After five minutes off fruitless labor searching for pickled oilaphaunt toenails, Grima approached Saruman cautiously.

"Lord, we still only have four items on our list. Perhaps, since our cabinet at Orthanc is so barren...we could fill it up with Cookies'n cream? Yes, does that not please you?"

"No. It doesn't." Saruman replied tartly, examining a withered looking Granny Smith apple. "We only picked up two items." He murmured to himself. Perhaps his wishes for a successful market trip were not to be. It was as if the Horse Lords were cursing him!

Saruman turned, and saw two Rohirrim standing by aisle five whispering vulgar words about him. They were cursing him!

Infuriated, the wizard rushed towards them, brandishing his staff and waving it frantically in the air, as if trying to scare away large, stupid birds. The Rohirrim started snickering, but retreated slowly, constantly turning back to point in their direction.

Grima was at Saruman's side in an instant.

After the Rohirrim left.

"An excellent show of courage, liege." he praised.

"Silence, worm." Saruman seethed, staring at the Rohirric men, who had finally disappeared behind a row filled with ketchup in aisle twelve.

"Ah!" the Istari said suddenly, his mood improving. His gaze shifted to the aisle they were on. "Here's the frozen dinner we wanted." he stated, holding up a frozen chicken by its legs. Grima held the basket forward, and Saruman dropped it in.

-x-

"Oh, Lord!" Grima said, pointing excitedly towards the snack aisle. "Man flesh! The orcs'll love it." Saruman walked over to Grima, looking troubled.

"Yes, but which brand? We've been capturing so many men that there was no need to buy recently." he said with bemusement, brows furrowed, his dark eyes scanned the different brands of man flesh.

"Ah, I think this is it." Grima said, picking up a can of Auntie Orc's Famous Home Cooked Man! The label was showing a grandmotherly she-orc, holding up her brand and smiling affably.

"No, no. Put it back. That's not right." Saruman waved away Grima's can. Worm's smile faded, and large teardrops materialized, threatening to ooze down his face.

"Here it is." Saruman noted, picking up the exact same brand, only next to the can Grima picked up. Needless to say, Worm's countenance was now scowling.

Next, they headed to the frozen food section again.

Unfortunately, they couldn't find the same brand of warg food that they used last time, but Saruman didn't think they would mind. If they didn't like the food, they'd just try to eat the nearest orc they'd find. That was a good way of disposing of weak orcs, so it worked out for everyone.

Except the weak orcs.

But they were weak.

So who cared?

The last item on their list was, much to Grima's dismay, Cherries Jubilee ice cream.
He fell to his knees again, clutching at Saruman's robe.

"No! Please master! No! Not that!" he cried, fresh tears running.

Saruman's staff fell hard on Wormtongue's foot. As he cried out in pain, he let go of his master's robe, enabling Saruman free, unhampered movement. As the ice cream was put into the basket, and Saruman walked out of the aisle without a backward glance, Grima knew his cruel fate was sealed. Or was it...?

Being the sixteenth person in line, Saruman could not tolerate the wait.

"Look!" he shouted. "It's an elf! He just ran out of the market! Get him!" Saruman commanded imperiously.

Fourteen orcs scattered, dropping their items and scrambling to the nearest exit with various choruses of 'pointy eared whelp' or more commonly, 'stinky little nose drooler' which, if you paid attention to the ones shouting the phrase, would be hypocritical on their part. As everyone knows, all orcs are stinky little nose droolers.

The Istari smirked, and said to Grima, "No wizardry needed there."

As they moved ahead in the line, they noticed one scrawny orc was still waiting, clutching a huge basket. It would take too long, by Saruman's figuring, for him to check out all of the items in a fast pace.

He towered over the small orc.

"Begone-eth!" he roared, his imposing figure obviously too much for the little orc to handle.

He was soon begone…eth.

"Excellent." Saruman beamed. Then, he promptly handed a teenage checker his basket, and Grima followed suit. Saruman turned, picking an issue of Old Crackpots Gone Mad Monthly from a nearby rack. On the front page was Gandalf the White, and Denethor of Gondor. Saruman smiled fondly.

"Excuse me sir?" asked a hollow voice. Saruman turned around. It was the checker.

"Here's your list. One can of Auntie Orc's Man Flesh, one Orc -O- Rama's Frozen Chicken, one Cherries Jubilee..." he looked up. Saruman nodded. The teenager went back to the list.

"One can of warg food, two boxes of Auntie Orc's breakfast cereal, one pack of Ent Spring water..."

"Alright. Let's go Worm," said Saruman, picking up his basket.

"Wait sir!"

"What?" asked Saruman icily.

"You forgot your Cookies'n Cream."

"But I never bought any."

"Yes you did."

"No."

"Yes!"

"Yes what?"

"You bought ice cream!"

"I know. I did. Let's go Worm."

"Sir, you forgot your ice cream!"

Saruman turned around again, fuming. Wormtongue looked fearful.

"Here! Here is what I bought!" Saruman said menacingly, holding up the Cherries Jubilee. The teenage checker held up the Cookies'n Cream ice cream.

For a moment the Wizard's gaze was fixed on the ice cream. Saruman spun around, furious.

"WORM!" he roared.

"It must have been an orc that put that there." Grima said innocently.