Originally posted by Tzeentch._
Orks are too short to be the black people and he Uruk-Hais' hair isn't nappy enough.The easterlings were the counts-as black folk in Middle Earth.
Well Harad or whatever that place was was more or less intended to be Africa, actually having black people, so more or less.
It's funny, because the Numenoreans conquered Harad and treated its people like slaves.
Courtney calls, too wasted on Elavil to meet me for a coherent
dinner at Cranes, the new Kitty Oates Sanders restaurant in
Gramercy Park where Jean, my secretary, made reservations for us
last week, and I'm nonplussed. Even though it got excellent reviews
(one in New York magazine; the other in The Nation) I don't
complain or persuade Courtney to change her mind since I have two
files I should go over and The Patty Winters Show I taped this
morning hasn't been watched yet. It's sixty minutes about women
who've had mastectomies, which at seven-thirty, over breakfast,
before the office, I couldn't bear to sit through, but after today -
hanging out at the office, where the air-conditioning broke down, a
tedious lunch with Cunningham at Odeon, my ****ing Chinese
cleaners unable to get bloodstains out of another Soprani jacket, four
videotapes overdue that ended up costing me a fortune, a twentyminute
wait at the Stairmasters - I've adapted; these events have
toughened me and I'm prepared to deal with this particular topic.Two thousand abdominal crunches and thirty minutes of rope
jumping in the living room, the Wurlitzer jukebox blasting "The
Lion Sleeps Tonight" over and over, even though I worked out in the
gym today for close to two hours. After this I get dressed to pick up
groceries at D'Agostino's: blue jeans by Armani, a white Polo shirt,
an Armani sport coat, no tie, hair slicked back with Thompson
mousse; since it's drizzling, a pair of black waterproof lace-ups by
Manolo Blahnik; three knives and two guns carried in a black Epi
leather attaché case ($3,200) by Louis Vuitton; because it's cold and
I don't want to **** up my manicure, a pair of Armani deerskin
gloves. Finally, a belted trench coat in black leather by Cianfranco
Ferré that cost four thousand dollars. Though it's only a short walk
to D'Agostino's, I put on a CD Walkman anyway, with the long
version of Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" already in it. I grab an
Etro wood-handled paisley umbrella from Bergdorf Goodman, three
hundred dollars on sale, off a newly installed umbrella rack in the
closet near the entranceway and I'm out the door.After the office I worked out at Xclusive and once home made
obscene phone calls to young Dalton girls, the numbers I chose
coming from the register I stole a copy of from the administration
office when I broke in last Thursday night. "I'm a corporate raider,"
I whispered lasciviously into the cordless phone. "I orchestrate
hostile takeovers. What do you think of that?" and I would pause
before making sucking noises, freakish piglike grunts, and then ask,
"Huh, *****?" Most of the time I could tell they were frightened and
this pleased me greatly, enabled me to maintain a strong, pulsing
erection for the duration of the phone calls, until one of the girls,
Hilary Wallace, asked, unfazed, "Dad, is that you?" and whatever
enthusiasm I'd built up plummeted. Vaguely disappointed, I made a
few more calls, but only halfheartedly, opening today's mail while
doing so, and I finally hung up in midsentence when I came across a
personalized reminder from Clifford, the guy who helps me at
Armani, that there was a private sale at the boutique on Madison…
two weeks ago! and though I figured out that one of the doormen
probably withheld the card to piss me off, it still doesn't erase the
fact that I missed the ****ing sale, and dwelling over this loss while
wandering down Central Park West somewhere around Seventysixth,
Seventy-fifth, it strikes me profoundly that the world is more
often than not a bad and cruel place.
- American Psycho, page 151