The one ring

There was once a hobbit, who was given a ring by his uncle. It was a rather beautiful ring, strangely fascinating in its way, golden, heavy, and surprisingly cold to the touch; the hobbit was disquieted by the gift, and decided to sell it. So off he went to the jewellers in the strip mall outside Hobbiton.

The jeweller stared at the ring wide-eyed. "Mr. Baggins, sir!" he blurted. "I could never take this ring from you! In fact, I should like to make you a present of any other ring, necklace, signet, anklet, earring, anything in the shop. Please, do take your pick, with my blessing!"

The hobbit thought this even more strange than the strange ring, but he helped himself to a fine diamond belt-buckle, slipped the ring onto his finger, and went on his way to the next store, a tailor's, to buy himself a new tunic. But as the hobbit took out money to pay his bill, the tailor caught sight of his ring and, in apparent awe at its beauty, begged the hobbit to take any other clothes he wished along with the items he had chosen; everything of course, was free of charge.

After all this excitement, the hobbit began to feel a little hungry. He wandered into the next store, which happened to be a branch of McDonald's. It was the same story there: once the hobbit had made his order, and the server behind the counter had begun to drone in a tone of extreme boredom, "Milkshake and lembas burger... d'you want fries with that... will there be anything else...", his eye, catching the ring on the hobbit's finger, sparkled with excitement and interest. "Sir! That'll be on the house! I'll have to call my supervisor! Sir!" The supervisor, too, appeared to be mesmerised by the beauty of the ring; he drew from his pocket enough McDonald's vouchers to feed the armies of Gondor for a month, and silently handed them to the hobbit.

And so it went on, with every shop the hobbit entered. A few hours later, after leaving the last shop, he wandered home, well-fed, well-dressed and shod, overburdened with parcels and packages, yet wondering deep in his heart what the power could be within this ring that so mesmerised the merchants of his town. But as the hobbit proverb goes, wherever there is mystery there'll be Gandalf: so it proved. When the hobbit reached his hole and threw wide the front door-- the familiar front door, round and green, which had no letters scratched upon it, and where to the east there was the comfortable tunnel-like hall-- he was little-surprised to see Gandalf within, sitting in his favourite armchair and blowing smoke-rings.

"Gandalf!" exclaimed the hobbit. "How lucky you should be here: my day has been rather difficult to explain. This ring upon my finger... well, ever since my uncle gave it to me as a present, all the shopkeepers in Hobbiton have treated me as though... well, as though I owned the whole store."

The wizard said nothing, but examined the ring with care, then pointed to some letters of flame that had previously escaped the hobbit's attention.

"I cannot read the firey letters," said the hobbit, and his voice trembled as he spoke.

"No," replied the wizard, "but I can. The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode. They speak of the nature of this ring, and its power over all who keep goods to sell. In the Common Tongue they run:

"One ring to rule the mall..."