Once again, I get myself into a situation where I have to clarify I'm not a Nazi paedophile

What? I didn't mention I live in Minas Tirith? Image by Alegrya via FlickrI went into the basement earlier, looking for that pile of uniforms Max and I got from an alternate universe. But that's a long story, you wouldn't be interested in it anyway.
 I found them behind a pile of storage boxes - flat-pack furniture, still got too much of the bloody stuff - all shiny and black and jackbooty. Very smart. Very Nazish too, but that's how you get the kids these days - with smart uniforms, not modified fascism. And by get the kids, I mean involve them in a project or something. Not in a paedophile way. Hmm, I needed to make far too many clarifications. Doesn't flow. Not good writing. Use words bad, me do.
 Anyhow, I moved the uniforms upstairs. Max had set up a semi-working soup kitchen, kidnapping local vegetables (Only the racist ones) and boiling them up. After they received their food, I shepherded the queue of tramps through the house, directing them first to the shower, and then into a nice, shiny new uniforms. I was building an army. Well, sort of. Every 20th member got a flag - a white tree on a black background.

Afterwards, I assemble them in the yard. They're given Nerf guns to train, I'll get real weapons later. Foam swords to practise with. There's something evil coming, the armies of Mordor are on the march. When the army's fully equipped, I plan to move to Osgiliath, secure the city once and for all. Then we can start to push back the forces of Sauron.
 But first, I need to take my medication. Been busy recently, under a lot of stress. Don't feel all there. Not to worry, the mist should clear when I'm free of the glare of that accursed eye...

Snow White and the 7 racist dwarves

Ding-dong went the doorbell ominously. (Yea, doorbell stories are back, and that was a shit sentence, sorry)
I looked up from my soup, but did nothing. Maybe whoever it was would go away if I ignored them. Of course, that never works, and it was foolish to entertain the though. So, reluctantly, I got out of the soup and wiped myself down with a towel.
 "Yes?" I demanded upon opening the door. I first imagined I would be a strange sight - wearing only a towel, and with tomato and coriander dripping from my hair - but what I saw before me was shocking more even so! (I'm fucking with you now, not even I write that badly) In front of me were 7 dwarves, who at first appeared to be your typical long-bearded Tolkienesque types. However, on closer inspection, I noticed they were wearing replica Nazi uniforms.
 "Ah, good morning!" One announced. I assumed he was their leader -  A small toothbrush moustache was sat under his nose. To achieve this, he had shaved away the rest of his beard-moustache-thing, so he resembled a Hitler-coconut. As he spoke, there was some discussion behind him as to whether the group liked red people or not.
 "Can I help you?" I asked. Frankly, I didn't want to help, but there were a lot of them, and they had axes.
 "We'd like to take this opportunity tell you about some of our fantastic clothing items, my good man. Here, take a catalogue."
I took the catalogue. Flicking through it, I saw some rather nice items for dwarves - mainly chain-mail, with some plate armour thrown in for good measure.
 "Now, you may have noticed that these items are not all, ahem... In your size. But the helmets should fit, you know?"
I nodded knowingly. I continued to nod knowingly for several minutes, but the dwarves didn't leave. Eventually, I felt the need to ask:
 "What's with the Nazism?"
 "Ah, yes. Well, I'm sorry about this, it's company policy. It's not something I personally agree with, but many of the older members of the Dwarven community still hold on to the old racial purity views - You know, nasty, anti-goblin stuff: "Dwarf Fortresses for Dwarves", "Decapitate Orcs on Thursdays", that sort of thing. Anyway, we'll leave the pamphlet with you - If you make an order, make sure to mention me. Clive's the name!".
With that, they turned and left. I'm glad I got a catalogue, I can burn it and use the fire to re-heat my soup. How contrived my life seems nowadays...