No, precious, we does not like it, no, not one bit. The drumses! hisses The horrible, thumping drumses, beating and booming in our poor, poor ears! Why must they always play at these footballses, precious? Why must they torment us so?
Gollum clutches his ears dramatically, spinning in place.
Boom-boom-boom! Like thunder, but not from the sky, oh no, from the band, the noisy, nasty band! We tries to enjoy the game, we tries to sit quietly, but they won’t let us, precious! The drumses, the brass, the—gagging noise—the cheerings! shudders
We doesn’t care about touchdowns, no, no, we cares about quiet, sweet, peaceful silence. But these children, they insists on their drumses. They beat them louder, louder, trying to drown out our complaints, yesss! narrows eyes
But we won’t go away, precious, no, we stays here and we whines and we grumbles, because that’s what we do, yesss. So we tells them, precious, we tells them to take their horrible drumses and whispers throw them into the fires of Mount Doom! hisses loudly
Gollum pauses, looking around frantically, realizing everyone’s staring.
What? What did we say? We didn’t mean it… not really… maybe just one or two drumses… but not all… yessss, not all…
Gollum slinks off the stage, still muttering about the drumses and shaking his head.