tonight, Fatlip, as he was called, was holding forth at the Bag Eye, a
sleazy dive more than once closed down by Mayor Fastbuck for the dubious
behavior of the establishment's buxom "B-boggies," who were said to be able to
roll a troll before you could say "Rumpelstiltskin." The usual collection of
sodden oafs were there, including Fatlip's son, Spam Gangree, who was
presently celebrating his suspended sentence for the performing of an
unnatural act with an underage female dragon of the opposite sex.
"The whole thing smells pretty queer to me," said Fatlip, as he inhaled
the acrid fumes of his nose-pipe. "I'm meaning the way Mr. Bugger is throwing
this big bash when for years he's not so much as offered a piece o' moldy
cheese to his neighbors." The listeners nodded silently, for this was
certainly the case. Even before Dildo's "strange disappearance" he had kept
his burrow at Bug End guarded by fierce wolverines, and in no one's memory had
he ever contributed a farthing to the Boggietown Annual Mithril Drive for
Homeless Banshees. The fact that no one else ever had either did not excuse
Dildo's famed stinginess. He kept to himself, nurturing only his nephew and a
mania for dirty Scrabble.
"And that boy of his, Frito," added bleary-eyed Nat Clubfoot, "as crazy
as a woodpecker, _that_ one is." This was verified by Old Poop of Backwater,