I woke up from bed to find the sky is pink,

I woke up from bed to find the sky is pink, I ran out to to the streets and i saw

the grass was aquamarine and the sun was purple. I slammed the front door and turned to see my three year-old daughter in her footy pajamas. "Did my wish come true?" she smiled.

I shook my head. "I am sorry my son but, you're not really my son." He was shocked. My memory jogged I now knew I was Gandalf and this way ward youth was in fact a confused Pippin.

"Did you smoke a few too many Longbottom Leaves there, Gandalf?" Pippin said, his charming Scottish lilt now drooping with concern. I stroked my beard. "Are you intimating that

I would do such a thing?" Passively, I unleashed my fury by scratching my left ear, signaling my henchman to take care of idiot Pippin. I, Gandalf, tolerated no such nonsense.

Last season's harvest was woefully inadequate and my taste for the precious Shire leaf had grown. My plantation, Gandalf's Sinsemilla Fields, needed precise care and I was prepared

to pay an army of anal-retentives to protect Gandalf's Sinsemilla Fields from disease, insects, and ravaging, roving hoards of pot-head pirates. The Miracle-Gro we added to the

Amount of plants growing that poisoned any humans who ate them. Little Walter was a big fan of goat weed and drew the attention of the thought police to his backyard garden where

he had secretly buried all of their Folger's Overmaster's Choice in the wall between 1969 and 1970. Hug the shoes.