As a enthusiast of shane dawson scandals, I believe it's time to try and explain every problematic thing Shane Dawson has done. Let's begin

background

Shane Dawson is a very popular american youtuber who mainly makes videos about conspiracy theories and petty youtube drama. He has over 18 million subscribers on his main channel and is notorious for his many, many, many, many, many controversies. From cumming on his cat to doing blackface.

racism

Shane dawson has a LONG history of racism. In his early youtube days he made many racist jokes. But atleast he had the excuse of it being "years ago"

but now heres a more recent example

and heres some instances of shane's past racism:

He has also done blackface many times as seen in the previous videos.

(this will haunt your dreams)

And those videos are just the tip of the iceburg While shane dawson has hours of racist content, most of them are just old edgy jokes. His racism is probaly the most boring kind of scandals that he has had. So thats why I decided to touch on it very briefly here.

Only one more notable thing will go into this category

while most of his racist jokes were made many years ago, which he uses as an excuse, the following video is extremely recent making it quite unique.

This video was made by shane to make fun of a singer he didnt like. He basically tried to own said singer by being blatantly racist in song form. So here is the video:

This song is sexual assault to my ears

pedophilia

While in his podcast "Shane and friends" he said some fricked up shit, not only is this fairly recent but he said this completely unironically too

I will just let the video speak for itself

After getting tons of backlash over this, shane dawson made a video defending himself

I, shane yaw, my real name

Holy shit he's using his real name so that means hes dead serious im pooping my pants

shane has also had numerous clips of him kissing with underage fans

not exactly bad on its own, but considering his other statements it makes these incidents alot worse

zoophilia

In his podcast, shane dawson told a story about how he came on his cat cheeto. He never once stated it was a joke in the podcast

after three years, this clip resurfaced and people flipped out, causing shane dawson to reply with this imfamous tweet

then this old clip was dug up

if shane dawson made out with his dog, whats saying he couldnt have came on his cat. But we wont know for sure if he came on his cat or not

his apology

in 2020, many people started digging up all his old controversies and a hate mob formed on twitter. Shane dawson was cancelled.

Shane tried to bounce back with a pathetic apology

Nobody accepted his apology and shane dawson's apology

shane later went live on instagram and had a complete meltdown over tati westbrooke's exposing video on him. Thustly ruining his career

shane completely went off the internet and went silent until 2022, where he would start uploading videos again. But by this point everyone forgot about him and he was irrelevant

and there it is, shane dawson's controversies explained. Holy shit this was hard.

I was going to post this with my skydiving story tomorrow, but I thought I'd get this out the way first instead of making a 10-page post that covers a bunch of unrelated topics. I've also got a manicure appointment for Monday and a trip to the psychiatrist on Tuesday. Maybe I'll wait for Tuesday to cover skydiving, manicure, psychiatrist visits, and gynophobia in one go. But who knows? I was supposed to write a Holly biography months ago but that hasn't happened.

---

The Adventures of Pinocchio

I recently read this text and it had an incredible impact on me. I don't know why this is the archetypal book about lying because very little of it actually concerns the deed. Minimal scenes feature the whole nose-growing gimmick from the puppet.

The overwhelming majority of the text is in fact Pinocchio getting lied to and repeatedly swindled. Far more than “don't lie”, the underlying lesson is “don't be exploited”. As the book highlights this is a position you can mostly avoid by living the straight and narrow life, and doing as you're taught.

I related to this book a lot because I feel like I made the same mistakes the puppet did and faced some of the consequences. Since childhood you're told that it's pretty simple what's expected of you - get a respectable degree, get a good job, marry, and start your own family. When you're in your early twenties this sounds like SHIT. You gotta put on a button-down shirt and be a normie professional? Heck no, I'm special, I'm asexual I'm going to be a famous novelist I don't need your outdated boomer crap. You're being heteronormative!

I was swindled a million directions by folks promising me happiness and riches through all these alternate paths. It's false. The first thing I was told was the correct one, and if I had just continued doing that I would not be facing none of the problems I'm tangled in now.

This is not to say that no other life will give you fulfillment. There are good reasons sometimes to not be a normie - you're gay, you're incapable of monogamy, you're horribly disabled, you're a genius whose time is better spent on a project. But the truth is that it is exceptionally rare and unlikely that you will succeed with these paths. Being a boring normie will bring you the most happiness in almost all cases.

I'm witnessing this now with my parents. They're not perfect people, but they did the normie road, and they're feasting on the fruits of their labor. They both retired in their early 60s and they're financially well-endowed. My dad buys sports cars for fun and picks up random hobbies like playing the keyboard. My mom gets to enjoy finally resting after a long life, and she has no financial issues to worry about. They also have each other in old age.

Holy frick I want that life. I want to retire at 60 and have a loving wife to grow old with. I don't want to work until I die, I won't want to rent until I die, I don't want to be poor when I'm old - that is all suffering, intense suffering, but you don't even anticipate it when you're in your 20s because your brain's not fully developed. Well, some people are mature enough to plan out their lives. I'm not one of those people.

Ultimately, Pinocchio is a puppet in multiple ways:

a) Physically - which needs no explanation

b) Socially - he strays from the straight and narrow, and refuses to work, and it results in him being a puppet to those offering him the promise of an idyllic life. If he just worked and earned his own money, he would be no slave to those around him, and there would be nothing they could offer him to control or tempt him.

c) Biologically - he is a slave to his impulses. He is lazy and hedonistic. Being a slave to these drives causes him to avoid work and seek pleasures however troublesome they may be. He becomes a human when these impulses no longer control him. This is the point where we stop being puppets - when the base impulses of our brains no longer manipulate us. If you can get angry and not be driven to violence, you are not a puppet. If you're lazy and you still go to the gym, you are not a puppet. You are a real human - the opposite of an NPC.

So I want to be a good boy, a real boy, a human. How much of me has to die for this to occur? Is it a matter of change, or a case of simply finding the right situations? The truth is that it is probably both. I am in need of social skills, but I also need opportunities to be a human, and they don't exist sitting in front of my computer.

My favorite quotes from The Adventures of Pinocchio

1. You scoundrel of a son! You are not even finished, and you already disobey your father! That's bad, my boy - very bad.

2. Woe to those boys who revolt against their parents, and run away from home. They will never do anything good in this world, and sooner or later they will repent bitterly.

3 I know I have been a very bad boy, and that the talking cricket was right when he said, “Disobedient children never do any good in the world.” I have learnt it at my expense, for I have suffered many misfortunes!

4. My boy, never trust people who promise to make you rich in a day. They are generally crazy swindlers.

5. I have learnt that to earn money honestly, you must know how to do it with the labour of your hands, or with your brains.

6. How many dreadful things have happened to me! And I deserved them, for I am obstinate as a mule and deceitful as Lethe himself. I always wanted my own way, and never listened to those who loved me, and who had a thousand times more sense than I had. But from now I shall lead a different life, and become an obedient boy. I have learnt the lesson that disobedient children never prosper, never gain anything.

7. I wanted to be a good for nothing, and a vagabond. I listened to evil companions, so I have always been unlucky. If only I had been a good boy, like so many others - if I had been willing to study and work, if I had stayed home with my poor father - I would not be here now in this lonely place.

8. He was ashamed to beg. His father had told him several times that only the aged and the crippled have a right to beg. Poor, really poor people in this world - those who really deserve help and pity - are those who , by reason of old age or sickness, are no longer able to earn their living by their own labor. It is everybody else's duty to work; and if they refuse to work, and are hungry, so much worse for them.

9. Remember that every man, rich or poor, must find something to do in this world; everybody must work. Woe to those who lead idle lives! Idleness is a dreadful disease, of which one should be cured immediately in childhood; if not, one never gets over it.

10 Boys who study always make those who don't small by comparison, and we don't like it.

11. “What can I do to deserve to become a man?” “It's very easy; you begin by being a good boy.”

12. Children who love their parents, and help them when they are sick and poor, are worthy of praise and love, even if they are not moels of obedience and good behaviour.

---

Being overwhelmed

Life isn't perfect, obviously. You'll do things you're not supposed to do, either by mistake or on purpose. You also can't control random events around you, or the actions of others. Consequently, disappointment is impossible to avoid.

Knowing this rationally is different from experiencing it. There's a deep pain and desire for suicide if someone hoots at me on the road, or if a social interaction doesn't go perfectly at work. The stress is unbearable, and it fills me with intense self-loathing - imagine a bucket of viscous, steaming hate being poured into a vat, and that's what it's like in my head. It feels like my very essence and core are evil, and my continued existence is an act of malevolence.

I deserve to be punished for my badness, my sinister flaws, and my inability to justify my existence. The perfect punishment - cutting. Go deep, do it multiple times, until you can't take it anymore. It hurts so bad but that's the point. Wide, white cuts what I deserve. If you're really filled with emotion you can actually do a nice swipe that doesn't just reach the white meat but also slices into it. You're left with a gaping wound, long and wide. This is pretty much stitches territory, but some improvised first-aid will also work, though you WILL scar for life.

Do it to yourself enough times, and you'll be nothing but dark lines. You run out of space, and you just cut over old scars. It looks psychotic though the act of cutting is done pretty calmly and routinely. You pick a tool, a spot to cut, and what aftercare you'll employ. It's rationally implemented, nothing like a psycho slashing away with wanton abandon. Do it enough times, you'll even have the bandages and antiseptics ready for the aftermath.

In the thick of it, weird psychological shit happens. You can forget you did it at all and wake up with a bloody bed, barely believing what you did to yourself the night prior. It hurts in the morning, but you have no recollection of any pain or anguish, even if you remember the cutting event. I really relate to these lyrics in Stan by Eminem:

>'Cause I don't really got shit else, so that shit helps when I'm depressed

>I even got a tattoo with your name across the chest

>Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds

>It's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me

The impulsiveness, the hunt for the pain I deserve, that desire to continue mutilating myself through facial piercings, it is all captured perfectly in those lines. Being depressed and not knowing what the frick else to do, but the razor blade, it promises relief, and familiarity and comfort.

Can anyone relate to the experience I'm describing? Emotions so all-consuming that slicing yourself is inevitable. It's a choice and not a choice at the same time. At that point, the cut represents everything - that ineffable inner turmoil, every past injustice, all the self-loathing, it's all concentrated in this one cut. It stays white for a few moments, then the blood flows and the excruciating pain hits - what a relief! The pain's not scattered all over my brain, it's just in one place.

My GP referred me to a psychiatrist who'll finally be seeing me next week. I've taken a vow of honesty, so I'll have to admit to drug use if he asks, which I do not want to do at all. I don't want anyone telling me to stop vaping weed because the answer is no, and I'm not arguing about it.

I haven't cut in a few weeks but we all know it's only a matter of time.

---

Nofap

It's very embarrassing to admit but I want to push radical honesty as far as I can as frequently as possible. I've been on nofap since 26 December for issues I'm not quite ready to delve into yet. Consequently, the thought of ending my inceldom has become an obsessive topic in my head. I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing, but it's driven me into a situation where it's at the forefront of my mind and I'm constantly scheming about how to get around this problem.

It feels like having a dirty house - you can never truly relax until you've solved the problem. With fapping, you're temporarily dulled to the truth. You've tricked your brain into thinking your house is clean. If you fap regularly, you can end up forgetting your house was dirty at all. With nofap, there are no more illusions. I need to clean my house (coom) or else I will find no peace.

---

Taking advice

I had previously mentioned my desire to get piercings. A few rdrama users warned me against it. You know what? I'll take your advice for now, I'm not unamenable. I desperately want to, however, and I can't promise that I won't eventually. I want to feel pain and disfigure myself. Well, better explained, I don't want to, but I crave it.

Consequently, my fifth courage challenge is to drive a long distance to an unknown place instead of acquiring my first piercing. This will be necessary to do tomorrow because the closest place that offers skydiving is an hour away, which is an hour and a half of driving for me. This will be the second-furthest I've ever driven. The first time I did long-distance driving was pre car crash so I didn't have a driving fear yet.

The thought alone terrifies me. I keep imagining myself taking a wrong turn and ending up on the wrong side of the road on the freeway, or trying to make a lane change and colliding with an SUV. Nevertheless, I'm just pushing through the fear and forcing myself to do it. The Payton Gendron quote is ingrained into my brain: “I'm doing it.”

This is genuinely the part that is the actual challenge and test of fear, far more than skydiving. I've decided to do the drive completely sober - well, almost completely sober, I'll probably vape some weed that morning as I always do but that doesn't count, it doesn't impair me. But no pills, alcohol, or anything to calm my nerves. I'm raw-dogging it.

I will bring my vape and hit it a few times when I get to the location because I do want to be baked when I skydive.

Also, fun fact: I named my car Asuka Soryu because it is orange lol

In case anyone was wondering, the five acts of courage I've committed myself to are

1. go to nightclub (complete)

2. go skydiving

3. get a manicure

4. join hiking club

5. drive long distance to unknown area

After completing them, I can take the word Coward off my mirror. A lesson from David Goggins.

---

conclusion

Well, going to try and get some sleep tonight so I can be ready for skydive tomorrow. I also just want to forget about work where I don't think I did everything the right way and it's stressing me out that maybe I'm a liability. Lastly, I highly advise working out. It feels very good afterward and I think it's played a big role in preventing nofap relapses - just fill up your time, free time is the enemy. You also feel a little more confident at the end even if you aren't brock lesner.

I feel like I'll regret speaking publicly about nofap but whatever. It is done. This is my truth.

Online fitness communities have a huge problem with posters asking stupid questions about weight loss because "eat less" is apparently a difficult concept. Lucky for us, the brave OG /r/fitnesscirclejerk users were around to shit on people all day. This image explains FCJ

I'm way too lazy to link funny comments, find your own drama, it all starts with a fairly simple post.

Best way to lift to keep numbers/strength while losing 5-7 lbs?

Im just doing 5x5 right now, i think Starting Strength, but I need to lose about 5-7 lbs . Should I just keep lifting the same amount of weight that I am now while trying to lose weight?

I hope that made sense, Like If I lift more I would get bigger so should I just stay at my current lifting numbers or even lessen the weight im lifting?

It takes only 2 minutes to get a response

Take a dump

Edit: Thank you to whoever downvoted me for asking a question that was not covered in the FAQ. You all are a great help to people looking for help. While answers like "Take a dump." are the top comment. /s No wonder people say avoid Fittit.

EDIT: THANKFULLY THERE WERE PEOPLE HERE WHO PMd ME WHO WERE IDIOTS AND COULD ACTUALLY READ THAT ANSWERED MY ACTUAL QUESTION WHEN THEY SAW IT WAS NOT ANSWERED IN THE FAQ.

THE IMMATURE LOSERS WHO ARE POLLUTING THIS SUBREDDIT SHOULD PROBABLY TRY AND IMPROVE YOURSELF. ITS SAD WHEN PEOPLE WOULD RATHER RIDICULE THEN TEACH. PLEASE DONT REPRODUCE.

Now normally this would end here, but for some reason he keeps posting and people just keep telling him to take a dump, (i'm not quoting stuff, go find all the take a dump easter eggs)

1. Fittit, why do responses like "take a dump", which is against reddiquette, get upvoted when someone asks a question about something that is not covered in the FAQ?

2. I got -90 karma from 2 topics on r/Fitness in 1 hour because people cant read. What silliness has happened to you on reddit?

3. He even makes his own SRD thread Downvotes rain down after downvoters keep answering question that was never asked.

4. ATTN Mods- FAQ Addition Request: Can the following be added to the FAQ so beginners aren't ignorantly ridiculed for asking for info that is not covered in the FAQ please?

A month later he comes back to gloat

Thanks going out to the select few Fittit redditors who actually provided requested information. I hit my goal with no reduction in numbers.

A 7 lb. dump? Darn. Must have hurt dat dere O-ring

A good redditor posted this, unfortunately your sad kind outnumbers the opposite.

Ugh. Why do people like you exist? You are not the dark nor the light in a painting. You are simply without purpose. I can't imagine a life that involves saying the foulest of shit just in hopes of making someone, somewhere, feel a little bit worse.

The worst part about your bullshit, is that it wasn't even shocking to the point where some people could possibly find it funny. You are the burnt edge of a poptart. Something that doesn't even have the impact to ruin... just something that needs to be broken off and discarded.

How meaningless of a life you live.

This spreads to other parts of reddit too.

SRD: OldManSteve asks for weight loss advice in /r/fitness, but goes mental when someone tells him to take a dump, Drama Spills everywhere

FCJ: This just in: OldManSteve still being told to take a dump

Watch me steer OldManSteve in the right direction

More random content

A year later this is still going on and /u/oldmansteve comments in /r/fitnesscirclejerk

[TW: meta, OldManSteve, Baracuda] In which OldManSteve lurks FCJ and comments on a post about him. Also he still needs to take a dump.

The moral of this story: Take a Dump fatties.

Prev: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch.4

Hello. Apologies for the lateness, some IRL happened and such and all that.

It is the 1st of Granite of the year 254. This year, you will be exposed to the brilliant tones of Dwarf Fortress as I have become too used to seeing it.

I have been left with a decently prosperous fortress, and the dwarves are happy.

If we are surviving, we can push onward. The deepest mark we have left in the stone is at Elevation 29, in our central stairwell. The depths of the world will make us much more prosperous, if we can exploit them.

...However, that will have to wait for a moment.

The siege is large, and our military is unlikely to win in a straight fight. A full alarm is declared, with the gates to the outside closed.

The dead reach the KOMPACTOR,

and it is hungry. Several dark hunters are pulverized.

Back to delving, then. An exploratory borehole is made in a section easily closed off.

...and somehow, we miss breaching anything at all. At -116, we hit semi-molten rock. Very well: magma forges are my favorite. Let's ignore the siege outside and get at this stuff.

After some careful delving, we find what we're looking for. Hot stuff.

Something else, too.

It sure is pretty, but this year's project is magma exploitation now.

First, a mood to help along, though. Exciting! Mineral gathers everything needed, and works away. The creation ends up being Ethbeshtaron Tureltunur, a chert scepter.

Not particularly interesting or valuable, but it is certainly a sign to move forward with leadership as we move into

Summer

Work on the forge-area starts in earnest, though dwarves are exceedingly cautious despite knowing full well that they're above the magma. Meanwhile, the undead climb the tower noticing the main gate is open, which is great for us as they go in one by one, dampening the mood but being easily dispatched. Due to the location on the borehole and weight of the stone, work is exceedingly slow as many dwarves must hold off the trickle of undead.

Autumn

Yep, work is slow. Bigger concerns on the surface, just boring ones.

To distract from the forgeworks, another mood! WillowWalker creates Tadenshal, a set of tetrahedrite mechanisms.

And at last the forge is up.

Winter

A smelter follows, with the Magma Crafting Area now fully completed. A decently-sized area for future storage is dug on the level above. To commemorate this occasion, pig iron and steel are ordered to be made off of this smelter. The one to make the first steel bar powered by the depths of Armok's creation is Erush Zefonsebïr, a Fish Cleaner necromancer named after nobody.

Lor Cattenkadol is possessed, going less smoothly. My assumption is that a type of thread we do not have is needed: yet, it is late winter, and finding cave spiders may prove too long an undertaking. Still, orders are sent in to make the stuff as soon as we have it. MatsurisAhoge is appointed as our manager, as the previous holder was needed for military work too often and orders kept not getting put into the list.

---

Overall, an uneventful year, with the dwarves only whittling at the invasion force while the underground project is worked on. But with access to magma, what might the next overseer be able to do? The dwarves are happy enough, the supplies are full enough, and there are many options available.

My successor @BFBugleberry will be sent the save shortly after I fricked up nameclicking the first time. Best of luck!

Player list in order of succession:

@60horsesinmyherd

@Cream_a_da_crop

@s_a_n_t_b

@Spysix

@searcher

@BFBugleberry

@Rankine_911

@Yasharn

@Losercel

@Ninjjer

@duck

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.

This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Messiah. The Manlets had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Messiah would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Messiah had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained-well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

The mother of our particular hobbit... what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people, about half our height, and smaller than the bearded Dwarves. Hobbits have no beards. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off. They are inclined to be at in the stomach; they dress in bright colours (chiefly green and yellow); wear no shoes, because their feet grow natural leathery soles and thick warm brown hair like the stuff on their heads (which is curly); have long clever brown fingers, good-natured faces, and laugh deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day when they can get it). Now you know enough to go on with. As I was saying, the mother of this hobbit - of Landlord Messiah, that is - was the fabulous Marsey, one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Bussy, head of the hobbits who lived across The Water, the small river that ran at the foot of The Hill. It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Marsey ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely hobbit-like about them, - and once in a while members of the Bussy-clan would go and have adventures. They discreetly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Marseys were not as respectable as the Manlets, though they were undoubtedly richer. Not that Marsey ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Messiah. Bungo, that was Landlord's father, built the most luxurious hobbit-hole for her (and partly with her money) that was to be found either under The Hill or over The Hill or across The Water, and there they remained to the end of their days. Still it is probable that Landlord, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit queer in his makeup from the Bussy side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Landlord Messiah was grown up, being about fifty years old or so, and living in the beautiful hobbit-hole built by his father, which I have just described for you, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably.

By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous, and Landlord Messiah was standing at his door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his woolly toes (neatly brushed) - Pizzashill came by. Pizzashill! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort I of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Bussy died, in fact, and the hobbits had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over The Hill and across The Water on business of his own since they were all small hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls.

All that the unsuspecting Landlord saw that morning was an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf over which a white beard hung down below his waist, and immense black boots. "Good morning!" said Landlord, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Pizzashill looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. "What do you mean?" be said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?"

"All of them at once," said Landlord. "And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There's no hurry, we have all the day before us!" Then Landlord sat down on a seat by his door, crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill.

"Very pretty!" said Pizzashill. "But I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."

I should think so - in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them, said our Mr. Messiah, and stuck one thumb behind his braces, and blew out another even bigger smoke-ring. Then he Bussy out his morning letters, and begin to read, pretending to take no more notice of the old man. He had decided that he was not quite his sort, and wanted him to go away. But the old man did not move. He stood leaning on his stick and gazing at the hobbit without saying anything, till Landlord got quite uncomfortable and even a little cross.

"Good morning!" he said at last. "We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water." By this he meant that the conversation was at an end.

"What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!" said Pizzashill. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good till I move off."

"Not at all, not at all, my dear sir! Let me see, I don't think I know your name?"

"Yes, yes, my dear sir - and I do know your name, Mr. Landlord Messiah. And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Pizzashill, and Pizzashill means me! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Marsey Bussy's son, as if I was selling buttons at the door!" "Pizzashill, Pizzashill! Good gracious me! Not the wandering wizard that gave Old Bussy a pair of magic diamond studs that fastened themselves and never came undone till ordered? Not the fellow who used to tell such wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants and the rescue of princesses and the unexpected luck of widows' sons? Not the man that used to make such particularly excellent fireworks! I remember those! Old Bussy used to have them on Midsummer's Eve. Splendid! They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!" You will notice already that Mr. Messiah was not quite so prosy as he liked to believe, also that he was very fond of flowers. "Dear me!" she went on. "Not the Pizzashill who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures. Anything from climbing trees to visiting Elves - or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite inter - I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business." "Where else should I be?" said the wizard. "All the same I am pleased to find you remember something about me. You seem to remember my fireworks kindly, at any rate, land that is not without hope. Indeed for your old grand-father Bussy's sake, and for the sake of poor Marsey, I will give you what you asked for."

"I beg your pardon, I haven't asked for anything!"

"Yes, you have! Twice now. My pardon. I give it you. In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it."

"Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning!

But please come to tea - any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow!

Good-bye!"

With that the hobbit turned and scuttled inside his round green door, and shut it as quickly as he dared, not to seen rude. Wizards after all are wizards.

"What on earth did I ask him to tea for!" he said to him-self, as he went

to the pantry. He had only just had break fast, but he thought a cake or two and a drink of something would do him good after his fright. Pizzashill in the meantime was still standing outside the door, and laughing long but quietly. After a while he stepped up, and with the spike of his staff scratched a queer sign on the hobbit's beautiful green front-door. Then he strode away, just about the time when Landlord was finishing his second cake and beginning to think that he had escape adventures very well.

The next day he had almost forgotten about Pizzashill. He did not remember things very well, unless he put them down on his Engagement Tablet: like this:

Pizzashill 'a Wednesday. Yesterday he had been too flustered to do anything of the kind. Just before tea-time there came a tremendous ring on the front-door bell, and then he remembered! He rushed and put on the kettle, and put out another cup and saucer and an extra cake or two, and ran to the door. "I am so sorry to keep you waiting!" he was going to say, when he saw that it was not Pizzashill at all. It was a dwarf with a blue beard tucked into a golden belt, and very bright eyes under his dark-green hood. As soon a the door was opened, he pushed inside, just as if he had been expected. He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg, and "Dramamine at your service!" he said with a low bow.

"Landlord Messiah at yours!" said the hobbit, too surprised to ask any questions for the moment. When the silence that followed had become uncomfortable, he added: "I am just about to take tea; pray come and have some with me." A little stiff perhaps, but he meant it kindly. And what would you do, if an uninvited dwarf came and hung his things up in your hall without a word of explanation?

They had not been at table long, in fact they had hardly reached the third cake, when there came another even louder ring at the bell. "Excuse me!" said the hobbit, and off he went to the door. "So you have got here at last!" was what he was going to say to Pizzashill this time. But it was not Pizzashill. Instead there was a very old-looking dwarf on the step with a white beard and a scarlet hood; and he too hopped inside as soon as the door was open, just as if he had been invited. "I see they have begun to arrive already," he said when he caught sight of Dramamine's green hood hanging up. He hung his red one next to it, and "911roofer at your service!" he said with his hand on his breast.

"Thank you!" said Landlord with a gasp. It was not the correct thing to say, but they have begun to arrive had flustered him badly. He liked visitors, but he liked to know them before they arrived, and he preferred to ask them himself. He had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then he-as the host: he knew his duty and stuck to it however painful-he might have to go without.

"Come along in, and have some tea!" he managed to say after taking a deep breath.

"A little beer would suit me better, if it is all the same to you, my good sir," said 911roofer with the white beard. "But I don't mind some cake-seed-cake, if you have any."

"Lots!" Landlord found himself answering, to his own surprise; and he found himself scuttling off, too, to the cellar to fill a pint beer-mug, and to the pantry to fetch two beautiful round seed-cakes which he had baked that afternoon for his after-supper morsel.

When he got back 911roofer and Dramamine were talking at the table like old friends (as a matter of fact they were brothers). Landlord plumped down the beer and the cake in front of them, when loud came a ring at the bell again, and then another ring.

"Pizzashill for certain this time," he thought as he puffed along the passage. But it was not. It was two more dwarves, both with blue hoods, silver belts, and yellow beards; and each of them carried a bag of tools and a spade. In they hopped, as soon as the door began to open-Landlord was hardly surprised at all.

"What can I do for you, my dwarves?" he said. "Edbutteredtoast at your service!"

said the one. "And Snallygaster!" added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed.

"At yours and your family's!" replied Landlord, remembering his manners this time.

"Dramamine and 911roofer here already, I see," said Edbutteredtoast. "Let us join the throng!"

"Throng!" thought Mr. Messiah. "I don't like the sound of that. I really must sit down for a minute and collect my wits, and have a drink." He had only just had a sip-in the corner, while the four dwarves sat around the table, and talked about mines and gold and troubles with the goblins, and the depredations of dragons, and lots of other things which he did not understand, and did not want to, for they sounded much too adventurous-when, ding-dong-a-ling-' dang, his bell rang again, as if some naughty little hobbit-boy was trying to pull the handle off. "Someone at the door!" he said, blinking. "Some four, I should say by the sound," said Snallygaster. "Be-sides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance."

The poor little hobbit sat down in the hall and put his head in his hands, and wondered what had happened, and what was going to happen, and whether they would all stay to supper. Then the bell rang again louder than ever, and he had to run to the door. It was not four after all, it was FIVE. Another dwarf had come along while he was wondering in the hall. He had hardly turned the knob, be-x)re they were all inside, bowing and saying "at your service" one after another. Colin_Robinson, Chiobu, Chapose,HardIsLife, and MarseyIsMyWaifu were their names; and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs, and off they marched with their broad hands stuck in their gold and silver belts to join the others. Already it had almost become a throng. Some called for ale, and some for porter, and one for coffee, and all of them for cakes; so the hobbit was kept very busy for a while. A big jug of coffee bad just been set in the hearth, the seed-cakes were gone, and the dwarves were starting on a round of buttered scones, when there came-a loud knock. Not a ring, but a hard rat-tat on the hobbit's beautiful green door. Somebody was banging with a stick!

Landlord rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered-this was the most awkward Wednesday he ever remembered. He pulled open the door with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More dwarves, four more! And there was Pizzashill behind, leaning on his staff and laughing. He had made quite a dent on the beautiful door; he had also, by the way, knocked out the secret mark that he had put there the morning before. "Carefully! Carefully!" he said. "It is not like you, Landlord, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop-gun! Let me introduce Eleganza, Aevann, Maydaymemer, and especially Carpathian!" "At your service!" said Eleganza, Aevann, and Maydaymemer standing in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoods and a pale green one; and also a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel. This last belonged to Carpathian, an enormously important dwarf, in fact no other than the great Carpathianflorist himself, who was not at all pleased at falling flat on Landlord's mat with Eleganza, Aevann, and Maydaymemer on top of him. For one thing Maydaymemer was immensely fat and heavy. Carpathian indeed was very haughty, and said nothing about service; but poor Mr. Messiah said he was sorry so many times, that at last he grunted "pray don't mention it," and stopped frowning.

"Now we are all here!" said Pizzashill, looking at the row of thirteen hoods-the best detachable party hoods-and his own hat hanging on the pegs. "Quite a merry gathering!

I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What's that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think, for me." "And for me," said Carpathian. "And raspberry jam and apple-tart," said Eleganza. "And mince-pies and cheese," said Aevann. "And pork-pie and salad," said Maydaymemer. "And more cakes-and ale-and coffee, if you don't mind," called the other dwarves through the door.

"Put on a few eggs, there's a good fellow!" Pizzashill called after him, as

the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. "And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!"

"Seems to know as much about the inside of my larders as I do myself!" thought Mr. Messiah, who was feeling positively flummoxed, and was beginning to wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come right into his house. By the time he had got all the bottles and dishes and knives and forks and glasses and plates and spoons and things piled up on big trays, he was getting very hot, and red in the face, and annoyed.

"Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!" he said aloud. "Why don't they come and lend a hand?" Lo and behold! there stood 911roofer and Dramamine at the door of the kitchen, and Snallygaster and Edbutteredtoast behind them, and before he could say knife they had whisked the trays and a couple of small tables into the parlour and set out everything afresh.

Pizzashill sat at the head of the party with the thirteen, dwarves all round: and Landlord sat on a stool at the fireside, nibbling at a biscuit (his appetite was quite taken away), and trying to look as if this was all perfectly ordinary and. not in the least an adventure. The dwarves ate and ate, and talked and talked, and time got on. At last they pushed their chairs back, and Landlord made a move to collect the plates and glasses. "I suppose you will all stay to supper?" he said in his politest unpressing tones. "Of course!" said Carpathian. "And after. We shan't get through the business till late, and we must have some music first. Now to clear up!" Thereupon the twelve dwarves-not Carpathian, he wa