Your post produced 37 pages of discourse on whether Boromir is a Bear or a Twunk. The ghost of J.R.R. Tolkien is making read all of it aloud to him. He stops you mid-sentence. Tears distilled from the void beyond this mortal plane are welling up in eyes. He asks you to explain what Futch means. You can hear C.S. Lewis in your kitchen banging pot lids together.