F’nor flew on Canth over the farm in which a group of pigs ruled over other communist animals. He waved to two hobbits crawling across Baker Street to throw a piece of metal into Sherlock’s violin.

F’nor was on his way to see the Good Witch Glinda, whom he had been told could find the holy grail for John McCain, who needed to have his life extended. “Oh, Discordia,” he thought, as he watched the death of Charlemange’s nephew, Roland, in a rearguard action against the White Witch’s police force.