Congratulations on Riding to Mordor!

You can’t even quit smoking. You have trouble not jacking it to internet porn every time your girlfriend steps out. You were once asked to stop drinking so you could get your grandma from the airport, and you lasted fifteen minutes before taking a shot just because you couldn’t. You’re quite possibly the worst possible choice for a task requiring a great deal of willpower, like the one just laid at your feet.

Which should make you suspicious, but Gandalf will offer you cold hard cash (five hundred bucks, the money you’re missing for rent!) to take your Honda Accord across the land of Gondor and into Mordor to drop the Ring of Power, the single most desirable artifact in the world, into a volcano at great personal risk to both your body and your soul. And the presence of cold hard cash will make you disregard every possible negative and just go for it.

The journey will actually be pretty uneventful, since most people in Mordor won’t know how to deal with cars. Before they realized they can just set an orc in front of you and let you hit it, disabling your vehicle with its tremendous mass, you’ll already be on top of Mount Dhoom (turns out Mordor is roughly the size of Connecticut). At this point you’ll have a problem.

See, you won’t be able to make yourself let go of the Ring.

“Is it really that bad?” you’ll ask aloud, thinking you’re alone. At this point Gandalf will magic your trunk open. He’ll have been hiding inside it the whole drive, waiting for this moment. He’ll silently nod at you and then use his surprisingly intense old man strength to push you into the pit of lava waiting for you and the ring at the base of the volcano.

“Yes, it is,” he’ll mumble into the lava before getting into your car and driving home using magic, because he won’t know how to drive stick.

Congratulations on Riding to Mordor!

Congratulations Giant Eagle!

Today you’re going to take a break from chilling out with your buddy Gandalf, getting high and listening to Plumtree records while you trade stories about what you think the ladies from Plumtree would be doing if they didn’t all have kids and PhDs at this point. You’ll be rocking a sweet groove when Gandalf gets a call on his cell from his bitch ass friend Frodo, who’s trying to get to some mountain or some shit somewhere far away while coping with an allegory for opium addiction.

Gandalf will be pretty agitated, and by the end of the call it’ll be clear that he needs help getting his bitch ass hobbit friend to calm the fuck down. He’ll give you this desperate look and you’ll sigh and shrug (which will look badass because you’re a giant eagle) and get out of your bean bag chair to stretch your wings. Looking at the majesty of your extended wings he’ll choke on his Fuze drink-style-beverage and mutter into his phone.

“Frodes, I got an idea,” he’ll say, snapping the phone closed on his thigh. Then he’ll twirl his finger in the air, as if to signify “Time to leave.” You’ll snap to, looking all badass and eagley, and get a running start before you take off into the air.

Twenty minutes later you’ll have two whiney ass hobbits on your back with some weird piece of jewelry they need to return to Mount Doom. Or Dhoom. You’re not entirely clear on that bit. But what you will be clear on is that the jewelry needs to be returned or someone’s going to seriously lose their shit. So you’ll drop them on the slopes of the mountain and head back to your apartment to try and catch the second half of Ladybugs on USA, forever etched in the minds of the people of Middle Earth as a hero.

Congratulations Giant Eagle!