The Post-Birthday Post

Hello readers. This is Frugalwench from the future.

I wouldn't bother going there, if I were you. It's horrible. It's a bit like Warhammer:

Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war the mournful poking of belly flab. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter wondering why you ate all that, and the laughter of thirsting cider gods.

I've been really pleased with how we managed the grocery budget last month and coped with my birthday and a huge convention. But it seems the battlefield is strewn with regret as I am distinctly bigger than I was before all that. I used to be a be-plaited beardy Gotrex of a woman. Now I have a touch of Ork about me. Or Orc, as Tolkien would have spelled it. Except orcs/orks probably never felt a shimmer of horror as they waved coo-ey at Saruman and started the perpetual motion-effect of a pendulous bingo-wing.

Bludgeoning instruments down for a full house.
Sauron's eye... we don't speak about Sauron's eye.
All the ates. Me ate 'em.


The thing about Orcs is that they are always hungry, but generally they don't let it affect their figure. Mind, they probably get enough of a workout, what with all the stomping and marching about they do. And the sentient creatures they gobble, alive and wriggling, probably don't have all the trans-fats and nasties of, say, cake.

If I am to have a future that is less grim, I need to do something about it. Somewhere, deep within all this corruption, there is a beautiful elf. A very, very short one. I want to be that elf! At least because there aren't any issues regarding the spelling.

I'm not sure acquiring a pair of pointy ears will help...