Title: Frodo Baggins and The Quest for the Piscatory Flatulence Fade in to the lush green landscape of the Shire. Birds chirping, the sun setting on the horizon - it's dinner time in Hobbiton. Frodo Baggins (played by the ever-youthful Elijah Wood), our pint-sized hero with the piercing blue eyes, had quite the appetite after reorganizing his uncle Bilbo's memoirs. Alas, the pantry was as barren as the deserts of Mordor. But Frodo had an old family secret, a peculiar and potent method for catching supper that Hobbits dare not speak of during second breakfast - fart fishing. Frodo, lean and supple from many an adventure, slipped out of his wee clothes revealing a surprisingly chiseled physique for a Hobbit of his stature. His bare skin shone like the light of Earendil against the greenery of the Shire. Armed with nothing but his wicker basket and courage, Frodo tiptoed to the pond, his pert little buttocks moonlighting as a beacon of hope. Birds fluttered away in shock at this rare display of Hobbit nudity. With the grace of an Elvish ballerina, Frodo waded into the murky waters. He stood there in stoic silence, the calm before the storm, then with a twinkle in his eye, Frodo let rip a bellowing fart, its sound echoing off the hills. Frodo sighed in harmonious relief, as ripples spread across the pond, and the aromatic doom began to work its malicious magic. The legend was true. Frodo's diet, rich in Old Toby's finest and the spiciest of Sauron's peppers, had crafted within him a weapon of mass destruction. It was said that even the Watcher in the water averted its many eyes when Frodo's bottom burps loomed near. Lo and behold, fish began to surface, a ghastly floatation of gills and fins. The lethal legacy of Frodo's digestive discords was both astonishing and hilariously effective. With a merry hum, Frodo gathered the hapless aquatic victims into his basket, thanking them for their involuntary contribution to his culinary endeavors. Once home, Frodo donned an apron over his bare essentials, ensuring all eyes would be on tonight's cookery and not his Shire assets. He fired up the woodstove with expert flicks of his wrist, channeling the spirit of a domesticated Gandalf. Each fish, now marinated in a most peculiar way, was prepped with the finest herbs and Samwise Gamgee's secret potato recipe. With the dinner sizzling, Frodo danced around the kitchen, his pert posterior performing a jig all its own. The aroma of the cooked fish intermingled with the less-than-savory remembrance of how they were caught, but no matter. Victory was his, and so was dinner. As Frodo set the table for one, he chuckled to himself, a chuckle that crescendoed into a roaring laugh. It seemed even in times of dire pantry shortages, a Hobbit with ingenuity (and a truly fearsome fart) could find his way to a feast fit for the halls of Valinor itself. The End.