I just received my first Tolkien spam. The message, pitching erectile dysfunction products, had appended to it, appropriately enough, some dwarfish lines from J.R.R.’s “The Hobbit”:
Thorin Oakenshield, at your service! Dori at your service! said the two dwarves bowing again. I dont need your service, thank you, said Beorn, but I expect you need mine. I am not over fond of dwarves; but if it is true you are Thorin (son of Thrain, son of Thror, I believe), and that your companion is respectable, and that you are enemies of goblins and are not up to any mischief in my lands-what are you up to, by the way?
Ah, if only the good Oxford don knew the uses to which his work would one day be put.