Our precioussss, those nasty hobbitses can’t have it! No they can’t! Tricksy hobbitses can’t have this preciousss! We hates them if they tries to take it. We hates them forever! Nobody can touch the precioussss!
(Unless of course they want to ooh and ahh over it and want to tell me how pretty and sparkly it is. That’s okay. :))
ivylass - she has been known to leak a little here and there… 
Our golden pitbull/lab puppy. We lovesssss her.
My pursssse.
Me no likes to be without it.
Mr Sidle tells me to leave the pursssse in the car, but
I must have my precious.
One time, with my precious riding shotgun, I actually did the
“extend the right arm and protect the passenger during sudden stops” maneuver.
I THINK I did it only to keep it from falling off the seat and spilling everywhere, but I can’t be sure…
My precioussssssss.
I didn’t have to think of the answer to this one. My friends at work informed me of it the other day. It’s my computer. They now just call it precioussssss. Yes, I talk about it that much at work.
Do NOT touch my computer, cigarettes, stereo, Aerosmith CDs, or my widdle kitty Gypsy. Funnily enough they are all either on or within one foot of the computer desk.
It’s Ok my pwecious babies. Mama’s here.
My guitar. Dean acoustic-electric something-or-other. He is my baby. Ssooo pretty and shiny and the most gorgeous shade of teal-blue-green-sunbursty-kinda-color, and makesss ssssuch pretty musssic. All mine. The metal bits on the outside of the electric plug-jack-thingy popped off a few weeks ago. Not a major break, but had to go get him fixed. I screamed, I swore, and I cried. I actually broke down into tears for what ended up being a $6 guitar repair. He’s my baaayyybeee.
Gee…my computer? My truck? My GPS? My all digital wireless Lacross Weather station? Aaarrrggghhhh!
I think I’m a polyamourite.
My Red Thing. Yup, still got it.
My TiVo
My pretty ball of orange fluff with copper eyes, a tail and a fuzzy butt. Pumpkin the Persian is my preciousssss. I’m sending her downstairs to jump on Big Gray Fuzzy Beard’s face in the middle of the night. He shouldn’t haven’t eaten the last of my other precioussss – sugar cane lime cookiesssss.
My computer. I think that would be a “fourth.”
My computer…my…beautiful computer…she has a voice, you know. And a face…big geefour, she’s the one who made me blind…
My laptop, which I named Gwerthfawr (Welsh for “precious”) after owning it for about five minutes.
Also, I wear a replica of the One Ring on a chain around my neck and have actually grown quite attached to it. My sister has the habit of leaping at it, Gollum-style, when she thinks I’m not paying attention. In this way she has broken two chains. Sigh.
I attach significance to many inanimate objects.
Another vote for computer. My G4 PowerMac. Preciousssss it is. Indeed it is.
I mentioned this thread to my SO. “I can’t think of one for me, but I can think of a few for you. Your laptop, your ipaq, your socks*…” I said.
“Practically everything I own, in fact, is my precioussss. Don’t take them from me! Mine! My favourite! My preciousss!” he said.
*It’s true, he really is possessive about his socks.
Marcie, unique among women.
My stereo if it’s playing, my cigarettes, and my preciousssss lighter-of-the-moment. (All my friends have klepto tendencies; my lighters are like souvenirs. I hate this.)
My pursssssse is pretty ssssspecial, too. I feel naked if I don’t have it, and if I’m at home I always ALWAYS know exactly where it isssss, and where everything inside it isssss. it’s okay, preciousss…evil fiance didn’t mean to plunder you for lip balm/keys/change/lighter…shhhh…it’s okay…
Me great-granddad’s fiddle. Makes pretty music, it does, and sounds so much more wonderful than the cheap student violins I had before. Nobody touch. no no no.
a 1950 Merc two door ready to be leadsleded…
Of course, I do not have it yet but am currently seeking out ‘filthy hobbitsssss!’ who is keeping my preciousss away from me…
Chicken pot pies. They are MINE! No one else better eat one out of the freezer or there will be big trouble.