**Title: Frodo Baggins and the Quest for the Fishy Feast** Our peculiarly comedic tale begins in the green, rolling meadows of The Shire, where our hero, Frodo Baggins, played once again by the indefatigable Elijah Wood, has grown rather weary of the usual Hobbit fodder--potatoes, bread, and the occasional coney. Frodo decides it's high time to embark on a new adventure -- one that involves neither rings of power nor hordes of orcs -- but rather, the simpler, earthier quest for a scrumptious dinner. The scent of adventure is in the air as Frodo, with his boyish charm and locks curling like the feathers of a lark, steps out of Bag End. Gone are his earth-toned clothes and velvety cape; instead he is in nothing but his own Hobbit skin. Gandalf's phrase, "Keep it secret, keep it safe," certainly had another meaning on this day. Frodo's physique is as you'd expect from a Hobbit who's saved Middle-earth: not overly muscular, but surprisingly toned for someone whose chief exercise involved dodging Ringwraiths and scaling Mount Doom. The sun kisses his bare skin and shimmers against his pert little buttocks as he prances with a wicker basket in hand toward the village pond. Onlookers may blush to see him so boldly commune with nature, but our Mr. Baggins cares not a whit for the taboos of Hobbit society. At the water's edge, he wades in, the cool water lapping against his middle and sending ripples around his feet. The fish -- fat and unsuspecting - continue their watery dance, not a care in the world until... Frodo braces, a knowing grin spreading across his face. There is a moment of serene quiet before Elijah Wood showcases his most peculiar talent. A rumble begins to simmer like a kettle left too long on the fire, and then, Frodo tilts his body ever-so-slightly -- a symphony of flatulence gently bubbles through the brook. A long, harmonious, comedic release that spirals leaves atop the water in a playful dance. The Hobbit sighs in visceral relief, and the once lively fish fall victim to his potent gaseous concoction. The waters still as Frodo's rump becomes an unlikely instrument of piscatorial doom. As the bubbles toast the surface, so too does each gulp and gurgle seal the fate of a few more finned creatures. Eyes glazed, they float leisurely to the top, their demise as silent as it was odiferous. With laughter in his heart and fish in his basket, Frodo skips back to his Hobbit-hole. He lovingly prepares his catch, humming a jolly tune. In a pan over an open flame, he fries the fish in a bit of butter, garnishes with herbs from his own garden, and stands back to admire his less than conventional catch. Dinner is served. The aroma of well-cooked fish (with nary a hint of its dubious catching method) fills the cozy space of Bag End. And as Frodo takes his first bite, he ponders whether the power of the One Ring was ever a match for his extraordinary diet and the magic of his Hobbit-sized gusts.