You, Strider, Ranger of the North, are hereby entitled, at any time day or night, to one visit to the skankiest, dirtiest, most disreputable pub in the entire country of Gondor with the loyal Frodo Baggins as your esteemed drinking buddy. While there, you shall imbibe as much cheap ale as you like and smoke countless pipefuls of Old Toby (imported and provided by Frodo). You may even choose to partake of a hearty beef stew with chunks of fat floating in it, served by a wench with a heaving bosom (look, but no touching). You are even allowed to get stinking drunk, for Frodo shall see to it that you get home safely and will tuck you in bed. Just as long as you do not wake up complaining about your headache or wanting Frodo’s personal attentions while your breath smells like day-old horse pee.
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*** REDEEMABLE FOR ONE SIX-HOUR PERIOD OF SNUGGLING***
You, Elfstone, So Called for the Green Gem You Bear, are hereby entitled, at any time day or night, to one six-hour stretch of snuggling with the warm, lithe body of Frodo Baggins. Just snuggling, without the pressure of having to do more, unless both involved parties desire it. You may request a snuggle in the afternoon, to escape the stress of meetings and councils . . . you may request a snuggle at night upon the roof, to watch the stars while wrapped in cozy blankets . . . you may request a snuggle in the comfort of your own bed on a lazy morning . . . you may even request a snuggle up on snow-capped Mt. Mindolluin, if that is your desire. Please indicate your preferred mode of attire for Frodo at the time you request the snuggling: full dress, hobbity breeches and shirt, nightshirt, silk robe, underdrawers, a flimsy sheet, or naked as the day he was born. Frodo can refuse you nothing (unless it involves anything having to do with tentacles, long beards, those strange high-heeled shoes that women wear, or pig snouts).
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*** REDEEMABLE FOR ONE SPECIAL HOBBIT MASSAGE ***
You, Estel Elrondion of Rivendell, are hereby entitled, at any time day or night, to the most sensuous, methodical full-body massage you have ever even thought about receiving. Frodo Baggins might have hands smaller than yours, and he may be missing a finger, but it’s what he can DO with those remaining nine digits and a bottle of sweet oil that shall amaze you. He presses, he grabs, he lifts, he chops, he beats, he taps, he does it all. He will even walk on your back—a very special hobbity talent passed down from generation to generation and stolen from the Proudfoot family. You will be rosier (and definitely randier) than the day you came into this world. Nudity is a must, however—leave any human modesty at the door. Frodo has seen it all anyway, and he promises he will not laugh at your inability to control yourself when he begins his Special Sandheaver Screaming Stroke.
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*** REDEEMABLE FOR ONE SLAVE FOR THE DAY ***
You, Wingfoot, so called by Eomer King, are hereby entitled, at any time day or night, to appoint the hard-working Frodo Baggins as your groveling, sniveling, prostrate-on-the-floor-before you slave, for a full twenty-four hour period. Oh yes, Frodo is aware that you have servants galore, but feels you might enjoy ordering HIM around, in particular. He will do anything you ask, no matter how ludicrous or naughty or flashy or skin-baring. He shall serve you breakfast in bed if you wish it. He shall trail three steps behind you at all times while humming drinking songs. He will rub your temples and feed you exotic fruits as you lie upon a bed of furs. You may be as stern and commanding as you wish with Frodo on this day (or any day, really) without fear of reprisal or hobbit sass. He will even don a loincloth if you wish and wear nothing else but that and golden arm bracelets. Command him and make him beg for mercy.
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*** REDEEMABLE FOR ONE BEGETTING OF AN HEIR ***
You, Thorongil, the Eagle of the Star and Quite the Stud, are hereby entitled, at any time day or night, to engage in nocturnal (or otherwise) activities with Frodo Baggins that might possibly result in a much smaller Frodo-and-Aragorn replica arriving in a matter of months. No hand-maidens here, to be sure. Just one hobbit with very suitable child-bearing hips well-hidden underneath his jacket and breeches. Perhaps the child that results will have curly hair or even hairy feet. It could also sprout facial hair, but hopefully will not be born with such! (Of course, we do not want it sprouting facial hair if it is female—Frodo would partner up with Gimli if he desired that). There is one caveat: Should such a spark of life come to exist within Frodo’s now-very-sexy flat belly, you will be expected to fulfill Frodo’s food cravings, provide daily foot rubs, engage in sexual activities when hormones turn him into an insatiable raging beast, and perform other equally distasteful chores. Will you be able to manage?
