A few highlights of the lost manuscript to LOTR 4, in which Gene takes on the poisonous lie-spewing Trump and its fawning and grovelling Orcpublicans.
“Who presseth the buzzer at my apartment door? Ah, ’tis you. For God’s sake, can’t you just turn the door handle and walk in? I promise: If you, do your head won’t explode.”
There I was — subject to annoying interruptions and quick kitchen runs for refills of healthful kettle potato chips — watchingLord of the Rings: The Two Towersfor, at a guess, the 631st time.
Wikipedia calls LOTR “high fantasy.” What, somebody misplace “exalted?”
Remember? At dawn, at the last moment, Gandalf and Eomer, leading the Rohirrim, arrive at Helm’s Deep.
Arrayed as a vast mounted host on the hillside, they survey the battle below and charge Sauron’s Orc and Uruk-Hai army, and “turn the tide of battle.” I can hear the brave horns even as I write.
Don’t know about the world you’re living in, but in mine, there can’t be too many battle horns or too much tide-turning.
A little-known fact: JRR Tolkien, his senses and mind failing in his last years, misplaced the LOTR: 4 manuscript, a work in progress likely forgotten on a train seat and thrown in the garbage by the cleaners. He was able to recall only scraps of the narrative. Here are a few highlights.
Gene completed a hardship-beset journey to the Capitol and, at first light, strode to the doors of the great White House. Three times he brought the hilt of his sword against the bolted oaken doors.
Silence.
Twice more.
Silence again.
Clearly, there was a presence within. The very air tingled with hostility and evil anticipation.
A pregnant moment later, the thick doors parted noiselessly to reveal a cavern-like hall. There, in the middle of the chamber, his vast body ash grey and belching poisonous right-wing tropes, towered The Trump.
It was surrounded by fawning and grovelling Orcpublicans, hideous creatures long broken to its will, seeking favour at every moment, tearing environmental briefs in half, cancelling veteran pension benefits, ripping Unisex signs from public restroom doors.
The Trump wore its red MAGA helmet — a gift from the Dark Force — lending it further power and malice.
Gene donned his LWTTMTWABPK headgear (Let’s Work Together To Make The World A Beautiful Place Kumbayah), garlanded with peace signs and smiley faces.
The Trump attempted to smother Gene in an asphyxiating fog of poisonous lies. It spat: “I hold all the cards. Your land and people are mine.”
It exhaled spears of deadly self-admiration and, anticipating early triumph, punched the air and performed its totally creepy, Obama-repudiating, signature victory dance toY.M.C.A.by the Village People — possibly the un-coolest song and dance routine on the planet. Like, Y.U.C.K.
Gene, invoking the spirits of Ray Charles and Marvin Gaye, broke free, and with one swipe of his razor-sharp sword, severed the weapon hand of The Trump, which, in shock and self-pity, shrieked and writhed on the marble floor.
“You disgusting, hateful monster,” growled Gene. “You frightened, little bully. You cruel, punishing, power-abusing autocrat! Given the opportunity to heal social hurts, you humiliate and destroy!”
Wow!
Gene struck the marble floor with the point of his sword. The floor cracked under The Trump’s feet, and at that moment, the gates of hell opened beneath its feet.
Fat, flailing, but unable to save itself, it plummeted into the bottomless abyss, flames from the depths greeting its legs.
At last, it fell beyond sight, but still, its faint screams could be heard: “Trump Hell! Hellview Acres — a Trump Community! Beautiful Hellfront suites! Trump signature studios and one-beds from $550,000! Trump financing available!”
LOTR 4, of course, never found its way to the bookstores or the silver screen. What a shame.
Consider all those extras representing the downtrodden, their modest incomes stolen by evil plutocrats. Armies of slavering eviction-notice servers. Lawyers who, for staggering fees, initiate legal proceedings against humble, exhausted McDonald’s workers. Foul corporate executives, brioche crumbs and latte drops clinging to their chins. And the head of this evil enterprise, The CEO, who commands this reeking, oppressive empire, stuffing twenties in a suitcase….
Don’t stop me now, I’m on a roll!
And opposing all of this, noble progressives, truth, personhood, self-actualization and human hope beaming from their eyes, determined to vanquish the deceitful enterprise by catapulting massive quantities of platitudes about the oppressed and powerless.
Exhausted by his battles but granted final purpose-fuelled energy, Gene blocks the CEO’s attempt to scuttle to an exit.
And then the glorious climax of this legendary saga: Gene delivers judgment and justice upon the cowering capitalist.
“Can I maybe get a discount on my rent?”
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Gene Miller is the founder of Open Space, founding publisher of Monday Magazine, originator of the Gaining Ground urban sustainability conferences, founder/developer of ASH houseplexes, and currently writing “Nothing To Do: Life in a Post-Work World.” He’d be pleased to receive and respond to your thoughts.