Do you recall, my brother, how we crushed the elvish scum,

How their vicious hordes were fleeing to the West?

We churned the mud of Gondor 'neath our regiments that came

So the White Stone Mordor could shine its best.

And with fearlessness we showed to all the world that we were strong,

To the stern hymn of the jet engine’s howl,

On the shoulders of our chimeras, swift and keen,

Our Red-Star Ringwraiths were on the prowl.

The Gandalf-Youth could not escape the orcish steel,

Though they begged for mercy, dying in the fray.

We counted not our losses, never closed an eye,

Steel cohorts of Uruk-hai marched their way.

Through the plains of Rohan, through the hell of Moria’s deep,

The last elvish destroyer met its fate

On the Anduin. And Osgiliath, so grim,

Was claimed by Goblin Marines, the best of hate.

How can one forget such things? Can memory be dead?

The pierced trunk of a fallen oliphaunt,

Or the way there, in the square of Minas Tirith,

A drunken, pissed-on hobbit danced and taunted.

We piled up the slaughtered Ents to make a pyre bright,

Doors and windows open wide without a care.

A dwarf marauder prayed and tried to make things right,

While elf-maids moaned: "Oh, das ist fantastisch, there!"

And so the bloody chapter of the war was sealed,

We won, and just one final task remained:

To judge the wizards and the Elven General Staff,

Whom the fair Mordor tribunal had arraigned.

Our sentence was humane, all things considered well:

To Kolyma! But Gandalf and Aragorn

Were sentenced to the highest point of hell,

For starring mainly in gay porn, in scorn.

But then disaster struck: our Teacher and our Lord,

Our Gen-Sec, Sauronych, in a drunken craze,

Took a dive into the volcano, was no more,

And the Ring of Power melted in the blaze.

And then the time of doubt and troubles was revealed,

The shameful wolves grew stronger, licked their wounds.

That's when a spineless Talmud was then scribed and sealed

By a Silmaril-Zionist named Tolkien.

Since then all historical truth has gone to rot,

We lost the mountain ridges, shelves, and highlands.

We lived to see the undefeatable Mordor, god,

Be seized by Rohan, Jews, and elvish islanders.

It's over now. We wouldn't wish it on a foe.

We've settled in the backwoods, meek and broken.

Upon the thawing, piss-soaked courtyard snow,

A hobbit writes in script: "You are no Orcs!" as token.

We used to read The Lord of Rings with zeal and thrill,

We learned this lie by heart, from cover, back.

It's not by chance that in our Mordor now all's still —

Because we are no longer Orcs, alack