If LotR had been written by someone else!?

[Ulmo]

If Lord Of the Rings had been written by someone else!?

~~~
Lord of the Rings, by Ian Fleming. (Author of James Bond books)

Aragorn placed his hand on the cool, ivory hilt of his 6.38 Anduril sword, half-holding it in as casual manner as possible. His eyes swept the room of the Prancing Pony, eyeing up the potential threats. He took out his pipe, made from the warmed heartwood of a mature oak. In the palm of his left hand, he unwrapped his leather tobacco pouch filled, as he preferred, with Gondorian Silk Cut. Aragorn preferred it to the harsher, stronger Numenorian blend...

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by PG Wodehouse. (British humor author and creator Jeeves, the butler)

"Sam, I've decided to go and overthrow the Dark Lord by tossing his
jewelry into a volcano."
"Very good, sir. Should I lay out your crazy adventure garb? I presume that this will pose a delay to tea-time. I would remind your Hobbitship that your Great Aunt Lobellia Sackville-Baggins is expected for tea."
"Blast! I say, bother! How can a chap overthrow the Dark Lord? I suppose I'll have to delay my campaign."
"Very good, sir. I believe you will be free in about a decade." "I'll do it then. Make a note, Sam."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Bernard Cornwell. (Writes military historical fiction)

"God save Rohan, will ye look at all those orcies," said Sergeant Eomer, looking down the slope near Helm's Deep. "Thousands upon thousands of them, and not a single guard."
Aragorn looked at the multitude. He was a professional soldier, born and bred in a hedgerow, good only for war and fighting. Unlike the other officers, he didn't come from the Nobility, and was looked down by most. 'Nosey' Gandalf had given him his commission, and his sword, for saving his life in battle. "You're right, Sergeant Eomer. Let's see what we can do with these Numenorian bows"....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Oscar Wilde. (Playwright noted for his “wittiness”

"He bested me in a riddle contest."
"A riddle contest?"
"It was so. And he cheated."
"To cheat in a riddle contest is a riddle in itself, and is therefore not cheating, but just another riddle."
"He cheated and asked me what he had in his pockets."
"He picked and pocketed a pretty prize, performing perfidious behaviour. How very noble, so like our own Lords and Masters..."

~~~

Yes, Dark Lord, by Lynn & Jay. (In the style of British sitcom “Yes Prime Minister")

"Ah, Lord Sauron. I have here the draft of your speech to the Nazgul Committee on Running Water."
"Still waters run deep, Sir Grishnakh?"
"Er, with respect, Dark Lord, if waters are still, then they can't run at all, deep or shallow."
"Thank you, Bernard. Where would we be without you. What's the gist of my speech?"
"Essentially, Lord Sauron, that the policy of the Dark Lord Administration is to avoid having a policy, and that the absence of a policy does not betoken a lack of policy, but a policy of policy limitation, limiting policy initiatives to initial policy outlines, without precluding disparate policy initiatives within the policy outlines."
"Pardon?"
"You'll tell them they can do what they like, Lord Sauron."....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Rudyard Kipling (you’d better know who this is)

I went round to an elven inn, to buy a glass o' beer
The owner looked at me long-nosed, "We don't serve your kind here"
The elf maids giggled fit to die, pointing out my height
But I swim in booze whenever there is Evil in the Night.

Yes it's Gimli this and Gimli that
And go away you brute
But its To the Front, our faithful friend
When the bows begin to shoot.....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Raymond Chandler (Mystery writer. Creator of Philip Marlowe)

"Frodo Baggins?" said the old man in the doorway, rain dripping from his oversized hat with all the ease of a dwarf burrowing after gold.
"That's the name on the door. Guess I'm gullible enough to believe what it says about me."
The old man came in and dripped water on the earth floor. Added a touch of class, so I didn't complain.
"Frodo, you've got a problem."
"I pay my taxes, and I'm clean with the Rangers. What's my problem?"
"Bilbo shafted you with that heirloom. Gold ring? Gold ringer, more like."
"A dud, huh. Can't say I'm surprised."
"If it was a dud, you wouldn't have a problem. Your problem is that this little heirloom has a history, a history with a pearl-handled stiletto in the back. It goes back all the way through the biggest string of mugs you find as wallpaper on Minas Tirith's finest. Goes all the way back to Night-Time Sauron....."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by George Lucas (Creator of “Star Wars”

"Did you ever wonder who your father was, Frodo?"
"Uncle Bilbo was my father, Obi Gan Dalf."
"Your Uncle is a fine man, but he is not your father. Your father was a fine warrior and a great captain, strong in the Force. He was called Sarumann the Wise, and he was a good friend."
"Was? Is he dead?"
"He is no more. It is your destiny to avenge his death, young Baggins."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Dylan Thomas (Irish writer and poet, noted for romantic images of his youth)

I whistled defiantly as I walked down the streets of Under Mount Doom. Auntie Grima was baking orc bread, and the smell wafted over the streets like a miasma of wonderment. She was a dried-up woman, who cursed every time the pit was mentioned, that death-dealing, life-giving pit. It was precious to us even though it killed us, our precious it was, but we didn't care about it as much as we cared about the grilled human ears we had for tea.
"Dopey!" called my friend across the street to me, his voice echoing around our brown fields. "Dopey, you going to see the game?"
There was always a game on. We didn't watch it, we devoured it, and when it was over, we played it out again and again, with a ball instead of a captive's head. Grishna was always Garth Lliwams, and I was always Jaypeeare. He was magic, and when we finished, we would go home and dream of Nazgul....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by George MacDonald Fraser (British historical comedy writer. Creator of Flashman)

I never could stand that Boromir. Stuck up and arrogant. Still, I fixed him good in his turn. I remember thinking, when the halflings rushed off, that's yours, Boromir. But I'm getting ahead of the story. It all started back in Rivendell. It was all Gandalf's fault, of course. Nearly every disaster of the Third Age was. But this time he outdid himself. His idea of a good plan was to take this wonder weapon we had chanced upon, and throw it away. Couldn't even throw it away in the sea, like any sane chap. No, his plan was to take it all the way into the middle of enemy territory, where there were millions of orcs and others, and throw it into a volcano knowing that the damned thing will explode. There was a long silence, and Gandalf then said "Volunteers only, of course." Then everyone looked towards me....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by James Joyce (Irish writer of nearly incomprehensible, image-filled fiction)

Old man willow, whistling like a tea pot, shining like a star, oh so brilliant in the dreaming and smoke and by the river, Goldberry's river, dancing like a vision, Bombadil, Bombadil, Bombadillo. Rock of ages, young and ageless, naked before my eyes like Rivendell Rock, sweet and hard and trusting....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Meatloaf (American singer of Gothic Rock)

It was a hot summer's day in the Marsh of the Dead
There was fog crawling over the swamp
I could listen to the screams of the Dead Men Calling
I could see their empty
eyes and the candles blowing in the wind.
You were licking your finger
With the Ring of Power and I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were dancing together up on the Crack of Doom
And no-ones gonna know what we've done.

~~~

Bagenders (I have no idea what this is supposed to be. Can anyone tell me?)

Gaffer Gamgee was relating the doings of the Baggins down at the old Green Dragon. "I tell you, they ain't proper Bagenders, with them noses in the air, not like our Samkin, who can turn up a turnip pretty as you please. Now Lobellia, she's all right. Nah, she is. But Bilbo? Remember that business with the Old Dwarfs? And what did that Bilbo give me on his eleventy first? Wine. I asks you. Do I look like a wine drinker? Yeah, I knows I drunk it, but that's not the point..."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Christopher Martin-Jenkins (British sports (Cricket) commentator)

"It's a lovely summer's evening here in the Paths of the Dead. Aragorn has won the toss, and has decided to bat. Interesting decision, and Jonathon Agnew has some news on that, so I'll pass you over to Jonathon while Fred cuts me a slice of that delicious orc cake sent in by Mrs Galadriel of Lorien Wood. Thank you Mrs Galadriel."
"Well, Chris, I've just been speaking with Eowyn, who said that she had recommended that Aragorn should send the other side in to the Paths of the Dead first. It seems that opening in there can be nasty. Bit of an uncomfortable pitch. The green slopes of Pelenor Fields are much more suitable to the opening pair of Aragorn and Eomer. Raggers seems keen to play a Captain's innings today. I gather the bearded wonder has some statistics for us?"
"According to my records, the last time anyone went in on the Paths of the Dead, it was a sticky wicket."
"I wonder if we'll see that again today. Well, Raggers has come out, and I must say, his new sword looks a lot better. Reforged, I hear. Fred?"
"I don't know about forged or reforged, but he'll need to show more application than he has done. Treated his sword like it were broken."
"That's true, but he has done some remarkable running between the countries. Oh dear, it looks like they're going in for the day. Yes, they're definitely going in to the Paths of the Dead...."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Andrew Lloyd Weber (Composer. Creator of the musical, “Evita”

Don't cry for me, Numenoria
The truth is, you never sank down
Beneath those wild waves
Those deep sea wild waves
You never left from
This Middle Earth

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Gene Roddenbury (Creator of Star Trek)

"The Halflings, cap'n, they will na take the strain"
"Strider, we've got to get out of this snow. Legolas, did you get a reading on that creature?"
"Fascinating, Captain. It appears to be an unknown creature that lurks in the pool waiting for passing strangers. Ecologically implausible, captain."
"Do you know what it is?"
"I believe I said it was unknown, Dr Gimli. Logically, if I knew what it was, then it wouldn't be unknown."
"Cap'n, we're in some sort of temporal warp, stretching and deforming the plot. The snow should take place a day before our encounter with this beastie."
"Captain, what are we going to do."
"Boromir, put on that red armour."....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by D H Lawrence (Author of soft porn classic, “Lady Chatterley’s Lover")

Arwen Evenstar stitched, her hands moving over the soft silk of the flag. Her hands moving, her mind roved, as free as she was herself trapped. Aragorn was far, far away, but active. She thought of his maleness, and stitched faster. Her hands brushed the silken flag, and she looked across the sward, eyes passing over the elven gamekeeper without seeing him, yet seeing everything....

LOL!

smilies/biggrin.gif

[Fenrir]

*rolls on floor, laughing uproariously*
I love the Yes Prime Minister one and the Oscar Wilde.
Can you please, please, please write a Delia Smith one, I'm no good at this sort of thing.

[zifnab]

Wow I dont know what to say!

Dr. Suess : I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not eat Suaron's ring with ham! I will not eat them in the morn, I will not eat them with Boromir's horn! I will not eat them with a Ringwraith, I will not eat them in the bath! I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not Suaron's ring with ham!

My pathetic attempt at humour!

smilies/rolleyes.gif smilies/eek.gif smilies/rolleyes.gif smilies/eek.gif

[Mister Underhill]

The Kipling is my favorite, far and away. That's right on the money. But they forgot the obvious line for the Ian Fleming: "Son of Arathorn. Aragorn son of Arathorn." Or is that a movie invention?

[ January 11, 2002: Message edited by: Mister Underhill ]

[Thenamir2]

TOlkien's revenge: Why did the chicken cross the road?

The chicken, sunlight coruscating off its radiant yellow-white coat of feathers, approached the dark, sullen asphalt road and scrutinized it intently with its obsidian-black eyes. Every detail of the thoroughfare leapt into blinding focus: the rough texture of the surface, over which countless tires had worked their relentless tread through the ages; the innumerable fragments of stone embedded within the lugubrious mass, perhaps quarried from the great pits where the Sons of Man labored not far from here; the dull black asphalt itself, exuding those waves of heat which distort the sight and bring weakness to the body; the other attributes of the great highway too numerous to give name. And then it crossed it.

[Ulmo]

Originally posted by Thenamir2:
<STRONG>TOlkien's revenge: Why did the chicken cross the road?

The chicken, sunlight coruscating off its radiant yellow-white coat of feathers, approached the dark, sullen asphalt road and scrutinized it intently with its obsidian-black eyes. Every detail of the thoroughfare leapt into blinding focus: the rough texture of the surface, over which countless tires had worked their relentless tread through the ages; the innumerable fragments of stone embedded within the lugubrious mass, perhaps quarried from the great pits where the Sons of Man labored not far from here; the dull black asphalt itself, exuding those waves of heat which distort the sight and bring weakness to the body; the other attributes of the great highway too numerous to give name. And then it crossed it.</STRONG>


LMAO! That's hilarious! smilies/smile.gif

Let's get a whole thread of these and combine 'em. smilies/wink.gif

Bring 'em on people! smilies/smile.gif

[Mister Underhill]

Hemingway:
~~~~~~~~
It was very late and everyone had left the hall except an old man who sat in the shadows the leaves of the old Mallorn made against the moonlight. The two elves inside the hall knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he usually was quiet and kept to himself they knew that if he became too drunk he would start setting things on fire, so they kept watch on him.

“He’s drunk,” one elf said.

“What do you care?”

“He’s muttering about the secret fire.”

“Leave him alone. He used to carry a ring.”

“He’ll stay all night. He should never have been rebodied.”

The old man rapped on the table with his goblet. The younger elf went over to him.

“What do you want?”

The old man looked at him. “Another miruvor.”

“You’ll be drunk,” the elf said. The old man looked at him. The elf went away.

“Look at his bushy eyebrows,” he said to his colleague. “There is nothing as nasty as an old Man. He’ll stay all night and I’ll never get any sleep.”

The elf took the bottle of miruvor from the counter inside the hall and marched to the old man’s table. He poured the goblet full.

“You should never have been rebodied,” he said to the old man.

[ January 11, 2002: Message edited by: Mister Underhill ]

[Eowyn of Ithilien]

lmao ohhhhhhhh dear smilies/smile.gif well done everyone!!!!

[Elanor]

LOL! You guys are great smilies/biggrin.gif

Jane Austen would have rightfully concentrated on the true heroine of the story though:

Arwen Evenstar, handsome, clever and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, had lived nearly three thousand years in Middle Earth with very little to distress or vex her. Her dear mother had died long ago, in circumstances best not related here; and as her father was much occupied with matters of business, she dwelt for many years with her grandmother at her beautiful country estate of Lothlorien.

Mrs Galadriel was a wise and wealthy woman, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. She was fond of company, and entertained many guests, both noble and rich. Long years had Miss Evenstar resided with her beloved relation, before returning to her father's home.

There she was a great comfort to her aging father, especially as her two older brothers, though loving and devoted to their sister, were often abroad on great adventures.

One day the exciting news was announced that there was to be a great Council held by her father. Though the gentlemen would likely spend much of the day discussing business affairs - something about a Ring, which Arwen did not fully comprehend - there would certainly be a a feast, and an occasion for dancing.

"Mrs Glorfindel told me that they are expecting 4 gentlemen and 6 hobbits!" announced the serving maid, with much excitement.
"Nay, it was 7 gentlemen and 9 hobbits," corrected her companion.

In the end there were only two gentlemen and four hobbits, as well as an assortment of dwarfs. The assembled guests were much admiring of Miss Evenstar's singing, and in raptures at her sweet beauty. However, few of the guests noticed a brief look of understanding pass between one of the gentlemen, a handsome and distinguished man, if a little less smartly dressed than the occasion strictly merited, and Miss Evenstar. Could it be possible that they had met before?

[Elendil]

ROFL! You are all great, my favourites are Bond and Meatloaf!

[GANDALF@]

You guys are a crack up, there should be a thread, or a colum for jokes, that would rule...

[Sindalómiel]

These are great, I wish I was capable of thinking them up. I loved the Austen one. smilies/smile.gif

[Mister Underhill]

By Mark Twain, who would undoubtedly have focused on the true hero of the narrative – that mischievous rascal, Pippin:
~~~~~~~
NOTICE:
Persons attempting to resolve the question of Balrog wings by means of this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to define the nature of Tom Bombadil will be banished; persons attempting to find allegory in it will be shot.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR,
Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.

FOREWORD:
In this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Quenya Elvish dialect; the extremest form of the Rhovanion dialect; the ordinary Sindarin dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.

I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not succeeding.
THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER 1
You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Red Book of Westmarch; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Frodo Baggins and his Uncle Bilbo, and they told the truth, mainly. There was things which they stretched, but mostly they told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was the Lady Galadriel, or Elrond, or maybe Gandalf. The Lady Galadriel – the Lady of Lothlorien, she is – and Elrond, and the wizard Gandalf is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

[Elanor]

A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a bright and sunny day, and Winnie the Frodo stumped up to the top of the Shire to see if his friend Christopher Gandalf was interested in Hobbits at all. Christopher Gandalf was sitting at his door pulling on his Big Boots. As soon as he saw the Big Boots, Frodo knew that an Adventure was going to happen.
"We're all going on an Expedition," said Gandalf.
"Going on an Expotition?" said Frodo eagerly. "Where are we going to on this Expotition?"
"Expedition, silly old Hobbit! We're going to discover the Cracks of Doom."
"Oh" said Frodo. "What's the Cracks of Doom."
"Oh, just a thing you discover, " said Gandalf carelessly. "Go and tell the others, and make sure you bring Provisions."
"Pro... what? I'm a Hobbit of Very Little Brain and long words Bother me."
"Things to eat."
"Oh, that's good!" said Frodo happily, and off he went to fetch Sam and some mushrooms.

~~~~~~
They all went off to discover Mount Doom,
Legolas, Sam and Gimli and all,
It's a thing you discover as I've been told,
By Legolas, Sam and Gimli and all.
Boromir, Gandalf and Frodoo,
And Frodoo's relations all went too,
But where Mount Doom was none of them knew,
Sing Hey! for Sam and Gimli and all!

[ January 17, 2002: Message edited by: Elanor ]

[Lostgaeriel]

Lord of the Rings by Baroness Emmuska Orczy (author of The Scarlet Pimpernel)

An alternate version of Many Meetings (transposed from the 12th chapter - The Scrap of Paper)

Arwen suffered intensely. Though she laughed and chatted, though she was more admired, more surrounded, more feted than any woman there, she felt like one condemned to death, living her last day upon Middle-Earth.

Her nerves were in a state of painful tension, which had increased a hundredfold during that brief hour which she had spent in Aragorn’s company, between the banquet and the ballads. The short ray of hope--that she might find in this good-natured, lazy individual a valuable friend and adviser--had vanished as quickly as it had come, the moment she found herself alone with him. The same feeling of good-humoured contempt which one feels for an animal or a faithful servant, made her turn away with a smile from the man who should have been her moral support in this heart-rending crisis through which she was passing: who should have been her cool-headed adviser, when feminine sympathy and sentiment tossed her hither and thither, between her love for her brothers, who were far away and in mortal peril, and horror of the awful service which Sauron had exacted from her, in exchange for Frodo’s safety.

There he stood, the moral support, the cool-headed adviser, surrounded by a crowd of brainless, empty-headed young Elves, who were even now repeating from mouth to mouth, and with every sign of the keenest enjoyment, a doggerel quatrain which he had just given forth. Everywhere the absurd, silly words met her: people seemed to have little else to speak about, even Bilbo had asked her, with a little laugh, whether she appreciated her betrothed’s latest poetic efforts.

"All done in the re-forging of a sword," Lord Aragorn had declared to his clique of admirers.

"They seek him here, they seek him there, Those Nazgûl seek him everywhere. Is he in Riven? --- Is he in Dell? That demned, elusive Underhill." *

Aragorn’s bon mot had gone the round of the brilliant halls. Bilbo was enchanted. He vowed that life without Strider would be but a dreary desert. Then, taking him by the arm, had led him to the Hall of Fire, and engaged him in a long bout of pipe-smoking.

Lord Aragorn, whose chief interest in most social gatherings seemed to centre round the ale-barrel, usually allowed his fiancée to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much as she liked. And to-night, having delivered himself of his bon mot, he had left Arwen surrounded by a crowd of admirers of all Ages, all anxious and willing to help her to forget that somewhere in the spacious halls, there was a long, lazy being who had been fool enough to suppose that the cleverest Elf-woman in Middle-Earth would settle down to the prosaic bonds of Númenorean matrimony.

Her still overwrought nerves, her excitement and agitation, lent beautiful Arwen Evenstar much additional charm: escorted by a veritable bevy of Men, Hobbits and Elves of all Ages she called forth many exclamations of admiration from everyone as she passed.

She would not allow herself any more time to think. Her early, somewhat Valinorean training had made her something of a fatalist. She felt that events would shape themselves, that the directing of them was not in her hands. From Sauron she knew that she could expect no mercy. He had set a price on Frodo’s head, and left it to her to pay or not, as she chose.

*Editor's note: Aragorn's "poetry" is particularly bad here - not as painful as Vogon poetry but worse than Sir Percy's in the original novel - and much worse than Bombadil's smilies/smile.gif - and absolutely horrible compared to Viggo Mortensen's! (I rather like VM's stuff.)

[ February 02, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

And since song lyrics (by Andrew Lloyd Webber & Meatloaf) have already been included, I'll add this one of mine (already in the Fan Fiction section).

The Lord of the Rings by Ian Hunter (writer and performer of Cleveland Rocks)

One, Two, Three, Four!

Ah-ah-ah-ah!
Ah-ah-ah-ah!

Elrond’s Council’s sending me,
Back where the Ring was made.
Sauron’s a cruel Enemy.
It’s such a long, hard way.

All the hobbit folk living down on the Row going:
Bilbo rocks!
Gandalf rocks!
Sneakin’ Sméagol throttled little Déagol, then:

Chorus 1:
Precious rocks! (4 times)

Saruman knows but he don’t care;
He got his problems too.
Palantír and a traitor’s White Hand,
And the tribute’s due.

All the little orcs with the crimson swords go:
Orthanc rocks!
Mordor rocks!
Killin’ in sin with a great big grin they go:

Chorus 2:
Nazgûl rock! (4 times)

I’ve got some weapons from the War - Age Two.
I use ‘em just like Dúnedain do.
They hate the villains, and I do too.
Oh! Strider rocks!
Yeah! Elfstone rocks!
So grab a knife,
Find some strife,
And yell and scream for War!

Chorus 3:
Frodo rocks! (4 times)

(Repeat Chorus 3)

(Repeat Chorus 3)

Chorus ad lib:
Gandalf rocks!
Aragorn rocks!
Samwise rocks!
Bilbo rocks!
Galadriel rocks!
Elrond rocks!
Glorfindel rocks!
Pippin rocks!
Merry rocks!
Gimli rocks!
Legolas rocks!
Boromir rocks!
Faramir rocks!
Éomer rocks!
Éowyn rocks!
Arwen rocks!

Frodo rocks!
Frodo’s what it’s made of.

I said:
Frodo rocks! (4 times)

I said:
Frodo rocks! (4 times)

Frodo rocks! (4 times)

Three, four! ... (4 times)

Instrumental finale

[ January 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

By the way Ulmo, I think "Bagenders" refers to the BBC soap opera "Eastenders".

[Estelyn Telcontar]

What if Gene Roddenberry had written LotR?

Captain Frodo, there's something approaching, approximately three ages from us.

Put it on screen, Mr. Spam, sorry, Sam!

*everyone stares at the screen*

I've never seen anything like it, Kept'n!

Neither have I, Ensign Pippin, but it looks like ... a Black Rider!!!

Captain, I'm afraid!

Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant Merry.

Hailing frequencies open, Captain.

*shrieking and sniffing*

What's he saying, Bones Aragorn?

I'm a doctor, not a linguist!

All right, we will hide in the Moria Nebula. He can't follow us in there.

Our shields kenna take this any longer, Captain!

All right, Engineer Gimli, get us out of here!

We've been hit - Admiral Gandalf is wounded!

He's dead, Jim - ah, Frodo.

Commander Boromir, take a shuttle with our new secret weapons system - try to lead him into a trap.

I'll be happy to, Captain!

Oh no, the shuttle's been hit by a red eye!

Beam him out of there, fast!

We're losing him, Captain, there's no life sign on board.

All right, Lieutenant Legolas, aim for the Rider and fire!

He's out of reach of our weapons, Captain.

Then we have no choice. We will have to cross... the final frontier!

*all gasp* The final frontier? Captain, is there no other way?

It's our only hope. Mr. Sam, chart a course to the Barrow-Downs. Warp nine!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:08 AM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Ulmo]

Gene Rodennberry was already in the original post:

Lord of the Rings, by Gene Roddenbury (Creator of Star Trek)

"The Halflings, cap'n, they will na take the strain"
"Strider, we've got to get out of this snow. Legolas, did you get a reading on that creature?"
"Fascinating, Captain. It appears to be an unknown creature that lurks in the pool waiting for passing strangers. Ecologically implausible, captain."
"Do you know what it is?"
"I believe I said it was unknown, Dr Gimli. Logically, if I knew what it was, then it wouldn't be unknown."
"Cap'n, we're in some sort of temporal warp, stretching and deforming the plot. The snow should take place a day before our encounter with this beastie."
"Captain, what are we going to do."
"Boromir, put on that red armour."....


...but I kind of like yours better. smilies/wink.gif

[The Mirrorball Man]

Lord of the Rings, by Chuck Palahniuk (author of Fight Club)

And here we go again. Ringwraith number one. Right here. Just in front of me. As real as a throat cancer. Or he might be Ringwraith number two, for all I know. Or Ringwraith number four, or five, or any of these mass-produced atrocities. Ringwraiths: when you've seen one, you've seen them all. And I have seen them all.

And coming up inside me is the inexpressible hope that maybe they'll just kill me right now and end my absurd Hobbit life. My comfortable, predictable, uneventful, boring little parody of a life, with the unanimous approval of my neighbors as my sole ambition. Just like a multi-recycled ersatz of a real life, complete with a Hobbit hole and a Hobbit name, with a Hobbit family tree and the matching family, and of course with Hobbit weed so that we never really have to think about all of this.

Flash.

Ringwraith number one draws his sword. "The Ring. The Ring", he says. Sure.

Flash.

That's it. I'm ready. Ready to go offline. Ready to be struck by the Great blue Pencil. Ready to cash the check. Ready to go out of print like a stupid baseball card. "Come and take me", I think. But that’s not what I say. No, not at all.

"By Elbereth and Luthien the fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!"

Smart kid. Ringwraith number one looks at me like I’m some kind of endangered species.

Right now, me getting killed would be redundant.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Oops, Ulmo, no plagiarism intended - sorry! You had so many good ones, I laughed so hard and guess I forgot that Star Trek was already in there. I love this thread - it's so much fun to read and fun to think of ideas. I will try very hard to come up with something original soon!

[zifnab]

What really happened between Gandalf and Saruman in Orthanc-If written by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman & Zifnab.
-------------------------------

“Saruman”, said Gandalf, standing away from him. “ only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we! But I would not give it, nay, I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last. Well, the choices are, it seems, to submit to Sauron, or to yourself. I will take neither. Have you others to offer?”
“Yes,” said Saruman. “I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, and so saving yourself much trouble and pain. The third choice is to stay here, until the end.”
“Until the end?”
At that precise moment, a great whirlwind with dazzling lights from all the spectrum started in the corner of the tower. To the amazement of the two wizards, out of the whirlwind came a gentleman-imposing, dressing all in black: black breeches, black velvet coat, black silk stockings; white hair, tied in back with a black ribbon. He was accompanied by an old man, with a flowing beard and hair, wearing mouse-colored robes, all topped by a shabby and sorry-looking pointed hat.
The old man was singing.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall,” the old man gave a sudden stop, and seemed to be arguing with him-self. “No, no, no, that’s not right, oh how does it go, ninety-nine minus three add four divided by pie,” “Oh the heck with this, I shall have to have a meeting with the people at AA to figure that one out! I wonder if we could met at a nice little pub, there’s a lovely one named Cheers, or so I’ve heard.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the gentleman in black with a low voice, “but we are not alone.”
“Eh!” The old man gave a violent start, his hat slipped over his eyes, “Struck blind, by god!” he said in awed tones, stretching out groping hands.
“It’s your hat, sir,” said the gentleman in black, has he grabbed the old man’s hat and yanked it off his head. “Your hat, sir,” he said, waving it in front of the old man’s face.
“That’s not mine,” said the old man, staring at it suspiciously. “You’ve switched hats on me. Mine was in much better condition-“
“Excuse me, sir, but like I said earlier, we are not alone.” said the gentleman in black.
“Oh yes”, the old man said. His faced turned and twisted so that it resembled a menacing looking half-witted fellow. He eyed the two astonished people facing him with deep suspicion. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
The gentleman in black sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t believe that would be at all wise.” “It seems, sir, that your directions, might have been a bit wrong. I do not think we are in the Labyrinth.”
“What! Confound that kender, I should have none he would have given me the wrong directions,” said the old-man.
“Pardon me, sir. But we have to get back to business.” said the gentleman.
At that moment Gandalf and Saruman, snapped back into reality. They eyed themselves with suspicion. “What is the meaning of this, and who may I ask are you!” said Saruman, struggling to get the situation back under control.
“Who am I, Who am I,” cried the old-man, “Why…I am a great and power wizard, who does not like to be questioned by a man who desires a shiny ring, bah, I say to you!” The old man reaches out for Sarumans hand and gives it a good whack. “Why I don’t suppose when this is all over Manwe will have a nice long talk with you, my dear sir! Neglecting your responsibility, eh. And you, my dear Grand…Gald…Gandalf will lead the people forth. Ring, Ring that’s all you fellows talk about, why I can get any ring I want, do you know why?”
After this statement the two wizards were rendered speachless.
“Because I am a great a powerful wizard,” screams the old-man, thinking that their silence was meant in fact to be doubt.
“All this ring will give you is DEATH,” cried the old man, shaking his head, “DOOM AND-ER-whatever comes after. Can’t quite think….”
“Destruction?” suggested the man in black.
Now Gandlaf being more wise in the ways of the elderly speaks forth. “Excuse me my dear sir, but my companion and myself seem to be at a lose. You see, you seem to know us, but we have no clue, as to who you may be. And what is all this about me leading the people forth, to where I may ask?”
“You know…forth and such, Tally Ho! And all that.” said the old-man looking quite sheepish. “As to who I am……”, the old man said with a puzzling look on his face.
“You don’t know?” the old-man asked looking alarmed.
“No, sir. You haven’t told them.” said the gentleman.
“Drat.” The old-man stroked his beard. “I was rather hoping you would. You’re sure you don’t?”
-Silence-
“Ah, well. Let’s see.” The old man muttered to himself. “Fiz-No, I can’t use that. Furball. Doesn’t seem quite dignified enough. I have it!” he shouted, grabbing Gandlaf by the arm. “Zifnab!”
“Bless you!” said both wizards at once.
“No, no! My name! Zifnab! What’s the matter, Sonny?” The old man glared, eyebrows bristling. “Something wrong with that?”
-Uncomfortable silence-
The man in black starts to tug on the old mans sleeve. “I think we best get going, sir, before you say something that your not supposed to.”
“Well then, as my esteemed colleague said early, we must get going, but Saruman, you must make sure that those Orcs of yours are put on leash and collar. Nasty little vermin, they are. Its starting to look like a dump out there. And what a stink! Makes you wish you were in Lothlorien in the spring time. But I guess those Ents will come and tidy things up a bit.
The man in black shakes his head. “You’ve gone and done it now!”
The whirlwind comes again to the tower, and right before the old man and the gentleman, jump in. Gandalf speaks up. “But Zifnab…….”
“Don’t call me Shirley!” the old man snapped. “My name’s…well…it’s…Oh, the hell with it! Call me Shirley if you want. Rather a pleasant name. Grows on you. Good-bye!”. The old man waves his hand in a peculiar manner and throws some kind of dust in the air, then jumps back in the whirlwind.

-Silence-

Both wizards blink and continue with their conversation.
“Until you reveal to me where the One may be found. I may find means to persuade you. Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters: to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey.” said Saruman.
“That may not prove to be one of the lighter matters,” said Gandalf.

[Elendil]

Great Zifnab!

[The Mirrorball Man]

You guys are really talented. I especially like the Jane Austen and Hemingway parodies.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

I don't know if there's a Monthy Python version of LotR, but their contribution to a discussion board would certainly be frowned on:
"Spam, spam, wonderful spam."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

This LotR version of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's "Erlkönig" is dedicated to all German speaking Middle Earthers, to those of you who know the great song Schubert made of it, and most especially to all pianists who have enjoyed playing the wonderfully dramatic accompaniment!

Der Ringkönig

Wer wandert so spät, was ist das Ding?
Es ist der Frodo mit seinem Ring.
Der Gandalf kommt, ist sehr verschreckt,
„Hast du ihn sicher? Ist er versteckt?“

„O Frodo, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?“
„Siehst, Pippin, du den Ringgeist nicht?
Den schwarzen Reiter mit Kron und Pferd?
O Merry, er trägt ein großes Schwert!“

„Du lieber Baggins, komm, geh mit mir!
Das Spiel der Macht spiel ich mit dir;
Orks bringen dich gerne in mein Haus,
Die Feuer dort gehen niemals aus.“

„Mein Samwise, mein Samwise, hörst du ihn nicht,
Der böse Sauron, der mit mir spricht?“
„Sei ruhig, im Gasthof wirst sicher du sein.“
In dem Durcheinander greift Streicher bald ein.

„Komm, Frodo, wir wollen mit dir geh’n,
Wir sind eins weniger als zehn;
Zauberer, Menschen, Elbe und Zwerg
Begleiten dich als gutes Werk.“

„Moria, o Gandalf, hüte dich dort!
Der Balrog wacht an düsterem Ort.“
Jetzt ist auch Boromir verlor’n
Und Merry und Pippin komm’n nach Fangorn.

Gollum folgt Frodo, welch häßlich’ Gestalt;
Barmherzigkeit siegt, Sam braucht keine Gewalt.
Reiter und Könige, Kampf und Streit,
Hoffnung fast weg, bald ist es soweit.

Frodo und Sam trotzen Shelob und mehr,
Der Ring und das Herz werden ihnen schwer.
Sie erreichen Mount Doom mit Mühe und Not,
Gollum beißt, Ring kaputt und Sauron tot.

[Sindalómiel]

Wish I understood German...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Sorry, Sindalomiel, but there's no sense in translating. You have to know the original to enjoy it. But please go ahead and write something in a language I don't understand!

[Sindalómiel]

Originally posted by Estelyn Telcontar:
<STRONG>Sorry, Sindalomiel, but there's no sense in translating. You have to know the original to enjoy it. But please go ahead and write something in a language I don't understand!</STRONG>

Hehe it's cool. smilies/smile.gif

And since I only speak English I have no chance of confusing you with other languages. Ah well...

[Elrian]

Originally posted by zifnab:
<STRONG>What really happened between Gandalf and Saruman in Orthanc-If written by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman & Zifnab.
-------------------------------

“Saruman”, said Gandalf, standing away from him. “ only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we! But I would not give it, nay, I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last. Well, the choices are, it seems, to submit to Sauron, or to yourself. I will take neither. Have you others to offer?”
“Yes,” said Saruman. “I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, and so saving yourself much trouble and pain. The third choice is to stay here, until the end.”
“Until the end?”
At that precise moment, a great whirlwind with dazzling lights from all the spectrum started in the corner of the tower. To the amazement of the two wizards, out of the whirlwind came a gentleman-imposing, dressing all in black: black breeches, black velvet coat, black silk stockings; white hair, tied in back with a black ribbon. He was accompanied by an old man, with a flowing beard and hair, wearing mouse-colored robes, all topped by a shabby and sorry-looking pointed hat.
The old man was singing.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall,” the old man gave a sudden stop, and seemed to be arguing with him-self. “No, no, no, that’s not right, oh how does it go, ninety-nine minus three add four divided by pie,” “Oh the heck with this, I shall have to have a meeting with the people at AA to figure that one out! I wonder if we could met at a nice little pub, there’s a lovely one named Cheers, or so I’ve heard.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the gentleman in black with a low voice, “but we are not alone.”
“Eh!” The old man gave a violent start, his hat slipped over his eyes, “Struck blind, by god!” he said in awed tones, stretching out groping hands.
“It’s your hat, sir,” said the gentleman in black, has he grabbed the old man’s hat and yanked it off his head. “Your hat, sir,” he said, waving it in front of the old man’s face.
“That’s not mine,” said the old man, staring at it suspiciously. “You’ve switched hats on me. Mine was in much better condition-“
“Excuse me, sir, but like I said earlier, we are not alone.” said the gentleman in black.
“Oh yes”, the old man said. His faced turned and twisted so that it resembled a menacing looking half-witted fellow. He eyed the two astonished people facing him with deep suspicion. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
The gentleman in black sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t believe that would be at all wise.” “It seems, sir, that your directions, might have been a bit wrong. I do not think we are in the Labyrinth.”
“What! Confound that kender, I should have none he would have given me the wrong directions,” said the old-man.
“Pardon me, sir. But we have to get back to business.” said the gentleman.
At that moment Gandalf and Saruman, snapped back into reality. They eyed themselves with suspicion. “What is the meaning of this, and who may I ask are you!” said Saruman, struggling to get the situation back under control.
“Who am I, Who am I,” cried the old-man, “Why…I am a great and power wizard, who does not like to be questioned by a man who desires a shiny ring, bah, I say to you!” The old man reaches out for Sarumans hand and gives it a good whack. “Why I don’t suppose when this is all over Manwe will have a nice long talk with you, my dear sir! Neglecting your responsibility, eh. And you, my dear Grand…Gald…Gandalf will lead the people forth. Ring, Ring that’s all you fellows talk about, why I can get any ring I want, do you know why?”
After this statement the two wizards were rendered speachless.
“Because I am a great a powerful wizard,” screams the old-man, thinking that their silence was meant in fact to be doubt.
“All this ring will give you is DEATH,” cried the old man, shaking his head, “DOOM AND-ER-whatever comes after. Can’t quite think….”
“Destruction?” suggested the man in black.
Now Gandlaf being more wise in the ways of the elderly speaks forth. “Excuse me my dear sir, but my companion and myself seem to be at a lose. You see, you seem to know us, but we have no clue, as to who you may be. And what is all this about me leading the people forth, to where I may ask?”
“You know…forth and such, Tally Ho! And all that.” said the old-man looking quite sheepish. “As to who I am……”, the old man said with a puzzling look on his face.
“You don’t know?” the old-man asked looking alarmed.
“No, sir. You haven’t told them.” said the gentleman.
“Drat.” The old-man stroked his beard. “I was rather hoping you would. You’re sure you don’t?”
-Silence-
“Ah, well. Let’s see.” The old man muttered to himself. “Fiz-No, I can’t use that. Furball. Doesn’t seem quite dignified enough. I have it!” he shouted, grabbing Gandlaf by the arm. “Zifnab!”
“Bless you!” said both wizards at once.
“No, no! My name! Zifnab! What’s the matter, Sonny?” The old man glared, eyebrows bristling. “Something wrong with that?”
-Uncomfortable silence-
The man in black starts to tug on the old mans sleeve. “I think we best get going, sir, before you say something that your not supposed to.”
“Well then, as my esteemed colleague said early, we must get going, but Saruman, you must make sure that those Orcs of yours are put on leash and collar. Nasty little vermin, they are. Its starting to look like a dump out there. And what a stink! Makes you wish you were in Lothlorien in the spring time. But I guess those Ents will come and tidy things up a bit.
The man in black shakes his head. “You’ve gone and done it now!”
The whirlwind comes again to the tower, and right before the old man and the gentleman, jump in. Gandalf speaks up. “But Zifnab…….”
“Don’t call me Shirley!” the old man snapped. “My name’s…well…it’s…Oh, the hell with it! Call me Shirley if you want. Rather a pleasant name. Grows on you. Good-bye!”. The old man waves his hand in a peculiar manner and throws some kind of dust in the air, then jumps back in the whirlwind.

-Silence-

Both wizards blink and continue with their conversation.
“Until you reveal to me where the One may be found. I may find means to persuade you. Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters: to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey.” said Saruman.
“That may not prove to be one of the lighter matters,” said Gandalf.</STRONG>
Good ole Zifnab! You tempt me to read the DGC again, friend! smilies/wink.gif All the others were good too. Couldn't understand the Deutsche one though. Westron seems to be the norm here.

smilies/wink.gif

[The Mirrorball Man]

The Lord of the Rings by Irvine Welsh (author of Trainspotting)

- Longbottom Leaf. What does that stuff dae fir ye Bilbo? Gandalf’s voice is genuinely enquiring. And he’s persistent:

- Ah want tae ken.

Ah launch intae a spiel. Ah feel surprisingly good, calm and clear, talkin aboot it.

- Ah don't really know, Gandy, ah jist dinnae. It kinday makes things seem mair real tae me. Life's boring and futile. We Hobbits start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we're aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. Basically, we live a long, disappointing life, and then we die. We fill up oor lives wi rubbish things like genealogy and parties tae delude oorsels that it isnae aw totally pointless. Longbottom Leaf’s an honest weed, because it strips away these delusions. It doesnae alter yir consciousness. It just gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being. Eftir that, ye see the misery ay the Shire as it is, and ye cannae anaesthetise yirsel against it.

Gandalf seems happy with my answer. He’s hooked.

- Where do ye get this stuff, Bilbo?

[Elvenglass]

Wow! This is fantastic! I am very impressed with all your imagination. I spent 15 minutes just reading through all of these messages. smilies/smile.gif If only I could add my own.. Well I'll keep thinking and perhaps I can add my own sometime!

[Aralaithiel]

Well, get ready to frown, Estelyn! I am working on a Monty Python version of LOTR just for you! And the rest of this board as well. Bwhahahahahahahaha! smilies/biggrin.gif

[Ithilwen]

Estelyn, I read a little German and found that poem HILARIOUS! Thanks for posting it. This is definitely one of the most entertaining threads in the Downs.

[SlinkerStinker]

A Hobbitwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

There was me, that is Frodo, and my three droogs, that was Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrin, and we sat in the Prancing Pony Milkbar. We were peeting milk of the Big Folk that evening, a lovely mixture that would get you feeling real horrorshow and ready for a bit of the ol’ in and out. The lovely devotchka Rose was batting the glazzies with Samwise, but we’ve got time for a little twenty to one later I tell him.

O’ Brother, I could vivid old Gandolf now if I had me hands on his warbles right square this evening. A meeting his dishonest gulliver had promised yours truly, as we stroll into the bar still young Malchins by hobbit standards, and a bit overmatched at the moment. A real bruiserboy of Ranger sat in the corner eyeing yours truly as if he wanted a little gavoreeting with me all lovely like while he swibbled his pipe.

‘Aye!’ Samwise whits to me as the hairs stand on his plod real horrorshow like, ‘I don’t care for this place. Nothing but trouble in here I say. ‘ Patience my little droog, it’s time for a bit of investigatin.

‘Hello hello good sir.’ I announce to the Ranger as I wack him in the garbles. ‘Lets have a bit of fun with the Nazguls, eh me brother.’ And so it was that we came into the company of Strider, a big fella with a like silver sword with the names of different malchicks on the blade, supposedly victims to the smiling edge of the wicked little poker.

Leaving the bar we headed for Weathertop, a favorite of the skivits of old, and a place guaranteeing a bit of action for me droogs.

‘Well wakey wakey, who do we have gracing our presence this bitter eve’ I ask as a gully little group of Nazgul start plodding up the hill toward me droogs and I. ‘I’d say we shan’t get any spatchka this night right?”
‘Right Right’ Aragorn replied as his mind turned from thoughts of pretty polly, to thoughts of the real horrorshow to follow.

[SlinkerStinker]

sorry that story isn't all that good, but you try to write in that dialect. It's mind bogling. smilies/smile.gif

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Aralathiel, I'm looking forward to your Monty Python version!
...and now for something completely different...
Does anyone want to try their hand at a Black Adder LotR? It could have something like this:

Frodo Blackadder: Now how on Middle-Earth am I to get rid of this confounded ring?

Sam Baldrick: I've got a cunning plan, Mr. B!

FB: Baldrick, I'm sure your plan is about as cunning as the back of a cave troll's neck.

(...or maybe completely different...)

[Elanor]

Lol! Those are fab, especially the Irvine Welsh. I used to live in Dundee, and I can hear the voice in my head reading that style really clearly. Liked the Clockwork Orange version too smilies/smile.gif

[Eowyn of Ithilien]

I love blackadder smilies/smile.gif yes yes...ty for all your stories guys!

[Birdland]

Ooooh, can I play, too?

The Lord of the Rings - by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton (19th century author known for his run-on sentences, and for coining the phrase "It was a dark and stormy night.")

It was a dark and pleasant evening when Mr. Bilbo Baggins, fashionably corpulent yet still remarkably well-preserved despite the many years of constant speculation and endless none-too-subtle enquiries regarding both his fiduciary and mental balance, most particularly by diver Sackville-Bagginses fiercely agitated on by the once-lovely yet morosely bitter Lobelia, left town.

[Lostgaeriel]

LOTR written as a radio play by Douglas Adams (Author of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy BBC radio series, TV series, 5-book trilogy and Dirk Gently books):

Merry: We’re trapped now, aren’t we?
Pippin: Errrrr…yes, we’re trapped.
Merry: Well, didn’t you think of anything?
Pippin: Oh, yes, but unfortunately it rather involved being on the other side of the tight ring of Orc guards all around us.
Merry: So what happens next?
Pippin: The sun will rise in a moment and we’ll be attacked on all sides by the Riders of Rohan and we’ll die in about thirty seconds.
Merry: So this is it. We’re going to die.
Pippin: Yes…except…No! Wait a minute, what’s this knife?
Merry: What? Where?
Pippin: No, I was only fooling. We are going to die after all.
Merry: You know it’s at times like this, when I’m captured by the Uruk-hai with a hobbit from Tuckborough, and about to die of horrible wounds in a fierce battle that I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young.
Pippin: Why, what did she tell you?
Merry: I don’t know, I didn’t listen.
Pippin: Huh! Terrific.

[ February 02, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[The Mirrorball Man]

That one was really excellent, Lostgaeriel. Keep'em coming!

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Great, Lostgariel - I'm still laughing!

[Jjudvven]

Good Grief... smilies/biggrin.gif

[Androndo the Thoughtfull]

Very nice!
My favorite author is this one:

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet
hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare,
sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a
hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a
shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a
tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke,
with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished
chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond
of visitors.

[Bruce MacCulloch]

Lord of the Rings
by Charles Dickens

'A happy Birthday, uncle! Elbereth save you!' cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Bilbo's nephew Frodo, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
`Bah!' said Bilbo, `Humbug!' He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Bilbo's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and hair on his feet steamed again.
`Our Birthday a humbug, uncle!' said Bilbo's nephew. `You don't mean that, I am sure?'
`I do,' said Bilbo. `Happy Birthday! What right have you to be happy? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.'
`Come, then, returned the nephew gaily. `What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.'
Bilbo having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said `Bah!' again; and followed it up with `Humbug.'

[ February 09, 2002: Message edited by: Bruce MacCulloch ]

[Mister Underhill]

LotR by Jack London:
~~~~~~~
Samwise did not understand the Common Speech, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every Shire dog, strong of muscle and furry of foot, from the Far Downs to the Brandywine Bridge. Because a Hobbit, groping in the darkness of the Misty Mountains, had found a yellow Ring, and because Gandalf the Wizard had discovered that the Ring was very dangerous, a Fellowship was setting out for Mordor. This Fellowship wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were faithful ones, with strong muscles by which to toil, and keen noses by which to hunt up coneys.

[Lostgaeriel]

Hi there! I'm feeling just great, guys, and I'm glad you got a kick out of the "Guide" version. (Handy to have the Original Radio Scripts to work from. smilies/wink.gif )

Bruce MacCulloch - I love the Dickens version! Got any more? smilies/biggrin.gif
Mister Underhill - You made me pull out my childhood copy of The Call of the Wild. Amazingly funny! smilies/biggrin.gif

[Lush]

Alright, now that I'm done LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY:

~~~
The Lord of the Rings by William Faulkner.

"It's them durn rings," Gandalf says. "Sauron's bound to be overtakin' the land with them durn rings. An' if he gits his paws on the One Ring, all hell's bound to break loose. It ain't right."
Frodo stares at the ring.
It looks to him as something new and hard and bright, there ought to be something a little better for it that just being safe, even in Rivendell, since the safe things are just the things that Elves have been doing so long they have worn the edges off and there's nothing to the doing of them that leaves a Hobbit to say, That was not done before and it cannot be done again.
"Guess the durn Ring oughta be destroyed," Frodo says.
"Sho' is," Elrond says.
"Guess I may hafta die doin' it too," Frodo says.
But there's a duty to destroy the Ring, to the beer, the yellow sweet beer boiling through the Shire. Frodo would think of the Ring as he would think of beer and the responsibility they bore in the Shire's face, and of the circumspection necessary because the Ring was the Ring and Sauron was Sauron.
"I reckon it's off to Mordor then, " Frodo says. "If them Shadows come there ain't gonna be no more Shire, and no more beer either. A Hobbit will always help Middle Earth in a tight, if he's got ere a drop of Baggins blood in him."

[Bruce MacCulloch]

Lord of the Rings
by Edgar Allan Poe

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Dark Lord. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the Eldar and the Free Folk in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the White Tree went out with that of the last of the Free. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Will of Sauron held illimitable dominion over all.

[Aralaithiel]

Ok you guys! Here it is at last!
LOTR, by Monty Python
Balrog: Answer these questions 3, or crossing the Bridge of Khazad Duhm you shall not see! What is your name?
Gandalf: Uh, Gandalf, Fire of Anor
Balrog: What is your quest?
Gandalf: To play with hobbits and powerful jewelry.
Balrog: What is your favorite color?
Gandalf: White! No!!! Gray! AAAAHHRRRGGGHHH (falls into shadow after Balrog)

[Bruce MacCulloch]

Lord of the Rings
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (creator of Sherlock Holmes)

Finding that Baggins was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed aside the barren paper, and, leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts.
"You are right, Gamgee," said he. "It does seem a very preposterous way of defeating the Dark Lord."
"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.
"What is this, Baggins?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I could have imagined."
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I read you the passage in Bilbo's book, in which Thorin follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity."
"Oh, no!"
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Gamgee, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with you."
But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the dwarf whom he observed. If I remember right, he got out of the barrel, complained of the smell of apples, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?"
"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to hobbit as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants, as you are mine."
"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?"
"Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly framed picture of King Elessar, and I saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes turned across to
the unframed portrait of Gandalf, which stands upon the top of your books. You then glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Elessar's picture over there."
"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back to Gandalf, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Gandalf's career. I was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which we undertook on behalf of the Free Peoples at the time of the War of the Rings, for I remember you expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more complacent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Gandalf without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to Black Land, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by yourself that desperate mission. But then, again, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life on the part of the Men of Gondor and Rohan. A smile then quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of Hobbits defeating Sauron had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct."
"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before."
"It was very superficial, my dear Gamgee, I assure you. I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble through Hobbiton?"

[ February 09, 2002: Message edited by: Bruce MacCulloch ]

[ February 09, 2002: Message edited by: Bruce MacCulloch ]

[Birdland]

Originally posted by Bruce MacCulloch:
<STRONG>Lord of the Rings
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (creator of Sherlock Holmes)</STRONG>
Bravo! (But you forgot the pipe. smilies/smile.gif )

[Mister Underhill]

Most excellent wonderful!

[Lostgaeriel]

The Lord of the Rings by John Steinbeck (author of The Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men, East of Eden, The Winter of Our Discontent, etc.)
This version is based on The Red Pony.

His master and Strider the Ranger came in. Sam knew from the sound of the floor that both of them were wearing flat-heeled shoes, but he peered under the table to make sure. His master turned off the oil lamp, for the day had arrived, and he looked stern and disciplinary, but Strider the Ranger didn’t look at Sam at all. He avoided the shy questioning eyes of the young hobbit and soaked a whole piece of toast in his coffee.

Frodo Baggins said crossly, “You come with us after breakfast!”

Sam had trouble with his food then, for he felt a kind of doom in the air. After Strider had tilted his saucer and drained the coffee that had slopped into it, and had wiped his hands on his jeans*, the two friends stood up from the table and went out into the morning light together, and Sam respectfully followed a little behind them. He tried to keep his mind from running ahead, tried to keep it absolutely motionless.

The Gaffer called, “Mr. Frodo! Don’t you let it keep him from gardening.”

They marched past the mallorn, where a singletree hung from a limb to butcher the pigs on, and past the black iron kettle, so it was not a pig killing. The sun shone over the Hill and threw long, dark shadows of the trees and buildings. They crossed a stubble-field to shortcut to the barn. Sam’s master unhooked the door and they went in. They had been walking toward the sun on the way down. The barn was black as night in contrast and warm from the hay and from the beasts. Sam’s master moved over toward the one box stall. “Come here!” he ordered. Sam could begin to see things now. He looked into the box stall and then stepped back quickly.

A red pony was looking at him out of the stall. Its tense ears were forward and a light of disobedience was in his eyes. Its coat was rough and thick as the fur on a hobbit’s foot and its mane was long and tangled. Sam’s throat collapsed in on itself and cut his breath short.

“He needs a good currying,” his master said, “and if I ever hear of you not feeding him or leaving his stall dirty, I’ll sell him off in a minute.”

Sam couldn’t bear to look at the pony’s eyes anymore. He gazed down at his hands for a moment, and he asked very shyly, “Mine?” No one answered him. He put his hand out toward the pony. Its grey nose came close, sniffing loudly, and then the lips drew back and the strong teeth closed on Sam’s fingers. The pony shook its head up and down and seemed to laugh with amusement. Sam regarded his bruised fingers. “Well,” he said with pride – “Well, I guess he can bite all right.” The two friends laughed, somewhat in relief. Frodo Baggins went out of the barn and walked up a side-hill to be by himself, for he was embarrassed, but Strider the Ranger stayed. It was easier to talk to Strider the Ranger. Sam asked again – “Mine?”

Strider became professional in tone. “Sure! That is, if you look out for him and break him right. I’ll show you how. He’s just a colt. You can’t ride him for some time.”

Sam put out his bruised hand again, and this time the red pony let his nose be rubbed. “I ought to have a carrot or a potato,” Sam said. “Where’d we get him, Strider?”

“Bought him at an innkeeper’s auction,” Strider explained. “A nine-ring circus went broke in Bree and had debts. The innkeeper was selling off their stuff.”

The pony stretched out his nose and shook the forelock from his wild eyes. Sam stroked the nose a little. He said softly, “There isn’t a - saddle?”

Strider the Ranger laughed. “I’d forgot. Come along.”

In the harness room he lifted down a little saddle of black morgul leather. “It’s just a wraith saddle,” Strider the Ranger said disparagingly. “It isn’t practical for the brush, but it was cheap at the sale.”

Sam couldn’t trust himself to look at the saddle either, and he couldn’t speak at all. He brushed the shining black leather with his fingertips, and after a long time he said, "It’ll look pretty on him though.” He thought of the grandest thing he knew. “If he hasn’t a name already, I think I’ll call him Gil-galad the Elven-king,” he said.

Strider the Ranger knew how he felt. “It’s a pretty long name. Why don’t you just call him Gil? That means star. That would be a fine name for him.” Strider felt glad. “If you will collect tail hair, I might be able to make a hair rope for you sometime. You could use it for a hackamore.”

* Just picture Viggo in a pair of 501s and you’ll understand why I didn’t change this word. smilies/wink.gif

[ February 23, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Elven-Maiden]

Bravo! Love the Star Trek ones! The Steinbeck one was very well done too! smilies/smile.gif

[Gayahithwen]

my fav is the Monty Python one. I might do one Monty Python myself, sooner or later.. But it's not that certain.. anyway, all is excellent!

[Birdland]

Bravo for the Steinbeck take-off! That touch with the mallorn tree being used for the hog butchering was great. Appealed to my sick sense of humor.

Awwww, Sam got a pony!

[ February 23, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Tarlondeion Of Gondolin]

Hilarious, I'm gonna write one myself. Maybe A Father Ted One (dunno who wrote Father Ted)
You should get them on the fan fiction thing, so that generations can read them and laugh! The funniest thread ever and the first long one I've ever read properley. Hilarious!!!!

[NotHomeYet]

Another Star Wars idea....


Arwen: What are you doing?!

Aragorn: I have to fight off these orcs! You get back to the horses!

Arwen: Well, he certainly is brave.

Frodo: He won't be any good to us if he gets himself killed.

Aragorn: Hurry up, or you're gonna be a permanent resident! Get back to the horses!

Arwen: But don't you think we should figure out-

Aragorn: I am not interested in discussing this with a committe!

Arwen: I AM NOT A COMMITTE!!!!!

*they mount the horses*

Arwen: *looking up* *screams*

Aragorn: What?!

Arwen: There's something up there. Up there, past the clouds.

Aragorn: What do you mean, "something"?

Arwen: I don't know!

Aragorn: Well, I'm gonna go check it out.

Arwen: Argh! Then I'm going with you!!!

Frodo: Wait, it's giving off a transmission!

Merry: I am fluent in over six million forms of communitcation, but this code I am not familiar with.

Pippin: Dee beep whirr boop ding beep.

Sam: Hrrrrrnnnn! Roaooaor!

[Daisy Sandybanks]

Oh my God! I absolutly LOVE these! They're hilarious!! I especially love the one by Gene Roddenbury, that one was great! I am a hugh Star Trek fan, so naturally I love that one.... smilies/biggrin.gif

[Gorothlammothiel]

You people/elves/hobbits/dwarves/etc are very talented and very amusing......please continue......... smilies/smile.gif

[Elven-Maiden]

I loved that Star Wars one! Merry and Pipin were great! I'd write one, but I just can't think of any....

[dragongirlG]

These are excellent!!!! I wish someone would write a Hawthorne (author of the Scarlet Letter parody, that'd be interesting! I might write a parody myself! Oooh, I know, when I'm done with The Catcher in the Rye I might write one. Good job, everyone!

[Ulmo]

Originally posted by Mister Underhill:
<STRONG>By Mark Twain, who would undoubtedly have focused on the true hero of the narrative – that mischievous rascal, Pippin:
~~~~~~~
NOTICE:
Persons attempting to resolve the question of Balrog wings by means of this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to define the nature of Tom Bombadil will be banished; persons attempting to find allegory in it will be shot.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR,
Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.

FOREWORD:
In this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Quenya Elvish dialect; the extremest form of the Rhovanion dialect; the ordinary Sindarin dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.

I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not succeeding.
THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER 1
You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Red Book of Westmarch; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Frodo Baggins and his Uncle Bilbo, and they told the truth, mainly. There was things which they stretched, but mostly they told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was the Lady Galadriel, or Elrond, or maybe Gandalf. The Lady Galadriel – the Lady of Lothlorien, she is – and Elrond, and the wizard Gandalf is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.</STRONG>


LOL! Mister Underhill, that is without a doubt, my favorite! Too funny. smilies/smile.gif

This thread needs to be printed out, framed, and shoved in a time capsule somewhere. smilies/wink.gif

Great job everyone!

[Mister Underhill]

I love this thread, as each time it’s revived, new inspiration strikes...

LotR by RAY BRADBURY
In which Gandalf gains a new perspective on his heretofore unexamined mission:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a pleasure to burn.

It was a special pleasure to see Hobbits eaten, to see them blackened and changed. With the wooden staff in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous pitch upon the Shire, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his pointed hat on his wizened head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he mumbled a Word of Command and the Great Smials jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a haunch of mutton on a spit in the furnace, while the flapping, ridiculous Hobbits died on the porch and lawn of the great Hobbit-hole. While the Hobbits went up in greasy, sparkling whirls that blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.

Gandalf grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven back by flame. Fools of Tooks! he thought with an inward chuckle, as the smell of burnt foot-hair filled his nostrils, as welcome as the smell of a fresh-baked apple pie cooling on the sill.

He knew that when he returned to Lothlórien, he might wink at himself, a minstrel man, burnt-corked, in the Mirror of Galadriel. Later, going to sleep, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that smile, it never ever went away, as long as he remembered.

[Bruce MacCulloch]

Would that be Farenheit 1420?

[Birdland]

Mr. Underhill, you sicko! (Still laughing!)

[Jessica Jade]

these posts are ingenious! Keep up the excellent creativity! I liked the Ray Bradbury one particularly, as well as Monty Python and Edgar Allen Poe. Jane Austen as well. These are awesome...hmmm i'm considering writing a Dante (author of The Divine Comedy (more commonly known for The Inferno part) parady, once i finish Inferno. lol lol. This thread is great! I love it!

[dragongirlG]

LOL, Mister Underhill! Your Ray Bradbury one was excellent and pretty sick, lol!! Keep writing!

[Maltaharma]

If LOTR was written by (god forbid) The Marx Brothers...
Legolas: This morning I got up and shot an orc in my pajamas. How the orc got into my pajamas, I dunno.
Gimli: Honk-honk! Aragorn: "The orcs are coming!" Hobbits: "La la la la la!"-LOTR the Lost musical

[Maltaharma]

If Barbie wrote LOTR...from Frodo's perspective.
"Oh, my, god, I like totally got this ring and like so does not match with like anything i own so i'm going to take it to Mount Doom and like totally return!!! Hey, me and Sam can take the pink jeep! oohh! Hey, like OMG, you stupid orcs, you're liking mussing up my hair! Like AHHHH!! I broke a nail! OMG Middle Earth is like so screwed right now! AHHH!" "Zippin Pippin!"-Lost diary of merry and pippin

[avarerniliel]

LOTR written by Robert t. Baker:
Now, if you'll just notice the exquisite jaw bone features on this rather short fellow. See how the fur on his feet protects him from the stones and wood littering the ground. His prominent nose sniffs the wind, on alert for any sign of danger in this terrible wasteland. Oh dear, here comes a much larger fellow. Notice how he retreats into the foliage and disappears silently. The ugly large one has found him! He seems to be searching for something, and , yes! I believe he's found it, it appears to be a small metalic circlet of some sort!

[avarerniliel]

Oh, and Bruce, it's not Fahrenheit 1420, it's Fahrenheit 451! Excellent book, I just wish Beatty didn't refer to himself in third person, and everybody else!
Would Montag like a promotion?

[Kalimac]

Lord of the Rings, by Tom Wolfe.

His head still on the pillow, Frodo Baggins groaned. The sound of the knocking on the door of the Prancing Pony was shaking the poisonous yolk that was his head, shaking it, threatening to break it. The yolk was as heavy as unforged mithril, and it tilted this way and that, painful as orc-spear in naked flesh. If the yolk broke, he was finished.

What had he been doing last night? He looked with disgust at the filthy clothes he had left scattered on the floor, at the sloppy arrangement of blankets on the floor that had served him for the bed. A man-sized chair of rickety wood was by the fireplace. Dear God, the Breelanders and their cheap substitutes for real furniture. Again the yolk shifted.

Something about last night. Merry and Pippin had been getting drunk on Butterbur's tab, and he had joined them even though he only had twenty silver pennies and those had to last him until Rivendell...something about the Ring. Frodo jerked his head up and immediately the yolk crashed into his skull. His head fell again. He had sung some outrageously stupid song of that old prat Bilbo's, and even Sam had come in by then and had asked him to sing it again and Frodo, drunk with beer and attention, had agreed and then he had fallen and the Ring had fallen too -

The knocking continued. He had to answer or he would never get to sleep again. He stood up, clutching at the legs of the chair as the yolk shifted again.

He would never drink again. Never! Not so much as a small miruvor until Rivendell - he would be reformed from today on.

The knocking continued. "Oh, come in!" Frodo tried to yell, but ended in a feeble groan. God, the Breelanders, he thought again. The Ring. Why did I ever come here in the first place?

[Aseafalathiel]

Fantastic! Love the Monty Python! The Hitchhikers! Ahhh...keep them coming.

"What is the air-speed velocity of a Nazgul bearing a coconut?"

"I don't know Gandalf, but it must be better than a Balrog bearing a holy hand grenade and a blazing wrath"

"You mean the holy hand grenade of Antiock?"

"The very same sir"

"Speak of it no more then!"

"OK Gandalf, but may I ask you another question?"

"Very well then"

"Are you actually Tim the Enchanter?"

"There are some who will call me...Tim"

-Terrible I know, curse me for being a huge fan of Monty Python. smilies/biggrin.gif

[Glenethor]

I liked the Anthony Burgess one. Good thing I wasn't drinking something as I was reading this thread, or I'd have had something coming out my nostrils...

smilies/biggrin.gif

[Bruce MacCulloch]

Oh, and Bruce, it's not Fahrenheit 1420, it's Fahrenheit 451! I know, Avarneliel, I was trying to make a very bad joke! smilies/tongue.gif smilies/rolleyes.gif

[dragongirlG]

The Lord of the Rings by J.D. Salinger (author of The Catcher in the Rye)

If you really want to know about it, I can tell you about my family life, history, etc., and all that Gandalf-firework kind of crap, but I really don't feel like writing it all down. Firstly, that stuff bores me, and second of all, both my parents are dead, so there's really no point in telling you about them. I live with my Uncle Bilbo, if you really are interested, and he's a bit touchy about his true life sometimes. I mean, he's nice and all, but he really is touchy and secretive about his life. I don't really believe about him defeating a dragon with his bare hands with a bunch of dwarves at his heels. Honestly. He just isn't the type who would actually do that. I bet he was involved in the whole dragon deal, but he didn't actually do it. Besides, this isn't supposed to be my whole autobiography or anything. I'm just here to tell you about this crazy stuff that happened to me about a year ago. I was sent here, to the Grey Havens, to come and take it easy, living here with a bunch of Elves and the Grey Wizard. That's all I told Sam about, and half the time he was with me on this big old journey, and plus he's practically my best friend. He's in the Shire. That's really far from this timeless place, right over the big wide sea. Too funny, eh?



Where I want to begin is the day I left Bag End. Bag End is this old hobbit hole down in Hobbiton and near Bywater. You've probably heard old Pippin and Merry talking about it. It was where I used to live with my Uncle Bilbo, before I went on this crazy journey and all. Anyway, it was a weird day. Bilbo sort of left--disappeared, rather, at the end of his birthday speech. I knew he was going to. I'm a pretty bright kid. Well, getting back to the point, the Sackville-Bagginses started to bother me, and I told Merry to deal with them. A few days later Gandalf came to visit. He told me about this weird, screwed-up creature named Gollum. This is actually a few years before I started my journey, but I suppose this is where the whole story actually begins. Well, I decided to wait till Bilbo's birthday--and my birthday--to start. Gandalf caught Sam eavesdropping when we were talking. He was actually working for a conspiracy, but I'll tell you about that later. At least he wasn't all phony about it. He's an honest fellow, Sam. That's the good thing. Except he can be real dumb sometimes too, like that time on my journey when he thought I was dead. Well anyway Gandalf told me to head to Rivendell, where the Elves are. So Pippin, Sam, and I started out, walking in secret to get out of the Shire. On the way this nasty Black Rider appeared on the road. I don't know what he did, but he sort of sniffed for something--I think it was that crazy Ring I'd been carrying around. Well Pippin and Sam got really scared, but I sort of felt like putting on the Ring. I didn't see the big deal. Then we heard some Elves singing. Those Elves...well, they're very complex creatures. A bit superior to all races. Even hobbits.

Whoa...I could go on with this for a long time...tell me what you think.

dragongirlG

[ March 12, 2002: Message edited by: dragongirlG ]

[Lostgaeriel]

The Lord of the Rings as a TV sketch by Johnny Wayne and Frank Shuster.
This great Canadian comedy team appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show 57 or 58 times (a record, anyway) and had a long running CBC-TV program – alternately named - The Wayne and Shuster (Comedy) Hour/Special. They were famous for their sketches that poked fun at: The Scarlet Pimpernel with The Brown Pumpernickel, Sherlock Holmes, Robin Hood, Napoleon, Fu Manchu, etc. Some of their best parodies were of Shakespeare’s plays, notably a baseball skit in verse and their famous take on Julius Caesar - Rinse the Blood off My Toga.
This may be too obscure for most everyone on the Downs. It probably helps if you’re Canadian and over 30 - or 40. But I had to do it for the ‘ear’ joke alone. Of course, I’ve lost some of the very best jokes Johnny and Frank ever did by changing the setting from Rome to Minas Tirith - those Latin jokes were the best. And the ending isn't nearly as strong.
Warning: It’s kinda long. I couldn't figure out what part to post as an excerpt. Forgive me. But Johnny and Frank always went to great lengths in setting up the gags. I think the payoffs are worth it.
Corrections to my Elvish translations would be most appreciated.
Thanks to the transcription of Rinse the Blood Off My Toga (http://www.informalmusic.com/latinsoc/rinse.html) by Informal (a member of the Later Latin Society) from the CBS Coronet LP featuring Wayne and Shuster's production of their radio play.

Rinse the Blood off My Elf-Cloak by Wayne and Shuster
Dramatis Personae
Gandalf, a P.I. (original Flavius Maximus role played by Johnny Wayne)
Aragorn, ranger and alleged friend of the deceased (original Brutus role played by Frank Shuster)
Faramir, brother of the deceased (original Calpurnia role made famous by Sylvia Lennick)
Imrahil, prince, orator, friend of the deceased
Beregond, a guard of the Citadel
Targon, a sergeant of a company of the Guard
Arwen, an elf-princess (also originally the Calpurnia role!)

Announcer: "Rinse the Blood Off My Elf-Cloak," by Frank Wayne and John Shuster--with apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens, William Shakespeare (and to Francis Bacon, just in case).
(FX--horn flourish) Minas Tirith! 3019 Third Age.
Gandalf: My name is Mithrandir, Private Istar. Licence number 5. (holds licence up to camera) It also comes in handy as a get-out-of-Middle-Earth-free card. I'm gonna tell ya about the Boromir, son of Denethor caper. It all began during the War of the Ring. I had just nailed Saruman the White; he had a crooked Balrog who kept takin' a dive. Anyhow, I was just beginning to rest on my athelas when, suddenly-- he burst in to my office.
Aragorn: You Gandalf Mithrandir, Private I.?
Gandalf: Private Istar. What can I do for you? What's on your mind?
Aragorn: Just a minute. -- Are we alone?
Gandalf: Yes, we're alone.
Aragorn: Are you sure we're alone?
Gandalf: Yes, yes, I'm sure we're alone!
Aragorn: Then who's that standing beside you?
Gandalf: That's you.
Aragorn: I know, but can I be trusted?
Gandalf: (aside) I could see I was dealing with no ordinary man. This guy was a nut! (to Aragorn) All right, what's on your mind?
Aragorn: Mithrandir, a terrible thing has happened. It's the greatest crime in the history of Minas Tirith.
Gandalf: All right, give it to me straight. What's up?
Aragorn: Boromir, son of Denethor has been murdered!
Gandalf: Boromir, son of Denethor murdered?! (aside) I couldn't believe my ears! Big Bori was dead!
Aragorn: Yes, it happened just a few hours ago. Happened in the Citadel; he was stabbed.
Gandalf: Stabbed? In the Citadel?
Aragorn: No, not in the Citadel. They got him right in the Court of the Fountain.
Gandalf: That's a fatal spot. I had a splinter there once. Those White Tree splinters, you know--
Aragorn: Boy, I tell you, all of Gondor is in an uproar. I came to you because you’re the top Private I. in Middle Earth. You've got to find the killer.
Gandalf: (aside) Hasn’t he got ears? It’s Private Istar - Istar. Well, I'll try.
Aragorn: Oh, you can do it. After all, you're the guy that got Wormtongue and sent him up on the Théoden elder abuse rap--
Gandalf: Yes, the whole kingdom of Rohan was sure in an uproar about that, huh? Aina Elbereth!
Aragorn: Now look, what do you say, Mithrandir? Will you take the case?
Gandalf: Just a minute, pally. I'd like to know - just whom I am working for?
Aragorn: I'm a Ranger. I was Boromir’s best friend. The name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur’s son, Elendil’s son of Númenor.
Gandalf: (aside) What a handle! (to Aragorn) Aragorn, eh? All right, Aragorn, you got yourself a boy. I'll take the case. My fee is 125 silver pennies a day, in advance, of course.
Aragorn: Okay, here you are!
(FX---sound of coins tinkling)
Gandalf: You're one short.
(FX--one more coin)
Aragorn: Hey, you got a good ear.
Gandalf: When it comes to money--perfect pitch.
Aragorn: Let's go, eh?
Gandalf: I'm ready. (aside) We went outside--flagged a passing wain and made our way up Rath Vána. The streets were crowded with the usual people -- Guards, healers, Rangers, Rohirrim, sons of Elrond, and little Pheriannath who came out of doorways to sell you postcards from the Shire. Before long we found ourselves at the Citadel.
Aragorn: Mithrandir, this is where it happened. This is where Big Bori got murdered.
Gandalf: Yeah, well, where is the firnadan?
Aragorn: The what?
Gandalf: The firnadan, firnadan. Whassa matter, don't you understand plain Elvish when you hear it?
Aragorn: Oh, the stiff!
Gandalf: Yeah, yeah.
Aragorn: He's lying right over there.
Gandalf: Would you look at that. Seven daggers in him.
Aragorn: Yeah, what do you think?
Gandalf: I think that if he were alive today, he'd be a pretty sick boy. He's really fixed for blades, eh?
Aragorn: Oh, come on Mithrandir, you gotta solve this crime.
Gandalf: All right, all right. Who are those fellas over there?
Aragorn: They were all here when it happened. That's Gimli, Pippin, Merry, and there's Legolas.
Gandalf: Who's that guy over there with the lean and hungry look on his kisser?
Aragorn: That’s Slinker a.k.a. Stinker a.k.a. Gollum a.ka. Sméagol.
Gandalf: Yeah? … Hey! What’s he doing here? He’s not supposed to be in Minas Tirith! (aside) But then, neither was Boromir. And what had happened to Frodo and Sam? Were they in on this hit? I could see I had more than one mystery to solve. But I knew enough to work on the case that had a client – one who had coin. (to Aragorn) Who do you think is the likeliest suspect?
Aragorn: That fella next to him.
Gandalf: Wait a minute--- that's you!
Aragorn: I know, but how do you know I can be trusted?
Gandalf: (aside) I could see that I was dealing with no ordinary case. This was a mental case. (to Aragorn) Wait a minute, who's that guy?
Aragorn: That's Faramir, Boromir’s brother.
Gandalf: Yeah, well, he’s a suspect, too. Wait a minute. Pardon me, Lord Faramir —
Faramir: Yes?
Gandalf: Mithrandir, Private Istar. I'd like to ask you a few questions. What do you know about this?
Faramir: I told him, ‘Bori, don't go’. ‘Don't go Bori’, I said. ‘Don't go, it's the Ring of Doom--’
Gandalf: Now look, Lord Faramir, I'd--
Faramir: If I told him once, I'd told him a thousand times, ‘Bori, don't go--’
Gandalf: Please, don't upset yourself.
Faramir: ‘Bori, don't go,’ I said. ‘It's the Ring of Doom. Beware already.’
Gandalf: Guard of the Citadel, would you take the Lord Faramir to the Houses of Healing, please?
Beregond: Come along, sir. Come along.
Faramir: (fading away) I told him, ‘Bori don't go, don't go--’
(exeunt Faramir, Beregond)
Gandalf: (aside) I don't blame him for going. (to the Fellowship) All right - you members of the Fellowship, you can go, too. But don't leave town.
Aragorn: Well, what do you think?
Gandalf: I don't know. There's not an angle anywhere. Not a clue.
Aragorn: Cheer up, Mithrandir. After all, Minas Tirith wasn't built in a day.
Gandalf: Hey, what was that? What did you just say?
Aragorn: I said, ‘Minas Tirith wasn't built in a day’.
Gandalf: Hey, that's very good. ‘Minas Tirith wasn't built in a day.’ That's pretty good.
Aragorn: You like it?
Gandalf: Yeah, I like it.
Aragorn: It's yours.
Gandalf: Thanks. Well, let's reconstruct the crime: Boromir was over here, and -- What's the matter?
Aragorn: Look over there, behind that pillar. Sshh! There's somebody behind that pillar; I'll go get him---
Gandalf: Right!
Aragorn: All right buddy!
Imrahil: Ai! Ai! Ai! -- Stop it! Stop it!
Gandalf: All right, buster, what are you doing around here?
Imrahil: Well, what do you expect me to be doing? Why shouldn't I be here? I'm Prince Imrahil.
Gandalf: Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth?
Imrahil: Yes. I just made a speech over the body of Boromir. I said, ‘Elves, Hobbits, countrymen, lend me your ears!’
Gandalf: Yeah? What have you got in that sack?
Imrahil: Ears!
Gandalf: Will you get out of here?!
Imrahil: Wait a minute. Don't you want to know who bumped off Boromir, son of Denethor?
Gandalf: Yeah. Do you know who did it? Out with it. What's his name?
Imrahil: (in pain) Ooh, oo-ee-ooo-aaah-oo-ee-oo-ah-ee-oo-ee-ooo-aaah-
Gandalf: That's a funny name. Must be Old Entish.
Aragorn: Look, he's dead.
Gandalf: (aside) What a confusing case. All I got is two dead bodies and a sack full of pointy latex prosthetic ears.
Aragorn: Now, look, Mithrandir, I'm paying you a 110 silver pennies a day—
Gandalf: 125 silver pennies!
Aragorn: All right, you've got a good ear ---
Gandalf: I've got a sack full of good ears!
Aragorn: Now, look, let's have some action, huh?
Gandalf: All right, all right. Don't get your banner in a knot. Listen, I got a pal -Targon. He runs the storehouse and buttery on Rath Tári. He should have a few answers for me.
Aragorn: That's the idea. Get out among the people. Ask questions. After all, when in Minas Tirith, do as the Minas Tiritheans do!
Gandalf: Hey, hey-- what was that one?
Aragorn: I said, ‘When in Minas Tirith, do as the Minas Tiritheans do’.
Gandalf: Oh, that's good. ‘When in Minas Tirith, do as the Minas Tiritheans do’-- very good.
Aragorn: Do you like it?
Gandalf: Yeah.
Aragorn: It's yours.
(exit Aragorn)
Gandalf: Thanks! (aside) The Citadel Guard Storehouse and Buttery is a hangout where I get all the answers. It's just a small place with a few tables and a guy in the corner playing a cool Dale-made flute.
Targon: Hiya, Gandalf.
Gandalf: Hi, Targ. What's new?
Targon: Nothin' much. What'll ya have?
Gandalf: Give me an Old Winyard.
Targon: Don't you mean Old Winyards?
Gandalf: If I wanted two, I’d say so. By the way, could I have a bite to eat?
Targon: Sure thing. What'll ya have?
Gandalf: I could do with some taters.
Targon: Don't you mean po-ta-toes?
Gandalf: If I wanted a lesson in proper Westron, I'd ask for it.
Targon: Here's your Old Winyard and your taters, Gandi.
Gandalf: Let's get back to the business at hand. I'm working on this Boromir, son of Denethor kill; do you know of anything?
Targon: Try that guy over there.
Gandalf: Yeah?
Targon: Yeah.
Gandalf: All right, brother, start talking--
Faramir: I told him, ‘Bori, don't go. Don't go Bori--’
Gandalf: (to Faramir) All right, out, out!
(exit Faramir)
Targon: Hey, look, Mithrandir, I think I know the guy you're looking for.
Gandalf: You mean, Mr. Big?
Targon: Yeah. His name is—(in pain) Ooee--oooo--ee--ah--
Gandalf: Now that's an interesting name. Got a minstrel handy? I'd like to get this down. Targon? Targon! (aside) I'd never get any more information out of him; he was dead! This was shaping up bigger than I thought. Suddenly, I looked up and there was Aragorn.
Aragorn: Hello, Mithrandir.
Gandalf: Aragorn, what are you doing here?
Aragorn: I was looking for you. Hey, who's that on the floor?
Gandalf: That's Targon, the sergeant.
Aragorn: Hey, that's a funny place to carry a knife -- in his back!
Gandalf: He's dead. He was stabbed -- through the hatch.
Aragorn: Hey, that's even more painful than the Court of the Fountain. Hey, have you come up with any answers? Who killed Boromir, son of Denethor?
Gandalf: (aside) I started to think, and slowly the pieces fell into place. Aragorn was the only man around when all those guys got killed. Boromir, Imrahil, Targon. Aragorn was always there. It was all pointing to him. But what was his motive? And then I suddenly understood why Gollum was here. He was still following the Ring! It was time to make my move.
Aragorn: Well, have you come up with any answers? Who killed Boromir, son of Denethor?
Gandalf: Only one guy could have done it.
Aragorn: Yeah, who?
Gandalf: Let's not play games, Aragorn, or should I say---Mr. Big!
Aragorn: What are you getting at?
Gandalf: If the boot fits, wear it. You knocked off Big Bori. He took the Ring from Frodo and you took it from him.
Aragorn: You're out of your head! I hired you to find the killer.
Gandalf: Pretty smart, but not nearly smart enough. Now, are you gonna talk? Or do I have to call in a couple of Guards to lean on ya?
Aragorn: All right, flatfoot, I admit it. I knocked off Big Bori for the Ring, an' I'd do it again.
Gandalf: That's all I wanted to know. I'm sending you up the Anduin for a long stretch. Come on, I'll call a wain, and we'll go downtown.
Aragorn: Don't move unless you want the Sword that was Broken in the robe. I'm getting out of here, and don't try to stop me!
(exit Aragorn)
Gandalf: (aside) He had the drop on me, but I knew where he was heading--the scene of the crime: the Citadel. Twenty seconds later, I pulled up on my horse, Shadowfax. Hey, he’s a fast horse! (to Beregond) Guard, hand me that Palantír.
Beregond: Here you are, Mithrandir.
Gandalf: All right, Aragorn, this is Mithrandir. I know you're in there, come on out.
Aragorn: Come and get me, you dirty rotten flatfoot!
Gandalf: You haven't got a chance, Aragorn. I got the Citadel surrounded by a stake-out. Now, throw your Sword down, roll the Ring out, and come out with your hands up.
Aragorn: If you want me, come and claim me!
Gandalf: Get smart, Aragorn, we can smoke you out. We'll throw in Longbottom Leaf, Southlinch, Old Toby and Southern Star. We'll throw in firecrackers and squibs, crackers, backarappers, sparklers, torches, dwarf-candles, elf-fountains, goblin-barkers and thunder-claps.
Aragorn: I don't care what you do!
Gandalf: All right, you asked for it. (to Beregond) Give it to him, Beregond. (to Aragorn) All right Aragorn, I'll fill you fulla arrows.
Aragorn: All right, you got me! (aside) Grey Fool! Stormcrow! …Wizard! (to Gandalf) But I'll be back.
Gandalf: Oh no you won't.
Aragorn: I'll be back. (aside) There are two more movies after Boromir 'sleeps with the fishes'. (to Gandalf) Just remember one thing - all roads lead to Minas Tirith.
Beregond: Come on you; let's go.
Gandalf: No, no, wait a minute--wait. Bring him back.
Aragorn: What? --- What?
Gandalf: That was a dandy! ‘All roads lead to Minas Tirith.’ That's the best.
Aragorn: Do you like it?
Gandalf: Yes--
Aragorn: Well, you can't have it! (spits)
Gandalf: Oh, get outta here!
(exeunt Aragorn, Beregond)
Host of the West: All Hail Mithrandir! All Minas Tirith salutes you. Hail Mithrandir!
Gandalf: Take him, boys. And now I got a date with a doll. Okay, Evenstar, baby. Now are you sure your fiancé won't object?
Arwen: Well, frankly, I don't care. If I told him once, I told him a thousand times, ‘Don't go, Ari!’ I said, ‘It's the Ring of Doom; beware already. Don't go, Ari, don't go---’ (fade out)
(exeunt Gandalf, Arwen)
(FX---horn flourish)
The End

[ March 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[ May 19, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

The Lord of the Rings written by Murray Burnett & Joan Alison, Julius J. Epstein & Philip G. Epstein and Howard Koch (with some help from Casey Robinson, Lenore Coffee, Aeneas MacKenzie, Wallie Kline).

(Murray Burnett & Joan Alison wrote the original stage play Everybody Comes to Rick’s. Julius J. Epstein & Philip G. Epstein and Howard Koch wrote the Oscar-winning screenplay for the classic movie, Casablanca - Best Picture of 1943. Michael Curtiz won the Academy award for Best Director.)

CÍRDAN: Hello. Hello, radio tower? Haven ship sailing in ten minutes. West slipway. Visibility: one and one half miles. Light fog. Depth of fog: approximately 500. Ceiling: irrelevant. Thank you.
ARAGORN: (indicating the Shipwright) Saruman, have Círdan go with Master Elrond and take care of his luggage.
SARUMAN: (bowing ironically) Certainly Aragorn, anything you say. (to Círdan) Find Master Elrond’s luggage and put it on the ship.
CÍRDAN: Yes, sir. This way please.
The Shipwright escorts Elrond in the direction of the ship. Aragorn takes the letters of transit out of his pocket and hands them to the Wizard, who turns and walks toward the quay.
ARAGORN: If you don’t mind, you fill in the names. That will make it even more official.
SARUMAN: You think of everything, don’t you?
ARAGORN: (quietly) And the names are Elrond and Arwen Half-Elven.
ARWEN: But why my name, Aragorn?
ARAGORN: Because you’re getting on that ship.
ARWEN: (confused) I don’t understand. What about you?
ARAGORN: I’m staying here with him ‘til the ship gets safely away.
ARWEN: No, Aragorn, no. What has happened to you? Last night we said ---
ARAGORN: ---Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I’ve done a lot of it since then and it all adds up to one thing. You’re getting on that ship with Elrond where you belong.
ARWEN: (protesting) But Aragorn, no, I, I, --
ARAGORN: -- You’ve got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten we’d both wind up in Barad-dûr. Isn’t that true, Saruman?
Saruman countersigns the papers.
SARUMAN: I’m afraid the Lord Sauron would insist.
ARWEN: You’re saying this only to make me go.
ARAGORN: I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us we both know you belong with Elrond. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that ship leaves the Havens and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it.
ARWEN: No.
ARAGORN: Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.
ARWEN: But what about us?
ARAGORN: We’ll always have Lothlórien. We didn’t have, we’d lost it, until you came to Rivendell. We got it back last night.
ARWEN: And I said I would never leave you.
ARAGORN: And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. Arwen, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t add up to a hill of beans in this crazy Middle-earth. Someday you’ll understand that. Now, now…
Arwen’s eyes well up with tears. Aragorn puts his hand to her chin and raises her face to meet his own.
ARAGORN: Here’s looking at you kid.

I'd go on and finish it – The Black Captain’s been shot. ... Round up the usual suspects. ... Saruman, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. - but my previous entry was too long and I don't want to repeat that offence.

[ March 24, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Nevfeniel]

How 'bout John Knowles?

[dragongirlG]

How 'bout John Knowles?

Oooh, I read him a couple months ago...I'll have to think about that.

[Nevfeniel]

Or maybe Shakespeare (someone told me that if you want to understand Shakespeare, all you have to do is put your mind in the gutter)

It would also be weird if the Wachowski brothers (creators of The Matrix) wrote LotR. Whooa. . .

[ April 26, 2002: Message edited by: Nevfeniel ]

[dragongirlG]

Has anyone here read Faulkner's work? How 'bout him? He'd be God-awful hard to do.

[Lostgaeriel]

Sorry, I got no John Knowles, no Faulkner and no Wachowski brothers. Shakespeare is included in spirit in the parody of a Wayne & Shuster TV sketch, 'Rinse the Blood Off My Elf-Cloak' on thread page 2.

I do have this to add. (As usual, I need some serious help with Elvish translations.)

Out-takes and excerpts from The Lord of the Rings as directed by George Roy Hill & written by William Goldman (director & screenwriter, respectively, of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 1969)

Retitled Frodo (Butch) Baggins and the Samwise Kid

(Crossing the Silverlode on the rope bridge)
LEGOLAS: I can walk this path, but the others have not this skill. Must they swim?
THE SAMWISE KID: I can’t swim.
BUTCH BAGGINS: Why you crazy? The fall will probably kill you.

OR

(The Samwise Kid dives into the Anduin after Butch Baggins takes one of the boats to cross the river above Rauros.)
BUTCH BAGGINS: What’s the matter with you?
THE SAMWISE KID: I can’t swim.
BUTCH BAGGINS: Why you crazy? The Falls will probably kill you.

AND

(The Samwise Kid and Butch Baggins meeting Faramir and the Rangers of Ithilien)
BUTCH BAGGINS: (reading a slip of paper, in halting Sindarin) Til paur menel. (Put your hands up.)
THE SAMWISE KID: They’ve got them up.
BUTCH BAGGINS: (in halting Sindarin) Thanga galadhon. (Stand up against the trees.)
THE SAMWISE KID: They are up against the trees.
...
(upon arriving in Mordor)
BUTCH BAGGINS: You know, it could be worse. You get a lot more for your money in Mordor. I checked on it.
THE SAMWISE KID: What could they have here that you could possibly want to buy?
...
BUTCH BAGGINS: Jeesh, all Mordor can't look like this.
THE SAMWISE KID: How do you know? This might be the garden spot of the whole country. People may travel hundreds of miles just to get to this spot where we're standing now. This might be the Cerin Amroth of all Mordor for all you know.
BUTCH BAGGINS: Look, I know a lot more about Mordor than you know about Cerin Amroth.
THE SAMWISE KID: AHA! You do huh? I was born there; I was born in Lothlórien. Was brought up there, so...
BUTCH BAGGINS: You're from the Golden Wood? I didn't know that.
THE SAMWISE KID: The total tonnage of what you don't know is enough to shatter...
GOLLUM: I'm not sure we're accomplishing as much as we'd like here.
THE SAMWISE KID: (to Gollum) Listen, your job is to back me up, because you'd starve without me. (to Frodo) And you, your job is to shut up!
BUTCH BAGGINS: (to Gollum) He'll feel a lot better after he’s stolen a couple of Rings.
THE SAMWISE KID: Mordor! Ha-ha-ha-haa!
...
(Frodo & Sam crossing Gorgoroth, discussing orcs)
BUTCH BAGGINS: Ah, you're wasting your time. They can't track us over rocks.
THE SAMWISE KID: Tell them that.
BUTCH BAGGINS: (after looking for himself) Who are those guys?
...
BUTCH BAGGINS: How many of them are following us?
THE SAMWISE KID: All of them!
...
GOLLUM: (singing) The Road goes ever on and on / Down from the door where it began. / Now far ahead the Road has gone, / And I must follow, if I can, / Pursuing it with eager feet, / Until it joins some larger way / Where many paths...
BUTCH BAGGINS: (interrupting) I think they're in the trees up ahead.
THE SAMWISE KID: In the bushes on the left.
BUTCH BAGGINS: I'm telling you, they're in the trees up ahead.
THE SAMWISE KID: You take the trees; I'll take the bushes.
GOLLUM: Will you two beginners cut it out!
BUTCH BAGGINS: Well, we're just trying to spot an ambush, Mr. Gollum.
GOLLUM: Morons. I've got morons on my team. Nobody is going to rob us going up the Mountain. We have got no Ring going up the Mountain. When we have got the Ring, on the way back, then you can sweat.

[ April 30, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

By the way, you all know the other Newman & Redford movie directed by George Roy Hill, this time with screenplay by David S. Ward. It was obviously based on The Hobbit by JRRT - an elaborate con game designed to look like a treasure-seeking, dragon-slaying adventure but with the purpose of wresting the Ring from Gollum.

I'm talking about The Sting, of course! smilies/biggrin.gif

[Luntindomeiel]

LOL!!!!!!

[Nevfeniel]

Ooh, even though no one ever answers these questions, how did you do that smiley thing with the stick-poking?

[The Second Nazgul]

Lord of the Rings, by K.A. Applegate, author of Animorphs.

My name is Frodo.

Just Frodo. I can't tell you my last name, or where I am.

But I can tell you, my friends and I-- we're fighting for the survival of Middle-Earth.

You're probably thinking, yeah right. I know-- I probably would have said the same thing, back when I lived in my old, cozy hobbit-hole.

You see, we're the whole army, the nine of us. When it comes down to it, it's just us, alone, against Sauron's minions and all the evil in Middle-Earth.

I know, I know. Sounds like I'm crazy, right? Well it's all true.

This isn't your standard-type war. Because there's this ring, right? On its own, it's nothing. Just metal. A small, insignificant little ring. Harmless.

That's why it needs someone to be its host.

It can get inside your mind, seep into the crevices of your brain, see your every want and desire.

It will tap into that, and control you. Your every move will be dominated by the ring. It will own you. Completely. You will be a slave in your own mind.

The ring can control anyone. Anyone. It could be your best friend. Your mother. Your kindly old grandpa Bilbo.

For all we know, it could be you.

[greyhavener]

I love these. Austen and Twain were my favorites. And of course Monty Python. Here's my idea.

If Mel Brooks had written LOTR

Scene 140: Gift-giving in Lorien

Glad-gal shimmys over to Arrogant. "Maybe this will lighten your heart for it was left in my care to give to you"
She removes a forty pound silver brooch with two large prongs protruding straight out from her cape. As the cape falls away considerable cleavage is revealed.
Arrogant (leers into her bosum) "How about lightening it a little bit more."
Arrogant pins the brooch in the center of his chest, loses his balance and falls forward onto his face.

Glad-gal moves on to Boringmore, Nerdy and Drippin all of whom have mullet haircuts and presents them with western belts with ornate buckles about ten inches in diameter emblazoned with each of their names.

To Legless the elf she presents two prosthesis. Gimli clumsily tries to help him attach them to his stumps.

Glad-gal turns to Samwich who looks at her expectantly. "For you I have..."
She gazes around with frantically. She rushes over to a tree and picks up a box and hastily fills it with dirt.

Meanwhile Glumly has managed to get the legs on Legless backwards.
Legless takes two steps backwards and the legs fall off.
He picks one up and hits Glumly on the head.

Glad-gal straightens up and with much flourish she presents Samwich with the box.
"...a box of dirt!" she declares triumphantly.

She turns to Glumly. "Nothing for you...elves don't like dwarves."

Legless throws the other leg and knocks Glumly out.

Glad-gal turns to Frobro, a black hobbit with a gigantic afro.
"For you, I have prepared this phial" She hand him a small glass phial.
Frobro puts the phial into his hair where it disappears.
"I also packed lembas for you to eat on the way."
She hand Samwich a picnic basket covered with a red checkered tablecloth.

All the elves (about 50) begin doing the limbo singing "lembas, lembas, lembas, lembas"

Frobro bows to Glad-gal and several knives, a pipe, the phial, keys, a hair pick, and a condom fall out of his hair. He hastily picks it all up and puts it all back in where it disappears.

The company departs with Boringmore dragging an unconscious Glumly.

Legless follows several feet behind the rest with his legs attached but hinged somewhat sideways.

END OF SCENE

[Lostgaeriel]

LOL! smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/biggrin.gif
Well done, greyhavener!
Robin Hood: Men in Tights, indeed! (I've never actually watched it.)
I luv Mel Brooks (but best of all when he worked with Gene Wilder).
Thanks!

[ May 04, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[DarkPoot]

You ought to get a laugh out of this link. LotR, as an early black+white film: http://ringil.cis.ksu.edu/Tolkien/Movie/lotr.mov

And now, I know its been done, but I've had some of these ideas in my head for a while, so LotR by Mark Twain:

It was hot in those Cracks of Doom, powerful hot, the kind of hot that really gets to a body, and Sam found it mighty oppressive.
"Oh, Mistah Frodo, where are you?" he called out, his voice saying everything about how desperate he was. He couldn't hear Frodo for anything, but just then, he heard another familiar voice, crazy as a drunk bull.
"Precious! Precious, ah' say, precious!" It was Gollum, that damned fool of an injun, and Sam knew he was up to mischief of some awful kind.
Sam ran forward. He was scared, sure, he was powerful scared, but he didn't trust Injun Gollum one half as much as he could throw him, and the thought of losing Mr. Frodo and the Ring...after all, he'd promised Judge Gandalf and Senator Elrond to keep an eye on Frodo, and a promise is a promise, right?

[The Second Nazgul]

Injun Gollum? Senator Elrond!? XD! Funny, funny.

Good to see a fellow Nazgûl here, my fiend! Even better, we both quoted the Witch-King in our sigs! Your quote was my second favorite thing said by him, by the way.

[Nevfeniel]

Shakespeare is included in spirit in the parody of a Wayne & Shuster TV sketch, 'Rinse the Blood Off My Elf-Cloak' on thread page 2.
Oops, I wasn't aware of that. sorry. . .

[Lostgaeriel]

Oh no, Nevfeniel, don't be sorry. We could use a version as if written by the Bard himself. I just thought if you were perusing and wanted to read one already posted that recalls Shakespeare you could read that one for now. (It's not very Shakespearean anymore - a parody of a parody. All it's got left is the plot of Julius Caesar - sort of.)

I didn't mean to be off-putting.

[Ithaeliel]

Wow...
You guys are really good at this! It's fun!
Out of all the ones I've read so far, I think the Pooh one is my favorite. smilies/biggrin.gif

By the way, it's the first time I've ever been to this one forum, so... to those who don't know me, hi!!!
I can't write like that, so I'll just sit here and read and enjoy. smilies/tongue.gif

[Nar]

Sackville-Baggins (if Shakespeare had written it)

Dramatis Personae

Sackville-Baggins
Lady Sackville-Baggins

The three weird elves

Batchelor-Emiretus Bilbo of Bag End
Frodo, his heir

Act I, Scene 1: A barren heath. Sounds of triumphal looting and pillage are heard in the distance:
Glugging of ale, bad yet vigorous singing-- typical late-stage birthday party.
Enter three weird elves.
1 Elf When shall we elves meet again? In battle, banquet, or perchance second breakfast?
2 Elf You are really a hobbit!!
1 Elf I'm not! I'm an elf! Well, there may be a little Fallohide on my mother's side...
3 Elf To the point! Meetings! (evilly) When their corner-filling's done.
When the battle's lost and won.
2 Elf That will be ere the set of the sun.
1 Elf Where the place?
2 Elf Upon the heath.
All: There to meet with S-Baggins!
Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air. (all run around in circles waving their arms)

Scene 2: The birthday-party, near the remaining casks of Ale
Frodo: This is the man, who like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'gainst my choking on that piece of cake. (indicates Sackville-Baggins)
Sackville-Baggins: (modestly) I call it the Sackville Maneuver. Here, let me demonstrate--
Bilbo: (hastily) NO! Hands! Off waist! Off! (Pushes Otho away)
'Tis quite all right, we'll take your word for it.
Frodo: Doubtful it stood, whether my spent lungs could expell yon lumpen cake,
when brave Otho (well he deserves that name)
Disdaining fortune, with his brandished fists,
like Valour's minion carved my passage!
Bilbo: O valiant cousin! Worthy gentleman!

Scene 3: The heath, sunset. Enter the three weird elves
All: The Weird Elves, hand in hand,
Grifters of the sea and land.
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And three rings we lifted at Harborside,
Then back again, to the Shire fine!
No way we take ship to the Boringest Lands!
(They wave Nenya, Vilya, and that other ring in the air)
1 Elf: But hist! Here comes the Sackville-Baggins!
(Sackville-Baggins comes nigh, sneezing into a large camberic hankerchief, as it is allergy season on the heath)

Sackville-Baggins: Spoons! Commemorative Spoons! Not even a full set--
I saw Bilbo putting aside the diamond jubilee double-sided grapefruit spoon
with her graciousness Queen Arwen molded on the handle in bas-relief!
Why, the collection is worthless without it!
(thoughtfully) So foul and fair a birthday-party I have not seen.
(notices the three; starts theatrically) Elves! Weird ones! Speak, if you can!
Mean you foul, or mean you fair? Say, would you like to purchase a lovely set of silver spoons?
3 Elf: All hail, Sackville-Baggins!
Hail to thee, Guardian of the silver spoons, albeit virtually worthless
without the silver jubilee yadda yadda Queen Arwen!
(Sackville-Baggins sadly stashes the oaken case of spoons back under his cloak)
2 Elf: All hail, Sackville-Baggins!
Hail to thee, formerly heir-presumptive of Bag End!
Sackville-Baggins: (Grumpily) I had not heard elves were so evil-spoken.
1 Elf: All hail, Sackville-Baggins, that shall live, as who should say,
A Bachelor-Emiretus in Bag-End forever!
Sackville-Baggins: What? And rid me of Lobelia? When! How?!
All: Away! Away! Away! (they begin to slink away)
Sackville-Baggins: Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
By Frodo's life I know I have the spoons,
By Bilbo's deed I know I am the former Baggins-presumptive of Bag-End.
(Aside: Sackville! Ackk! Lobelia!!! Who ever heard of a Hobbit with hyphens!)
But how a Bachelor-Emiretus? And how in Bag-End? And how forever?
All: (dancing in a circle) We have Rings of Three, but Ring of One there be,
Destroyed? We think not! Gollum's well known
Cliff climbing talent militates against it!
Hasty, hasty Hobbits not to check!
Clever, clever Otho here to quest!
All this can be! Fled to west, Bilbo could be,
Good heir Frodo seeks him at sea!
Lobelia, fading wraith of Hobbitry,
New-founded Queen of the Nazgul!
Otho, Otho, Otho of Bag End
Otho Baggins, Bachelor of Bag End!
Here, take it!
(1 Elf hands him the One Ring, which he has had concealed in his waistcoat pocket)
Sackville-Baggins: (staring from ring in his hand to 1 Elf and back again)
Don't you want it?
1 Elf: I already have Galadriel's ring. This one had begun to gall me.
(dramatic pause) Precioussss.
(looks blissfully at the gleaming white ring of the water fountains on his hand)
2 Elf: I knew you were really a hobbit!!!
Sackville-Baggins: (starting theatrically, clutching the One Ring to chest)
Can it be?
1 Elf: Yes, it is I, Gollum-Smeagol. Smeagol the magnificent!
King Smeagol, taker of fissh! With my ring of sparkling water,
I command the silver-slipping fissh from the brown-dappled brook.
Straight into Smeagol's clever fingers they come leaping!
Nice Fissh! Fisssh now; Fisssshhh every day, and keep nasssty taters!
Ha ha hahahaha! (darts off in the general direction of the Brandywine)

[Lostgaeriel]

Oooooh, Nar, it's brilliant!!! smilies/cool.gif

[Birdland]

It is a tale told by a silly hobbit, full of sound and fury signifying preciousss little. smilies/biggrin.gif

Way to go, Nar!

[zifnab]

Hello, I’m Nigel Marvin your correspondent today for ‘Nigel’s Wild Wild World™’. And today we are really thick about it now, we are trying to bring in the notoriously deadly Nazgûl tonight. We are actually getting desperate today, the condition and the visible level was good yesterday, I don’t know what’s going on here. But we did not see one deadly Nazgûl. They’re actually being very allusive. But maybe with the help of our top cameramen, Hank Didntjaseeit, we will finally be able to film them.

We have brought in a ‘Nazgûl Expert’ to help us in the Myth of the creatures. And their favorite locations, foods, habits and activities and even some history. Meet Joe Snickeryberger, and even with all his help it, doesn’t seem to help much, since conditions are perfect and still no sign of the Nazgûl. We are actually filming in an area that is not highly populated, so that we can see the creature in all its glory and put on a ‘true’ performance.

I believe the natives of the area call it, Amon Sûl or WeatherTop. Which is located at the southern end of the Weather Hills. Joe tells us these are ancient hills that were once crowned with a huge tower that was built by one of the natives called Elendil. He says the Nazgûl are mostly ‘Night faring creatures’ about the shape of a man, but much more deadly. They stalk in packs, and appear to be on the Endangered Species List. If that’s good or bad, we don’t know for sure. Joe says their history dates back thousands of years, to a lunatic of a man that wanted ‘special pets’ he corrupted them in a way. Talk about a warped Dr. Moreau! That is if you believe ancient myth.

We should count are blessings. A few days before we came out here, October the 3rd, there was a freak natural occurrence that was pretty close to WeatherTop. It appeared that lightening was coming from the ground up. We only hope that it didn’t scare off the Nazgûl. That would really put a damper on our documentary. Are sponsors would have blown a gasket.

We will be right back though!

-break to commercial-

It is now October 6th, and its our second day of nothing. But are spirits have not failed us yet. Joe believes that the Nazgûl will be around here. The natives say ‘Black Creatures are following their prey’ around this area. So hopefully we didn’t lug out all this camera equipment for nothing. Were going to do a double check to make sure everything is set-up properly, since its mid-afternoon we don’t suspect we will see any Nazgûl.

-A few hours Pass, while the camera only records round after round of ‘Thumb-Wars’ between Joe and Nigel.-

Well, it’s Nigel again, and it appears that a few travelers have come this way, and heading up towards the Hill. A weather-beaten man, and four small children. The natives call these ‘Hobbits’. Joe thinks the name is translated to ‘Hairy footed short people’ in their native tongue. It appears they have made camp on the hill, and are telling campfire stories. While we do believe in ‘Invasion of Privacy’ we will not report back to you exactly what they’re talking about. They appear to be spooked though.

- The cold increases as darkness comes on. The sky above has cleared again and is slowly filling in with twinkling stars.-

-Silence-

- The waxing moon has climbed slowly above the hill that overshadowed them, and the stars above the hill-top faded-

Its me, Nigel, again. And I think we have something this time. If you look very closer, you will see 3 or 4 black shaped Men looking down on the travelers on the hill, just outside of the light of the fire. Even from here, we can tell their appearance is commanding and indeed scary. The sure do have the travelers spooked, that’s for sure! Whoa, what a minute! Can you hear that?

-Silence-

- A faint hiss as of venomous breath and a thin piercing chill is felt and heard throughout the area-

Yes, folks, Joe confirms that these are the deadly Nazgûl, and that their trademark ‘hiss, screech’ can not be mistaken. This is remarkable! On, no, wait right there. It appears the Nazgûl are approaching on the travelers. I take that back, there are five tall figures! Two standing on the lip of the dell, three advancing. I can almost make out their faces. Whoaaaa, it looks like on their white faces, their eyes burn with a inner fuel! Wait, here they come, they are springing on one of the Hobbits! Remember that we always let Nature take its course, it is not our place to interfere and disrupt the balance.

-You can hear Joe chant, ‘Go Hobbit Go’. And Nigel hitting him in the back of the head.-

It appears that the hobbit as disappeared! What a defence mechanism, it appears he can burrow. It doesn’t seem that the Nazgûl are tricked though! What, a minute, it appears it has worked. It seems the Nazgûl are retreating. Well, that was quite an experience. We have finally filmed the Nazgûl in their natural habitat. Isn’t that right Hank?

-Silence-

-Break too commercial-

[ May 09, 2002: Message edited by: zifnab ]

[Nar]

Zifnab, that was great! I think they got Hank! Would getting taken by a Nazgul qualify as interfering in the natural order of things?
Lostgaeriel, Birdland, thanks! Lostgaeriel, Rinse the Blood off my Elf-Cloak was great!

[ May 13, 2002: Message edited by: Nar ]

[Lostgaeriel]

Holy Zarqon! uh, no I mean Aina Elbereth! Someone liked Rinse the Blood Off My Elf-Cloak!!! Thanks Nar!

I was afraid no one would even read it 'cause it was so LONG. I'm so happy that someone enjoyed it - besides me! It took many, many long hours - even with a copy-and-pasted transcript of the original W&S sketch to work from! I can die happy now.

[ May 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[*Varda*]

omg these are all so amazing! i won't add to it because i know i couldn't write anything even half as good as these but they're GREAT! smilies/eek.gif smilies/eek.gif smilies/biggrin.gif

[Estelyn Telcontar]

What if another Oxford professor had written „The Lord of the Rings“? Here is Lewis Carroll’s version:

(Interestingly, this is a parody of a parody – Carroll’s poem made fun of an older, quite serious and highly edifying one! smilies/wink.gif )

‘You are old, Uncle Bilbo,’ young Frodo said,
‘And your age should be showing by now;
Yet you look well-preserved besides being well-fed,
Just what is your secret, say how?’

‘In my youth,’ answered Bilbo, ‘I went down the road,
Hunting treasure with dwarves, that’s the thing!
And a trinket I won was worth more than the load,
Gollum’s precious came to me, the ring!’

‘You are old, Wizard Gandalf,’ said Frodo, ‘and wise,
And your beard is exceedingly long;
Yet you have quite a desperate look in your eyes –
Pray tell me, what is it that’s wrong?’

‘Is it safe?’ asked the wizard, ‘have you hidden it well?
Have you kept it secure from all harm?
For Gollum did Sauron of ‘Baggins, Shire’ tell,
The Council must hear the alarm.’

‘Lady Galadriel,’ said Frodo, ‘you are old, so they say
And are wearing a ring on your hand;
Your wisdom is great, and you’ve helped us today,
But your mirror I don’t understand.’

‘In my youth,’ sighed the Elf-Queen, ‘I misunderstood
And asked it: ‘Who’s fairest and best?’
But now that my granddaughter’s prettier than I,
I guess I will go to the West.’

‘You are ancient, o Ringwraith,’ young Frodo said,
‘And I fear you intend me no good,
Between shoulder and crown there existeth no head,
What is it that keeps up your hood?’

‘You impertinent hobbit, have you no respect?’
Said the Nazgûl, ‘now fear me and die!’
Yet Frodo and Samwise to Mt. Doom then trekked
And destroyed both the ring and the Eye!

[Birdland]

"Bravo, Estelyn Telcontar!"

(Alice and Diana stand and give a rousing round of applause for your recitation. The White Rabbit would have enjoyed it as well, but he was late and had to leave.)

Which brings to mind: I wonder what Tolkien thought of Lewis Carroll?

[ June 26, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[NazgulNumber10]

what about douglas adams who wrote the hickhiker's guide to the galaxy seires?
i'm too tired to write that now, so i'll leave you with this thought
Sam the mechanically depressed hobbit?
smilies/evil.gif

[Calencoire]

I'm just glad none of these authors wrote it JRRT is the best! I like the Dr. Suess one though. That was funny. smilies/biggrin.gif

[*Varda*]

There is already a Douglas Adams version a little further back in the thread. But don't let that put you off writing your own version!

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Fëar and Loathing in Minas Morgul by Hunter S. Thompson

We were somewhere around Cirith Ungol on the edge of the Black Land when the pipeweed began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should take the Ring..." And suddenly there was this terrible gurgling all around us and the dark was full of what looked like huge eyes, all swooping towards us, while our hearts were going about a hundred beats-per-minute, Hell-bent for Mordor. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Elbereth! What is that Eru-damned animal?"
Then it was quiet again. My valet was stumbling blindly "What in Angband are you yelling about?" he muttered, staring up at the dark with his eyes closed and covered with what felt like hanging growths. "Never mind," I said. "It's your turn to lead." I hit the brakes and steered myself to the edge of the passage. No point mentioning those eyes, I thought. The poor wight will see them soon enough.
It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They would be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to walk it out. Bearer registration for the destruction of the famous One Ring was already underway and we had to get there within twelve days to claim our ride from Gwaihir. A fashionable Elf-Lord in Imaldris had taken care of the reservations... and I was, after all, an amateur Ringbearer; so I had an obligation to destroy the Ring, for good or ill.

[Shadowstrife911]

Lord of the Rings by Monty Python
SCENE 1
[Enter the 9 Ringwraiths, Servants of Sauron in search of the One Ring]
[eerie music]
WITCH KING: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
GOLLUM: Nooo…who are yousss?
WITCH KING: We are the Nazgul, Servants of Sauron!
GOLLUM: No! Not the Nazgul, Servants of Sauron!
WITCH KING: The same!
GOLLUM: What issss it you wantsss ?…yes
WITCH KING: We are the Seekers of the One Ring of Power
GOLLUM: My precioussss, yesss…..
WITCH KING: Whats that?
GOLLUM: Whatsss isss what?
WITCH KING: Your precious. What is it you speak of?
GOLLUM: uhhh nothingsss.. yesss…
WITCH KING: Then you leave us no choice, we shall unleash the most powerful weapon of the Dark Lord, Sauron upon thee. [Witch King snaps his fingers]
8 RINGWRAITHS: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
GOLLUM: Noooo, sssstopss it!
WITCH KING: Out with it.
GOLLUM: Precioussss is ring.
WITCH KING: The One Ring ?
GOLLUM: Preciousss is one ring, not two!
WITCH KING: Where is it?
GOLLUM: I don not knowssss
WITCH KING: [begins to snap his fingers]
GOLLUM: Bagginsss! SsssshIre!!

[eerie music]
[The 9 Ringwraiths depart to the Shire]

[Iargwath]

Hehehe these are really good. Some of u guys are really talented writers. Keep up the great work. Im rather fond of the works of Alexandre Dumas...myb one of u guys could give that a shot.
Oh and the Jane Austen one is really really funny smilies/biggrin.gif

[Kaszul]

Dang!, someone got the the "Knights who say Ni!" before me. What the heck, here's my version anyway.


[spooky music]
[music stops]
Eomer: Rohan!
Riders of Rohan: Rohan! Rohan! Rohan! Rohan!
Aragorn: Who are you?
Eomer: We are the Riders of Rohan... 'Rohan'!
RANDOM: Rohan!
Aragorn: No! Not the Riders of Rohan!
Eomer: The same!
Gimli: Who are they?
Eomer: We are the horse lords, keepers of the Gap of Rohan!
RANDOM: Gap of Rohan!
Aragorn: Those who face them seldom live to tell the tale.
Eomer: The Riders of Rohan demand to know your buissness in our land.
Aragorn: Riders of Rohan, we are but simple travellers who seek the Orc horde who kidnapped our halfling friends.
Eomer: Rohan!
Riders of Rohan: Rohan! Rohan! Rohan! Rohan!
Aragorn: Ow! Ow! Ow! Agh!
Eomer: We shall say 'Rohan' again to you if you do not appease us.
Aragorn: Well, what is it you want?
Eomer: We want... a shrubbery!
[dramatic chord]
Aragorn: A what?
Riders of Rohan: Rohan! Rohan! Rohan! Rohan! Rohan!
Aragorn and Party: Ow! Oh!
Aragorn: Please! Please! No more! We will find you a shrubbery.
Eomer: You must return here with a shrubbery, or else, you will never pass through this gap... alive.
Aragorn: O Riders of Rohan, you are just and fair, and we will return with a shrubbery.
Eomer: One that looks nice.
Aragorn: Of course.
Eomer: And not too expensive.
Aragorn: Yes.
Eomer: Now... go!

I know the shrubbery part was a little uninventive, but I love that off the wall demand. smilies/biggrin.gif

[Lostgaeriel]

The Lord of the Rings— as originally written by J.R.R. Tolkien but with random scribblings by Douglas Adams added to the professor’s manuscript:

GANDALF: This is the Master-ring, the One Ring to rule them all. This is the One Ring that he lost many ages ago, to the great weakening of his power. He greatly desires it – but he must not get it.
FRODO: This ring! How, how on earth did it come to me?
GANDALF: Ah! That is a very long story. The beginnings lie back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember. If I were to tell you all that tale, we should still be sitting here when Spring had passed into Winter.
But last night I told you of Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord. The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor. That name even you hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories. Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.
FRODO: I wish it need not have happened in my time.
GANDALF: So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. And already, Frodo, our time is beginning to look black. Ah, well. Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. Drink up; the world is about to end.

[ October 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

Another version of The Lord of the Rings written as a radio play by Douglas Adams:

SAM: It’s no good, the Warg missiles are swinging round after us and gaining fast. We are quite definitely going to die.
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: Impact minus five seconds.
BOROMIR: Why doesn’t anyone turn on this One Ring Improbability Drive thing?
ARAGORN: Don’t be silly, you can’t do that.
BOROMIR: Why not? There’s nothing to lose at this stage.
ARAGORN: Does anyone know why Boromir can’t turn on the One Ring Improbability Drive?
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: Impact minus one second, it’s been great knowing you guys, Eru bless.
ARAGORN: I said does anyone know…
F/X: TREMENDOUS EXPLOSION, WHICH FAIRLY QUICKLY TRANSFORMS ITSELF INTO A LITTLE DRIBBLE OF FAIRLY LIGHT FILM MUSIC AND DIES AWAY
GANDALF: What the Udûn happened?
BOROMIR: Well, I was just saying, there’s this Ring, uh, switch here you see and…
GANDALF: Where are we Aragorn?
ARAGORN: Exactly where we were I think.
GANDALF: Then what’s happened to the Warg missiles?
GIMLI: Er, well according to this screen they’ve just turned into a bowl of elanor and a very surprised looking Balrog.
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: At an improbability factor of eight million, seven hundred and sixty seven thousand, one hundred and twenty eight to one against.
GANDALF: Did you think of that Man of Gondor?
BOROMIR: Well, all I did was…
GANDALF: That’s very good thinking, you know that? You just saved our lives.
BOROMIR: Oh it was nothing, really.
GANDALF: Oh was it? Well, forget it. OK Computer, take us in to land.
F/X: CHANGE OF NOTE IN ROCKET DRIVE
BOROMIR: Well, I say it was nothing…I mean obviously it was something, I was just trying to say it’s not worth making too much of a fuss about…I mean just saving everybody’s life…
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Another thing that no one made too much fuss about was the fact that against all probability, a Balrog had suddenly been called into existence some miles above the Misty Mountains. And since this is not a naturally tenable position for a Balrog, this innocent creature had very little time to come to terms with its identity as a Balrog before it had to come to terms with suddenly not being a Balrog anymore. This is what it thought as it fell.
F/X: POP AS OF BALROG SUDDENLY COMING INTO EXISTENCE SOME MILES ABOVE THE MISTY MOUNTAINS. INCREASING WIND
Ah! What’s happening? Er, excuse me, who am I? Hello? Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Calm down, get a grip now. Oh, this is an interesting sensation…what is it? It’s a sort of yawning tingling sensation in my…my…well I suppose I’d better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway in what for the sake of what I shall call an argument I shall call the world, so let’s call it my stomach. So…a yawning tingling sensation in my stomach. Good. Ooooh, it’s getting quite strong. And hey, what about this whistling roaring sound going past what I’m suddenly going to call my head? Head, that sounds good, yeah, head, good solid ring to it…and the whistling roaring sound, that can be wind…is that a good name? It’ll do…perhaps I can find a better name for it later when I’ve found out what it’s for, because there certainly seems to be an Udûn of a lot of it. Hey, what are these things, these…let’s call them wings…yeah, wings, hey I can really thrash them about pretty good can’t I? Wow. Wow. Hey. Don’t seem to achieve much but I’ll probably find out what they’re for later on. Now—have I built up any coherent picture of things yet? No. Oh. Hey, this is really exciting, so much to find out about, so much to look forward to, I’m quite dizzy with anticipation…or is it the wind? Hey, there really is a lot of that now isn’t there? And wow, what’s this thing suddenly coming towards me very fast? Very very fast…so big and flat and wide it needs a big wide sounding word…like round…round…ground! That’s it, ground! I wonder if it will be friends with me?
F/X: SOUND OF BALROG HITTING THE GROUND AT SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES PER HOUR
(Pause)
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
Curiously enough the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of elanor as it fell was ‘Oh no, not again’. Many people have speculated if we knew exactly why the bowl of elanor had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now.
Meanwhile, the Fellow-ship, ‘Ring of Gold’ has landed on the surface of Middle-earth—at the Sirannon, and Sam is about to make one of the most important statements of his life. Its importance is not immediately recognised by his companions.
SAM: Hey, my pony has escaped.
GANDALF: Nuts to your pony.
NARRATOR: It is possible that Sam’s observation would have commanded greater attention had it been generally realized that the free peoples were only the third most intelligent life forms in Middle-earth instead of as was generally thought by most independent observers, the second.
GANDALF: (Very efficiently) OK, run atmospheric checks on the Mines of Moria.
F/X FLURRY OF VERY FAST COMPUTER VOICES RINGING AROUND THE SHIP IN WONDERFUL STEREO, REELING OFF MOSTLY LISTS OF INCOMPREHENSIBLE NUMBERS: A FEW RECOGNISABLE WORDS LIKE ATMOSPHERIC COMPOSITION, OXYGEN, NITROGEN, CARBON DIOXIDE, ORC BREATH, GOBLIN GAS, TROLL TOXINS, ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE, GRAVITATIONAL ANOMALIES, ETC.
(Meanwhile the others continue talking)
ARAGORN: Are we taking this hobbit-robot?
FRODO: (Dejectedly) Don’t feel you have to take any notice of me please.
GANDALF: Oh, Frodo the Paranoid Ringbearer, yeah, we’ll take him.
BOROMIR: What are you supposed to do with a manically depressed hobbot?
FRODO: You think you’ve got problems. What are you supposed to do if you are a manically depressed hobbot? No, don’t try and answer that, I’m fifty thousand times more intelligent than you and even I don’t know the answer. It gives me a headache just trying to think down to your level.
F/X ALL THE COMPUTER VOICES SUDDENLY STOP TOGETHER
GANDALF: Well? What’s the result?
VOICES: (All together) It’s OK but it smells a bit.
GANDALF: OK everybody, let’s go.
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: (His voice has undergone a radical change and now sounds like a prep school matron) Good afternoon boys.
SAM: What’s that?
GANDALF: Oh. That’s the computer. I discovered it had an emergency back-up personality which I thought might be marginally preferable.
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: Now, this is going to be your first day in the Mines of Moria, so I want you all wrapped up snug and warm and no playing with any naughty bug-eyed goblins.
GIMLI: I think we’d be better off with a slide rule.
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: Right, who said that?
GANDALF: Will you open up the exit hatch please, computer?
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: Not until whoever said that owns up.
ARAGORN: Oh Ilúvatar.
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: Come on.
GANDALF: Computer…
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: I’m waiting. I can wait all day if necessary.
GIMLI: Computer, if you don’t open that exit hatch this moment I shall go straight to your major data banks with a very large axe and give you a reprogramming you’ll never forget, is that clear?
(Pause)
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: I can see this relationship is something we’re all going to have to work at.
F/X EXIT HATCH OPENS. FAINT SOUND OF WIND
GANDALF: Thank you, let’s go.
F/X: THEY EXIT
LEGOLAS the SHIPBOARD COMPUTER: It’ll all end in tears, I know it.
F/X: HATCH CLOSES LEAVING TOTAL SILENCE. WIND
GRAMS: PINK FLOYD ‘SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND’ INTRO. FROM THE ALBUM ‘WISH YOU WERE HERE’
(They all have to shout into the wind)
SAM: It’s fantastic!
ARAGORN: Desolate hole if you ask me.
PIPPIN: It’s bloody cold. It all looks so stark and dreary.
SAM: I think it’s absolutely fantastic!…It’s only just getting through to me…a whole alien country, hundreds of miles from home. Pity it’s such a dump though. Where’s Gandalf?
GANDALF: (Calling from a distance) Hey! Just beyond this lake you can see the remains of the ancient city of Khazad-dûm.
ARAGORN: What does it look like?
GANDALF: Bit of a dump. Come on over. Oh and watch out for all the bits of Balrog-meat.
GRAMS: THEY ARE ALL WALKING OFF AND THEIR VOICES FADE, WITH THE MUSIC
SAM: Do you realize that hobbot can hum like Pink Floyd? What else can you do Frodo?
FRODO: Rock and roll?
F/X & GRAMS: AS THEY FADE INTO THE DISTANCE THE PINK FLOYD MUSIC CHANGES ABRUPTLY INTO ‘ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC’ BY THE FAB FOUR WITH JUST A SLIGHT ELECTRONIC DISTORT AND ECHO TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT THE HOBBOT IS IN FACT SINGING IT
SAM: I wish I knew where my pony was.
GANDALF: (Approaching) OK, I’ve found a way in.
PIPPIN: In? In what?
GANDALF: Down to the interior of the mountains – that’s where we have to go. Where no Dwarf has trod these twenty-five years, into the very depths of time itself…
PIPPIN: You mean the shallows of time, don’t you?
GRAMS: THEME MUSIC FROM 2001 (ALSO SPRACH ZARATHUSTRA) HAS BEEN BUILDING UP UNDER THIS AND NOW REACHES A CLIMAX
GANDALF: Can it, Frodo.
GRAMS: 2001 THEME STOPS ABRUPTLY
PIPPIN: Why underground?
GANDALF: Well according to the legends the Dwarves lived most of their lives underground.
MERRY: Why, did the surface become too polluted or overpopulated?
GANDALF: No, I think they just didn’t like it very much.
BOROMIR: Gandalf, are you sure you know what you’re doing? We’ve been attacked three times already you know.
GANDALF: Look, I promise you, the live population of this region is nil plus the seven of us.
SAM: And one pony.
GANDALF: And one pony if you insist.
ARAGORN: Come on, let’s go if we’re going.
GANDALF: Er, hey, Halfling …
SAM: Samwise.
GANDALF: Could you sort of keep the hobbot with you and guard this end of the passageway, OK?
SAM: Guard, what from? You just said there’s no one here.
GANDALF: Yeah, well just for safety OK?
SAM: Whose? Yours or mine?
GANDALF: Good lad. OK, here we go.
MERRY: Any idea what these strange symbols on the West Gate are, Gandalf?
GANDALF: I think they’re probably just strange symbols of some kind.
F/X: THEY SET OFF AGAIN. THE SOUND PICTURE STAYS WITH THEM SO THAT SAM’S LINE AND FRODO’S LINE SOUND SLIGHTLY FURTHER AWAY THIS TIME
SAM: Well I hope you all have a really miserable time.
FRODO: Don’t worry, they will.
F/X: DROP THE WIND SOUND AS THEY ENTER TUNNEL. SLIGHTLY EERIE BUT TINKLY MUSIC IN BACKGROUND…HEAVY SUBWAY ECHO
PIPPIN: This is really spooky.
MERRY: Look at all these galleries of bones, broken swords and axe-heads, cloven shields and helms just lying about…does anyone know what happened to this place in the end? Why did Balin’s folk die out?
GANDALF: Something to do I suppose.
SAM: Shine the torch over here.
GANDALF: Where, here?
SAM: Well, we aren’t the first beings to go down this corridor in twenty five years then.
GANDALF: What do you mean?
SAM: Look, fresh pony droppings.
GANDALF: Oh, your bloody pony.

[ October 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[ October 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Nar]

smilies/biggrin.gif That was brilliant, Lostgaeriel! The poor Balrog! 'I wonder if it will be friends with me?' *sniff!* O Balrog, Balrog, I knew your wings were ornamental! And Frodo the depressed Hobbot! And the pony, currently the most intelligent life form in the universe!

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Yes indeed, Lostgaeriel! This thread is one of my all-time favorites, and to see it revived with such a fantastic contribution makes my day! Pure enjoyment - thank you!

[TolkienGurl]

These are so awesome! http://smilies.uniquehardware.co.uk/contrib/edoom/bounce.gif

[Lindril Arvilya]

After thinking "why hasn't anyone done..." I decided to roll up my sleeves and do it myself.
"Frodo Baggins and the Prisoner of Angmar" by J.K. Rowling (with help from Lindril Arvilya)

Frodo opened his eyes. There were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking. Sam and Merry were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Pippin and Gandalf watching. Frodo felt very sick; when he put his hand up to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face.
Sam and Merry heaved him back onto his seat.
'Are you OK?' Sam asked nervously.
'Yeah,' said Frodo, looking quickly towards the door. The hooded creature had vanished. 'What happened? Where's that - that thing? Who screamed?'
'No one screamed,' said Sam, more nervously still.
Frodo looked around the bright compartment. Fatty and Pippin looked back at him, both very pale.
'But I heard screaming-'
A loud snap made them all jump. Gandalf was breaking an enormous slab of lembas into pieces.
'Here,' he said to Frodo, handing him a particularily large piece. 'Eat it. It'll help.'
Frodo took the lembas but didn't eat it.
'What was that thing?' he asked Gandalf.
'A Nazgûl,' said Gandalf, who was now giving lembas to everyone else. 'One of the Nazgûl of Angmar.'
Everyone stared at him. Gandalf crumpled up the empty lembas wrapper and put it in his pocket.
****************************
Ok, I admit it, I do like Harry Potter. Not as much as LotR, though. Otherwise I'd be doing "Lord of the Muggles" or something.

[Diamond18]

Warning, this is very long. (Still read it though, please?)

"The Lord of the Rings" by Mary Shelley (author of "Frankenstein").

I am by birth a Bucklander, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that Farthing. But upon the death of my excellent and noble parents (of whose virtues are more numerous than the stars in the sky) I came to live with my dear and eccentric cousin Bilbo. This venerable old Hobbit seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. I was his friend and his "nephew", and something better—his heir, an innocent and helpless creature adopted by him, whom to bring up good, and whose future lot it was in his hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as he fulfilled his duty towards the being which he had adopted.

Thus I passed many long and happy years at Bag-end, knowing nothing but security, love, and feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity. I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of those tween years, before misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, in drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery, for when I would account to myself for the finding of that Ring, which afterwards ruled my destiny I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.

When I had attainted the age of 33, my dear Bilbo bequeathed to me all his possessions, and took his leave of our fair and verdant land. Among these items was a tiny bauble, a Ring. A small, petty, insignificant thing. Cursed be the day I laid eyes on it! Oh unhappy source of all my troubles!

Unhappy, miserable creature am I! Oh, misery! Loathing! Torture! I cannot describe to you the uttermost depths to which my soul has been plunged. Life holds no joy for me, I am a broken and ruined Hobbit. Misery and agony are my constant companions, despondency and grief my only friends! My life is a melancholy tale of wretchedness and woe. No felicity or ease can I take from my miserable, miserable existence! I curse the sky, I curse the moon, I curse the rug in my bedroom!

My dear Samwise...my poor dear Samwise. Samwise had always been my favorite companion in the rambles of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my native country. In Samwise I saw the image of my former self; he was simple yet anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference in cultures and creatures which he observed were to him an inexhaustible source of instruction and amusement. Ah, who could forget his astonishment, terror and lasting delight upon seeing the Oliphaunt?

And yet he is dead! Throttled! Strangled! Choked! Suffocated! Asphyxiated! By that foul, wretched Creature...the Creature Gollum! That loathsome monster! Wretch! Devil! Abhorred fiend! Foul Dwimmerlaik! Oh, no mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch! Mingled with this horror, I feel the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space are now become a hell to me; and the change so rapid, the overthrow so complete! Wretched, despicable, loathsome, hideous wretch!

Misery and anguish, torment and torture! Why did I not die? More miserable than Hobbit ever was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming children, the only hopes of their doting parents, how many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist so many shocks, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture! Curse this mithril coat...

As I stood at the Cracks of Doom, I suddenly beheld the Creature advancing towards me with superhobbit speed. He approached, his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost too horrible for Hobbit eyes. But I scarcely observed this; rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious detestation and contempt.

"Devil," I exclaimed, "do you dare approach me? And do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my sword wreaked upon your miserable head? Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay that I may trample you to the dust! And, oh! That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore to myself that happy past which is now but a memory!"

He replied, "It’s always about you, isn’t it, Frodo?"

The Un-Happy and Miserable End

[Nar]

Dear dear oh dear ... great last line!!! smilies/biggrin.gif

*sniff* poor Sam! Can't decide who I'm sorrier for, the very surprised Balrog from Lostgaeriel's or your throttled Sam ... they're both so innocently appealing!

[Kalimac]

Diamond - that was FANTASTIC! (sound of thunderous applause) smilies/smile.gif. I almost had a flashback to when I was trudging through "Frankenstein" in high school...oh lord...

Another effort (this one's a little long too).

LORD OF THE RINGS, by H.P. Lovecraft (surely people still remember him?)

THE HOBBITON HORROR

When a traveller in the West Farthing takes the wrong fork in the path at Crickhollow, just beyond the Village of Bree, he comes upon a lonely a curious country. Scattered, sparse and lonely houses built beneath the earth are the sole mark of living habitation in this desolate place, and somehow the traveller hesitates to ask directions of the surly and seldom-seen figures who populate this dreary landscape. Gnarled and small they are, with an abundance of a coarse, degenerate hair, and smaller than other men, and furtive and skilled at disappearing. Fields are many, but signs of health and cultivation are few. It is always with a sensation of relief that the traveller finds the signpost marking the end of the region and returns to friendlier haunts. Sometimes, afterwards, he learns that he has been to Hobbiton.

Outsiders now seldom visit Hobbiton. Since a certain season of horror all talk of Hobbiton has been whispered, all signs pointing in its direction have been taken down. Men and Elves alike shun it without knowing wherefore they do so. In the Third Age, when legend was not mocked, reasons were customarily given for this, but in our sensible age they can only say that they do not wish to go to so evil-seeming a place, a blasted shell of a village whose natives have become little better than degenerates.

*******************************

It was at 5 AM on the morning of 27th February, sixty years ago now, that Frodo Baggins was born. This date was remembered because at the hour of his birth, all the dogs began howling throughout the Four Farthings, and several alarums were sounded, though none could discover their source. His mother was Primula Brandybuck, a strange and, some said, little better than an idiot. Her husband was Drogo Baggins, a stranger to his wife's native Brandy Hall, and from whence he came none could say.

Their child proved prodigiously clever, and indeed took great delight in all that was cruel and malicious. It is said that he early - early! - discovered that Book which his half-mad hermit of an uncle, Old Bilbo Baggins, kept hidden fearfully - the Necronomicon, that grim collection of writings by the mad Arab Abdul Al-Sauron. Little doubt there is that the young Frodo - an unattractive, pale, and lumpish boy - studied keenly the ravings of the mad Al-Sauron, and soon learned many secrets of which we yet know nothing. No doubt there is that Drogo and Primula Baggins died by water before their precocious child's twelfth birthday. Now he was taken to live with Old Bilbo, shunned and feared by the town of Hobbiton, and could study the secrets of the Necronomicon to his heart's fullness.

All this was known. And yet it was whispered that stranger things still were concealed by the dark hole of Bag End in which Old Baggins and his silent, dull-eyed nephew lived. Whispers grew of a - thing - an object of some kind, so men say - which they found by the vile sorceries of Al-Sauron, and which they worshiped with a fear only matched by their burning delight in subsuming their souls to the workings of Al-Sauron. None knew what this would be, but rumor spread slowly that this thing was called "Precious."

[Diamond18]

smilies/smile.gif Very funny! smilies/smile.gif I don't really know who H.P. Lovecraft is, but those descriptions of Blibo and Frodo are priceless!

Edit: Wow, not only did I not know who Lovecraft was, but I didn't even bother to Google or Wiki or whatever it was that people did in 2002 to find out information. What makes this worse is that I worked in a library at the time.

[Kalimac]

Diamond - H.P. Lovecraft was a horror-story/scifi writer who wrote about 10 million short stories in the 20s and 30s, all of them with titles like "The Dunwich Horror" "The Lurking Fear" "The Dreams of the Witch-House" and similar. Mostly they involve characters who are either fatally tainted by some "degeneracy" in their family tree, or who have friends who are tainted. They're definitely fascinating reads, but you
have to be in a certain mood. It's probably not a good sign if your significant other has a shelf lined with Lovecraft books, let's put it that way.

LORD OF THE RINGS by HAROLD PINTER

"The Last to Go"

[scene opens with an elderly Samwise Gamgee sitting in the Green Dragon. Only other character there is a hobbit Bartender (Hob)].

SAM: Oy, Hob. Another beer.

HOB: Aright. Delving or Eastfarthing?

SAM: Eastfarthing.

HOB: [hands him the beer, turns back to dusting bottles, which are far more interesting in his opinion].

SAM: Have a good day?

HOB: Good as any other. Same as ever.

SAM: That's how it is since Rosie died. Get up, garden, see the grandchildren...at least I think I see them.

[pause. Hob doesn't say anything]

SAM: I don't see my grandchildren. I don't see them. Little Fairbairns and Gardners. My kids, they don't remember their old Dad. They've moved away. Tom was the last to go.

HOB: Eh.

SAM: I used to wonder which one would be the last to go. Only little Bilbo and Tom and Ruby left now, I'd think. Which one'll be the last to go? Some days I'd bet with myself, it'd be Ruby. Other days I thought Bilbo. Sometimes Tom.

[pause]

SAM: It was Tom. He was the last to go. He went today.

HOB: [looks glum]

SAM: Some o'that Miruvor brand beer, if you like.

HOB: [hands it over]

SAM: Ah! Nothing like the real stuff. You know, I still play that game sometimes o'nights.

[pause]

SAM: Except it's not the kids anymore. It's the friends. The Fellowship.

HOB: Fellowship?

SAM: Ancient history. Back in the day, we were young and adventurous, nobody'd believe what I went through - [stops, as Hob is obviously not listening. Instead he's bending down behind the counter and lighting a pipe].

SAM: Anyways, Frodo and Gandalf went first. Boromir before any o'them. And now I've been wondering, who'll be the last to go? Elessar, maybe.

SAM: But maybe not. He's a deal of life left in him. Merry? Pip? Nay, they'll go toget

[Gwaihir the Windlord]

It doesn't matter who it was written by, as long as they wrote like Tolkien did. He was just the one who was able to, that's all. Could have been someone else.

[Diamond18]

Everyone is a unique individual, so no one can write exactly like someone else. Only Tolkien could write Tolkien. Others can copy, but only because Tolkien already wrote it in the first place. Same goes with all these spoofs. I could never have written that Mary Shelley spoof by myself. I used my copy of "Frankenstein." (Good lord, I wouldn't want anyone to think that grammar was mine!)

That aside, you're missing the point of this thread. The point being humor. It's supposed to be funny.

[Diamond18]

So! For more humor:

"The Lord of the Rings" by Herman Melville (author of "Moby Dic.k")

Call me Legolas. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no arrows in my quiver, and nothing particular to interest me in Middle-earth, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of Arda. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I feel myself involuntarily pausing before the gravesites of Men, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately crouching in the bushes, and methodically shooting people with arrows—then, I account it high time to get to Sea as soon as I can. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all Elves in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same longings toward the ocean as me.

This opening paragraph would be followed by chapters of detailed instructions on how to:

Make Rings of Power
Forge Special Swords
Re-forge Special Swords
Bake Lembas
Weave Rope Out of Hithlain
Plus
Directions on the Finer Points of Archery
And
Building Your Own Boat to Sail to Valinor

[Nar]

Great, Kalimac! I knew there was something fishy about that queer Hobbiton place! It's probably not a good sign if your significant other has a shelf lined with Lovecraft books, let's put it that way. Uh-oh. Guilty. The titles alone... 'The colour out of Space'! 'The rats in the walls'! Just who or what was 'Pitman's model', anyway? Favorite phrase: 'From the cold mad spaces between the stars!' Your Pinter's scarier though. Poor Sam. Care to take a crack at Merry and Pippin in 'Waiting for Frodo' by Samuel Beckett? Or did someone already do that?

Diamond, I loved that picture of Legolas battling his impulse to skulk in the bushes shooting at people with arrows! Including chapters on both 'Forging' and 'Re-forging special swords' was beautiful.

[ November 14, 2002: Message edited by: Nar ]

[Nevfeniel]

Okay, I went through this thread and although there are a few Monty Python versions, I don't think this scene has been done yet. Believe it or not, I found an actual Monty Python excerpt in my English Textbook! That's a very odd place for it to be, isn't it? Anyways, on with the humor!
Sam: Look, Aragorn!
Aragorn: Rivendell!
Frodo: Rivendell!
Sam: Rivendell!
Pippin: It's only a model.
Aragorn: Shh! Hobbits, I bid you welcome to the Last Homely House. Let us ride to Rivendell!
Elves (singing)
We're the elves of Rivendell,
We sing and dance real well.
We keep Narsil of Elendil
And we never have bad smells.
We dress well here in Rivendell,
Our clothes and shoes are really swell!

I would add more, but I can't think of anything else that rhymes with Rivendell. Maybe later I'll do Gondor, or Hobbiton. That would be fun. smilies/biggrin.gif

[ November 15, 2002: Message edited by: Nevfeniel ]

[Gwaihir the Windlord]

Anyway, you're missing the point of this thread. The point being humour...

The dangers of passing through and posting without actually reading anyone's posts... I'm going to have to stop doing that.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

If you like these LotR parodies, you might want to check out the Downs' first parody RPG, The Revenge of the Entish Bow (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=21&t=000010)! Enjoy reading!

[ January 13, 2003: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Balin999]

I can assure you guys that Estelyns German one is really great!
Many compliments on that!
I wish I could do sth like this.

[Rumil]

Nefveniel -
smilies/smile.gif
-let us leave Rivendell for it is a silly place'

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

LoTR by Lemony Snicket

As Sam crept around desperately trying to find Frodo, he thought about the argument between Shagrat and Gorbag that he had overheard. He felt certain they must have been quarreling over Frodo and the “spoil”. “Spoil” here does not mean to leave something on the kitchen counter until it doesn’t look or smell anything like it should. And it doesn’t mean to pamper. “Spoil” in this instance means something that Frodo might be carrying that someone else might think of as valuable, such as an unopened pack of trading cards, dental floss, precious jewelry or mithril chain mail.

He also remembered the day the Gaffer retired leaving him to take over the garden at Bag-end. “It is your responsibility now, Sam, to look after Mr. Baggins,” the Gaffer had said kindly but firmly. Even though the Dark Lord was of course the cause of all this misery, Sam felt as if he had broken his promise, and vowed to make it right.

Sam disappeared into the shadowy entrance to the tower. He had very few materials at hand to make a rescuing device, but didn’t want to risk arousing attention by wandering around. Above the doorway was a study metal curtain rod, which he took down. Using a rock he broke it into two pieces. He then bent each piece of the rod into several sharp angles, leaving tiny cuts on his hands as he did so. Sam took down a painting of The Eye. On the back of the painting, as on the back of many paintings was a small piece of wire to hang on a hook. He removed the wire and used it to connect the two pieces together. Sam had made what looked like a large metal spider.

Working quickly and quietly he began tearing the curtains into long narrow strips and to tie these strips together. Among Sam’s many useful skills was a vast knowledge of different types of knots. The particular knot he was using was called the Devil’s Tongue. A group of female Umbar pirates invented it back in the fifteenth century, and named it the Devil’s Tongue because it twisted this way and that, in a most complicated and eerie way. The Devil’s Tongue was a very useful knot, and when he was done he had formed a sort of rope. He tied one end of it to the metal spider, and looked at his handiwork. What he made is called a grappling hook, which is used for climbing up the sides of buildings, usually for a nefarious purpose.

[Diamond18]

*giggle* Thank you for the different definitions of "spoil". smilies/biggrin.gif

I swear, this thread is funnier than the whole of Middle-earth Mayhem combined! I mean, with the link to REB and everything... smilies/wink.gif

[Aldaron]

Well done, everyone. I've been away for quite a while and this was a delightful way to re-enter.

Aldaron

[Lostgaeriel]

Thanks Hilde for that. Until now I had been blissfully unaware of Mr. Snicket's existence.

But I must say that now I'll picture Sam as MacGyver! (Richard Dean Anderson before Stargate SG-1.)

[Lokilath]

I believe that the "Bagenders" segment might be referring to James Joyce's Dubliners.

This thread is excellent fun!
Cheers, all!

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Yes, MacGyver did cross my mind, kind of amusing to think Snicket's MacGyver is not a hobbit but a young orphan girl named Violet!

shameless plug for Lemony Snicket's website (http://www.lemonysnicket.com)

[ March 08, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Guinevere]

Hey, this was really great fun to read!
How come I haven't come across this earlier? Thank you Estelyn, for putting this thread again to the top!

Of course I can only appreciate those parodies whose authors I have read and know their style.
I liked the Jane Austen one especially!

Dear Estelyn, here comes at last another German-speaking reader who can appreciate your brilliant version of "Der Erlkönig" by Goethe!
I know the poem and the Schubert-song very well indeed, I even have the music (piano accompaniment) in my book of Schubert songs (I've been trying to play it, but it's beyond my skill, I'm afraid) Do I guess rightly if I assume that you're playing the piano as well?

Anyway, your parody is really well written (your German must be very good if you can write poetry in German!) My compliments!

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Thanks for the compliment, Guinevere - I'm delighted that a few people at least can read and appreciate that poem parody! Yes, I do play piano, and used to accompany that song; however, I recently tried again and found that it would take some practicing to be able to play it well now - it's been awhile! As to writing in German, I often find it easier to do than in English, since my daily life takes place in German. I am very happy to have two languages to enjoy and use.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Estelyn, since you have a wonderful command of English, I only wish that I could read German as well!

[Elanor]

Thank you Guinevere, for saying you like my Austen version. I'd forgotten all about this thread, I've just spent a very pleasant time rereading the entries. What a talented lot of people frequent the Downs! smilies/smile.gif

[Niluial]

Ha ha ha ... "rolls on flour laughing and laughing*, she stops breathing and her face turns red.... he he he that was so funny all of the stories! Yikes, that makes me think, I am glad JRR Tolkien wrote LOTR, I am REALLY glad..

[GaladrieloftheOlden]

I love the Gene Rodenberry ones!

[Eutychus]

Dear Barrow-Downers, (is that right?)

I am the webmaster of a LOTR site, "What if The Lord of the Rings had been written by someone else..." (http://www.teemings.com/extras/lotr/index.html). The project started as a thread over at the Straight Dope Message Board which ran onto about 40 or so pages, so we decided to index it for easier reading on the sister site, "Teemings." (http://www.teemings.com)

It came to my attention this morning that one of the posters there had plagerized some of the entries on this thread. Consequently, when we moved them over to the Teemings site they were attributed to the person there and not to the correct author who originally posted them over here.

Firstly I would like to offer my humble apologies for having this happen. I am currently fixing the attributions on my site and have alerted the administrators on the other MB about the plagerization.

However, since the door has been figuratively opened to a few of these posts being reprinted over there I'm wondering if anyone would have any objection to adding the wonderful posts here to the site there as well?

If anyone would like to talk to me about this privately, my e-mail is Eutychus55@cox.net.

Thanks, and once again, my most sincerest apologies.

[The Barrow-Wight]

Eutychus,

I am the chief Wight over here, and I appreciate you taking the time to give credit to the original authors of those excellent parodies. I also thank you for your kind post of explanation. As for the parodies that you find here, I think it would be great if you included them in your collection with that dandy little 1.

Unfortunately, now that I've found your collection, I have no more time to continue this post as I am too busy reading the nearly 500 entries on your list smilies/smile.gif

[Mister Underhill]

Eutychus, since you're setting the record straight, looks like Fingolfin nipped my Hemingway and Mark Twain entries as well. Thanks for the heads-up.

It's hardly a matter to get steamed about, though, since these entries are virtually all shamelessly cribbed from the original authors anyhow. ;)

[ 8:05 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Mister Underhill ]

[Kalimac]

Eutychus, thank you. Feel free to put up any of my parodies that you want - my Tom Wolfe parody was nabbed by the Straight Dope poster, but if you want the others, feel free. (Odd that the Wolfe one was picked, since IMO it's the weakest one I did. Ah well, the ways of the internet are inscrutable).

Mister Underhill - you know, you're right. I doubt our feelings are anything at all compared to the horror of the original authors smilies/smile.gif.

[Eutychus]

Thanks again for everyone's kindness and understanding. I think I've got all of them changed now, but if anyone sees any others be sure to drop me a line. I will be adding the entries here to the site but I've still got about 20 more pages to put up from OUR site, so please be patient.

[Kransha]

Here's some styles unmentioned

The Bible! (as a mighty reader of all literature, I HAVE READ THIS)
The Book of Stewards: 5:16
And Denethor was begotten, and with Finduilas he begot Faramir, who with Eowyn begot Elboron, and Elboron begot Baragir. And Denethor, upon that of Faramir, begot Boromir. And Boromir to Rivendell went while Faramir begot some people. And Sauron smote down Elendil from the rock and fought with him a fight. And Elendil fell and begot Isildur after falling. And Isildur chained Sauron and thrust him into the Land of a Thousand Lemurs! But Isildur took the ring of the begot of the begotten of Sauron as Sauron begot Morgoth who actually begot him. And Isildur was smitten by the begotten hordes of darkness and fell, sacrificing his father and brother and some guy, and then the orcs killed all the first-born hobbits who retaliated with hobbit plaques to smite the orcs! And they all got smitten by various plagues!

and.......
Teletubbies!

Deagol: Smeagol, Oog!

Smeagol: Oogieeeeee!

Deagol: Oogie Boogie *dives into lake*

Smeagol: Daegol doogie?

Deagol: *surfacing with One Ring* WOOOOO

Smeagol: Wooo goog limi nimi?

Deagol: Noogie

Smeagol: Me wantie!

Deagol: *hoarding* Nooogo no no

Smeagol: Birthdoogiday!

Deagol: Oh, please SHUT UP!

*The two fight, Smeagol wins*

Deagol: Doogie moogie boogie dead *dies*

Smeagol: *looking at Ring* Gaa.....Gaa-gum....Gaaa-lummm.....Gaalumm....Gollum! *dances with Deagol's corpse*

Boromir: BOOOOOGIE!! *begins disco dancing*

Wow, that last one really was a travesty.

[Son of Númenor]

And Denethor was begotten, and with Finduilas he begot Faramir, who with Eowyn begot Elboron, and Elboron begot Baragir. And Denethor, upon that of Faramir, begot Boromir. And Boromir to Rivendell went while Faramir begot some people. And Sauron smote down Elendil from the rock and fought with him a fight. And Elendil fell and begot Isildur after falling. And Isildur chained Sauron and thrust him into the Land of a Thousand Lemurs! But Isildur took the ring of the begot of the begotten of Sauron as Sauron begot Morgoth who actually begot him. And Isildur was smitten by the begotten hordes of darkness and fell, sacrificing his father and brother and some guy, and then the orcs killed all the first-born hobbits who retaliated with hobbit plaques to smite the orcs! And they all got smitten by various plagues! Kransha, that sounds eerily similar to
The sons of Hador were Galdor and Gundor; and the sons of Galdor were Húrin and Huor; and the son of Húrin was Túrin the Bane of Glaurung; and the son of Huor was Tuor, father of Eärendil the Blessed. The son of Boromir was Bregor, whose sons were Bregolas and Barahir; and the sons of Bregolas were Baragund and Belegund. The daughter of Baragund was Morwen, the mother of Túrin, and the daughter of Belegund was Rían, the mother of Tuor. But the son of Barahir was Beren One-hand, who won the love of Lúthien Thingol's daughter, and returned from the Dead; from them came Elwing the wife of Eärendil, and all the Kings of Númenor after" (The Silmarillion, "Of the Coming of Men Into the West", 173).except for the former's extensive smiting.

This could be an excerpt from T.S. Eliot's The Lord of the Rings:

Where is the tower over the mountains
Cracks of Doom, fire streaks the smoggy air
Falling tower
Bree Imladris Moria
Morgul Orodruin
Unreal

[Rimbaud]

I know, I know. But still:

Fade in, BILBO is writing. We see his words on the page over his shoulder.


"At times one remains faithful to a Ring only because its opponents do not cease to be insipid," mumbled Gandalf moodily.

Gimli glared at him. "Oh, how tired I am of insufficiency!"

Shot moves to BILBO, talking to himself.

"It is my ambition to say in ten sentences; what others say in a whole book. "


Etc. It would have been great.

[Mister Underhill]

LotR by RAYMOND CHANDLER

An excerpt from a tale of that world-weary, hard-boiled private investigator, Philip Frodo.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Book I - Chapter 13

I drove south from Overhill but I didn’t go home. At the East Road I turned east and swung out past Frogmorton, Whitfurrows, and Stock. There was nothing lonely about the trip. There never is on that road. Fast lads in stripped down buggies shot in and out of traffic streams, missing the bigger wagons by a sixteenth of an inch, but somehow always missing them. Tired Hobbits in dusty carts and carriages winced and tightened their grip on the reins and ploughed south and east towards home and dinner, an evening with the family genealogical charts, the barking of their flea-ridden dogs, the whining of their spoiled children and the gabble of their silly wives.

Behind the Bucklebury Ferry an occasional light winked from the hills. The holes of the high-class Hobbits. High-class Hobbits, phooey. The veterans of a thousand scandals. Hold it, Frodo, you’re not a Hobbit tonight.

The air got cooler. The highway narrowed. I ate dinner at a place near Rushy. Bad but quick. Feed ‘em and throw ‘em out. Lots of business. We can’t bother with you sitting over your second cup of coffee, mister. You’re using money space. See those Hobbits over there behind the rope? They want to eat. Anyway, they think they have to. Eru knows why they want to eat here. They could do better at home out of the back of the larder. They’re just restless. Like you. They have to get the wagon out and go somewhere. Sucker-bait for the racketeers that have taken over the inns. Here we go again. You’re not a Hobbit tonight, Frodo.

All right. Why would I be? I’m sitting in that Hobbit-hole, playing with a dead fly and in pops this dowdy little item from Bree and chisels me down to a shop-worn silver penny to find her brother. He sounds like a creep but she wants to find him. So with this fortune clasped to my chest, I trundle down to Bywater and the routine I go through is so tired I’m half asleep on my feet. I meet nice people, with and without daggers in their necks. I leave, and I leave myself wide-open too. Then she comes in and takes the silver penny away from me and gives me a kiss and gives it back to me because I didn’t do a full day’s work.

So I go see Aragorn son of Arathorn, retired (and how) Ranger from Lothlórien, and meet again the new style in neckwear. And I don’t tell the Shirriffs. I just frisk the customer’s toupee and put on an act. Why? Who am I cutting my throat for this time? A blonde with sexy foot-hair and too many door keys? A lass from Bree? I don’t know. All I know is that something isn’t what it seems and the old tired but always reliable hunch tells me that if the hand is played the way it is dealt the wrong person is going to lose the pot. Is that my business? Well, what is my business? Do I know? Did I ever know? Let’s not go into that. You’re not a Hobbit tonight, Frodo. Maybe I never was or ever will be. Maybe I’m an orc-spawn with a private license. Maybe we all get like this in the cold half-lit world where always the wrong thing happens and never the right.

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Thanks for that glimpse of a more cynical and hard-bitten Frodo, Underhill. It now remains to be seen only how JRRT would have handled sardonic detective fiction.

Earlier on, a Middle-earth version of Blackadder was mooted. It is now possible through the magic of satire to reveal what Messrs. Curtis and Elton would have made of the great War of the Ring.

Bagadder Goes Forth Episode I, by Richard Curtis and Ben Elton. Adapted for Tolkien-vision by The Squatter of Amon Rûdh, with apologies to all parties.

SCENE ONE: BAG END

A comfortably appointed dug-out in the middle of Hobbiton. There is a general atmosphere of pipe-weed. It contains table, chair, settee, Captain Bagadder and Private Samwise Baldrick.

Bagadder is reading, but there is a tiny annoying scratching sound. He shifts slightly, trying to ignore it but finally can't.

Bagadder
Samwise, what are you doing out there?

Baldrick
I'm carving something on this Orc-arrow, sir.

That's the scratching noise

Bagadder
What are you carving?

Baldrick
I'm carving 'Samwise', sir.

Bagadder
Why?

Baldrick
It's a cunning plan, actually.

Bagadder
Of course it is.

Baldrick
You know they say that somewhere there's an arrow with your name on it?

Bagadder
Yes.

Baldrick
Well, I thought if I owned the arrow with my name on it, then I'd never get hit by it. 'Cause I won't ever shoot myself.

Bagadder
Shame.

Baldrick
And the chances of there being two arrows with my name on them are very small indeed.

Bagadder
Yes, that's not he only thing round here that's very small indeed. Your brain, for example, is so minute, Samwise, that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small water biscuit.

Lieutenant Peregrin Took enters, with a strange parcel and a wood-cut. He is a very enthusiastic, bright-eyed and bubble-headed young officer.

Pippin
Tally-ho, pip, pip and Bernard's your uncle.

Bagadder
In Westron we say 'Good morning'.

Pippin
(Excited) Look what I've got for you, sir!

Bagadder
What?

Samwise goes back outside into the garden

Pippin
The latest issue of Thain and Shire. Damn' inspiring stuff. "The magazine that tells the Hobbits the truth about the war."

Bagadder
Or, alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows of non-violence were included in the Mordorian national anthem.

Pippin
Come, come, sir, you can't deny that this fine newspaper is good for the morale of the men.

Bagadder
Certainly not. I just feel that more could be achieved by giving them some real toilet paper.

Pippin
Not with you at all, sir. What could any patriotic chap have against this magnificent mag?

Bagadder
Apart from his bottom?

Pippin
Yes.

Bagadder
Well, look at it. This stuff's about as convincing as Morgoth Bauglir's defence lawyer! The Shire Hobbits are all portrayed as four foot six with biceps the size of Bree.

Pippin
Exactly - thoroughly inspiring stuff. Oh, and look, sir, this also arrived for you this morning.

Pippin holds out a short sword wrapped in a brown paper bag. Bagadder unwraps it and handles it thoughtfully

Bagadder
Do you know what this is, Lieutenant?

Pippin
Why, it's a good old barrow-blade.

Bagadder
Wrong - it's a brand new barrow-blade, which I've suspiciously been sent without asking for it. I smell something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of Sam's rabbit stew.

Pippin
That's funny: we didn't ask for those new trench-climbing ladders either.

Bagadder
New ladders?

Pippin
Yes, sir. Came yesterday. I issued them to the Hobbits and they were absolutely thrilled.

He shouts out into the garden

Isn't that right, hobbits?

Pt. S. Baldrick appears at the window, suspiciously quickly

Baldrick
Yes, sir. First solid fuel we've had since we burned the cat, sir.

Bagadder goes out into the garden, followed by Pippin

Bagadder
Mmm - something's going on, and I think I can make an educated guess what it is - something which you, Pippin, would find hard to do.

Pippin
True. When I was at school, education could go hang as long as a boy could hit a six, sing the school song very loud and take a hot crumpet from behind without blubbing.

Bagadder
Yes. I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded Elf-friend, with a degree from the University of Life, a diploma from the school of hard knocks and three gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the stuffing kicked out of me. And my instincts lead me to believe that we are at last about to go over the top.

Pippin
Great Scott, sir! You don't mean that the moment's finally arrived to give Harry Uruk a darn good Tookland-style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?

Bagadder
If you mean 'Are we all going to get killed?', yes. Clearly Field Marshal Gandalf is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his tobacco jar six inches closer to Barad-dûr.

[Kransha]

Pardon me, but I just realized how dreadfully illiterate my last post in this thread was. Oh, the blatant horror! I believe that was written in a drunken state (Vodka and Tolkien do not mix, m'lads). But now, I shall return to this thread with somethings a bit more on the literate end of the spctrum. Inform me instantaneously if these have been done before and I did not notice...

Lord of the Rings by George Orwell
~TA 3019: Big Balrog is Watching You~

The eye followed him, as it almost always did, the fiery eye, lidless and surrounded by prongs of fire that always struck deep into empty hearts, the ones that had fallen into that eye's thrall. Situated neatly at the terminating pinnacle of Barad-dur, the eye scanned its lands with malevolent greed, overlooking every orcish warren, every uniform apartment complex, every cubicle of living quarters for each miserable, wretched servant to the whims of Sauron. The eye, tempting and tantalizing to those wavering, unquestioning individuals who bowed their heads each day to it, swivelled in its place between two great and jagged daggers of metal, its pupil tracing the rocky countryside as an inspector would.

Argluk, a charcoal-skinned uruk of the Gorgoroth strand, genetically, leaned against the icy ebony metal of Cirith Ungol's walls, trying as hard as his feeble brain could accomodate not to look at the rectangular, smoother device that had been set precariously into the far wall. Though the screen was inevitably blank, Argluk had never entertained the thought that it was not staring directly at him, since all his days of conditioning, at what little teaching he had recieved taught him that every one of the palantiscreens was looking directly at him and no one else. The other students in his class had been told the same, that the palantiscreens focused on them, but Argluk was sure that this had just been a ruse used by his clever teacher to distract them, for it was simply obviopous that the blank screens, pools of liquid black, had been looking directly at him since the day he'd been born. He would not hear anyone question the matter, for it would be easily dismissable as a Gondorohanian lie if he was told otherwise.

He got up, slowly, though his legs were obviously trying to tell him otherwise, and walked across the room. Though he was trying not to look suspicious, he knew that trying not to look suspicious was more suspicious than being suspicious in the first place. Far away from the complex he strolled through, a cloaked man withh gauntleted fingers steepled before him, hood low over his head, sitting in a plush chair in the Department of Tenderness (better known as Minas Morgul) was watching him, him and only him, waiting for him to do something wrong...

Lord of the Rings by Joseph Conrad
~Shooting an Oliphaunt~

The sun, a luminous sphere, hovering delicately like some porcelain mobile rotating mellifluously in the oceanic heavens, began to crest the sloping horizon slowly, oozing into its familiar arc over the dappled sky, littered with the visage of many obstreperous clouds. Pellets of aimless rain caressed the front of my helm, sliding over the shimmering metal and leaving it with an impassive sheen that reflected the vague flashes of thundrous energy that resonated with reserved quietness behind the clouds' wreathing cape, overshadowing the temporary bursts of light. The crystalline droplets, sprinkling ungrateful earth with lively briskness, continued to speckle the landscape, shrugging off the ominous rumblings that swelled with dank fervor in the billowing smog distant.

As I walked, muddy earth fluctuating weakly beneath the worn soles of my boots, my dark brow was knitted and focused diligently upon the rough beast that stood, braying with an inborn fury, between the creaking stumps of monstrous trees not far off. My gloved hand, wrapped in leathery gloves and bound with tattered cloth, moved speedily to the familiar feel of my primary device, the unstrung bow of furnished, splinter-less oak that hung in neglect at my left shoulder, humming in a fashion that suggested I should pick it up. I heard the call, as so often I did, and hummed with it, thinking back to the veil that had descended over my past, the stinging pangs, poisoned and venemous, emitting gentle chimes within me to protest my actions as I plucked the wooden bow from my back and tugged fiercely upon the cord I was required to attatch. It was, as always, a process wrought with the thumping drum of tedium, which only added to my distraction.

All that I knew was, the Oliphaunt must be taken down and I, not caring of the many hapless, unwary men who lurked and scurried across the disigured hulk set upon its rough-skinned back, must be the one to take it down. As my fingers, cold and numbed by ill weather and ill worries, anxiety pulsing against the innards of my skull, found the shaft of the arrows slid into my reverberating quiver, I pulled the bolt from its holdings and set it upon my cupped hand, aiming it with acute precision as I leveled it, using each of the bow's numerous notches, at the beast. Without hesitation, a thousand fiery thoughts coursing through my mind and resounding as church bells would in a silent land, I let loose and watched the arrow fly...

Lord of the Rings by P.G. Woodhouse
~What ho, Erkenbrand!~

It was a cold day in the Westfold; so cold, in fact, that the furry creatures of the plains had taken to killing each other and manufacturing fur coats from the remains that would've turned Edoras high society invariably green with envy. Thec trees swayed foolishly, some of the younger ones rebelling against their more experienced peers and attempting to sway in the opposite direction, but the harsh justicator of wind soon put them all in their place and the trees, sighing mournfully, returned to their melancholy conformity.

Pushing aside his satin tent flap with a pale, smooth hand, Dunhere walked into the crisp breeze and sucked in a deep breath of the gentle natural wonder, pausing to spit out a rogue insect that had been basking carelessly. Flicking strands of grass from his gleaming breastplate of peacock-colored, gaudy hue that brightened and darkened so many wizened faces that glanced at him with pallid expressions as he passed, shaking their heads sadly as his own oversized cranium remained elevated, never deiging to look down on the others until he saw the only man he felt he could twist a few neglected vertebrae to look upon.

"Jolly good day, eh Erky?" he said, a cocky smile peeling across his face as the men behind him broke into peals of raucous giggling which, somehow, he didn't notice.

Erkenbrand was sitting, squat legged, beside the dead embers of what had been a roaring fireplace, sipping a chalice of smoky tea cupped between his index and middle finger conservatively and taking momentary breaks to take in ample draughts from his pipe and puff out melodious rings of fine, gray gas. "Indeed, sir, it is a fine day," he said at last, driving the conversation further into nowhere than it had been a moment ago, "Expect we'll be on the trail of the Hun again, yes?"

"Oh yes," murmured Dunhere, squatting beside his technical commander, "I don't doubt we'll be a-catching on up to the Mordor devils afore the day is out. And then we'll have a fine little bout with 'em and report back to ol' Kingy. He'll be pleased a-plenty with the job we did, wot."

"I have it, sir," replied Erkenbrand, his brow severely knitted as his spoke, nursing his libations, "from very good authority, that 'Kingy' has not been right in the head lately. Perhaps he should be duly avoided, simply until we recieve news to the contrary. T'would not be a good idea to disturb master Theoden in the troes of insanity." Dunhere shot him one of those accustomed are-you-sure-you're-not-the-one-who's-crazy? looks and nodded studiously, shaking his head when Erkenbrand's turned.

"Not right in the head? That'll be Wormtongue puttin' lies in his head, it will. Seeing as how you seem to have the know of things, we'll stick out here. We can head on down to the Hornburg in a day or so, say 'ello to that chap, Gamling, and have a jolly dip in the Entwash." Erkenbrand responded with a curt gesture of the head and slowly mounted his tired legs after Dunhere hopped nimbly onto his own. In a flash, with a veritable train of half-sleeping Rohirrim behind them, they were off...

[tar-ancalime]

Day breaks in Gondor.
Gold melts into the mountain.
The Third Age closes.

[Bekah]

Some extraordinary examples of good writing here.

I need to get off now, but I wanted to be subscripted to this thread.

Cheers,

~ Elentari II

[Mithalwen]

For the benefit of other new arrivals who may be unaware of these delights.. I am awestruck and haven't laughed so much in a long while ... suddenly the unequal struggle with German has become worthwhile...

[Lalwendë]

These are good! I had to have a go myself:

If LOTR had been written in office jargon.

Minutes of the Rivendell Steering Group, 25 October 3018, Conference Room Q.

Attendees:
Elrond - Chairperson (Rivendell)
Gandalf The Grey (Istari Representative)
Bilbo Baggins (The Shire - on secondment to Rivendell)
Frodo Baggins (The Shire)
Glorfindel (Rivendell)
Gloin (Dwarves)
Gimli (Dwarves)
Strider (Independent Representative)
Erestor (Rivendell)
Galdor (Grey Havens)
Legolas (Mirkwood)
Boromir (MinasTirith)

Apologies:
Elladan
Elrohir


1. Minutes from previous meeting
The group discussed events from the South and the wide lands east of the mountains. It was noted that the Ringbearer appeared somewhat distant during this area of discussion and began to pay attention when discussion turned to the matter of the Dwarves events since the last meeting.

2. Agenda Item 1 - Paper on The Forging and Loss of the One Ring (Elrond)
Elrond described to the group the history of the One Ring, further details of which can be found in the paper at Annex A. Boromir raised the issue of the current situation in Gondor and apologised for his late arrival - the 9.15 from Minas Tirith had been delayed for some 110 days. Gandalf asked the Ringbearer to bring forth the ring which prompted discussion between Boromir and Strider.

3. Agenda Item 2 - Paper on The Finding of the One Ring (B. Baggins)
The detail to this paper can be found at Annex B.

4. Agenda Item 3 - Strategy Paper (G. The Grey)
This paper can be found at Annex C. It became apparent to the group from a brainstorming session that S. The White, a former member of the group, has become opposed to the strategic vision of the Rivendell Steering Group. Mr G The Grey presented several options for next action to the group, including retaining the One Ring in the Rivendell vaults and casting it into the oceans. The group discussed all the options available and after much discussion, Elrond utilised power of veto and came to the decision that the ring must be cast into Mount Doom.

Action Point: F. Baggins tasked with destroying the ring.
Deadline: ASAP.

5. Any Other Business
Mr S Gamgee entered the meeting room unexpectedly and offered to assist Mr Baggins in his task.

6. Closing Remarks
Elrond took up his packet of marker pens and made a series of splodges on his Project Plan to identify the milestones which would mark the progress of the quest. The rest of the group followed Mr B Baggins to the canteen for luncheon.

Minutes taken by Arwen Undomiel, Secretary. ;)

[Lostgaeriel]

Oh Lalwendë!

I haven't laughed that hard in an Age! :D :D :D

When considered in a "real" and contemporary context, I'm absolutely amazed that the Council stuck the meeting out to reach any conclusion at all. The way steering committees get run, we should have expected inconclusive meetings going on for months or years - or at least until Sauron arrived to claim the Ring. My respect for Elrond has risen to great heights.

[Mithalwen]

Well, Elrond employed that wise tactic of not feeding them until they had decided (no sandwiches and fruit sent in). A catholic friend tells me they do similar things to the cardinals if they take too long choosing a new pope..;)

[Rimbaud]

~~~

In the beginning Eru, the Authority, who in the Elvish tongue is named BigNastyBoss, made the Ainur of his thought; and they made a great Music before him. In this Music the World was begun; for the Authority made visible the song of the Ainur, and used it to enslave what he considered the weak-minded fools of the world. And many among them became enamoured of its Dusty beauty, and of its history, which was presented to them through a series of propaganda films. Therefore the Authority gave to their vision the Worship, and set it amid the Void, and the Pomp and Ceremony was sent to burn at the heart of he World; and it was called Church.

~~~

I would say to read this in the Spirit it is intended, but I might be accused of punnery. The shame.

[Lalwendë]

Well, Elrond employed that wise tactic of not feeding them until they had decided (no sandwiches and fruit sent in). A catholic friend tells me they do similar things to the cardinals if they take too long choosing a new pope

:D I always laugh to myself when I read Bilbo's little plea for a lunch break which falls on stony ground. It reminds me of myself so much. I can imagine him sitting there fuming, drawing doodles on his notepad to alleviate the tedium of another lengthy meeting, waiting for the tray of drinks and 'luxury biscuits' to arrive, and wondering when he can pop out for a smoke...poor hobbit. ;)

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Well, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and George Orwell had already been done . . . Wait: I know he’s not a writer, but how about The Lord of the Rings by Peter Jackson?

Oh, brother.

Thought you wouldn’t like that. Oh, well . . .

The Voyage of Eärendil by Tom Clancy

“Talk to me, Randy,” said Eärendil to his sonarman.
“Possible contact bearing one-three-two,” Aerandir said quietly. His mind churned inside his cool demeanour. Who could be chasing them? “It sounds like a giant wave, or some disturbance on the surface of the water . . . ” They continued to look at the waterfall display, where the contact was displayed as a yellow dot slightly larger than the other specks in the black background. The dot grew to a splotch.
“Definite contact.” Aerandir pressed his earphones to his ears. “He just increased speed.”
The captain walked over to the intercom. “Mast room, all ahead full.”
“All ahead full, aye,” answered Erellont as he increased the sail’s surface area. Eärendil felt Vingilot surge as she accelerated to thirty knots.
“Target just increased speed! Range under one thousand yards!” the sonarman shouted.
“S***!” He walked back to the intercom. “Erellont! Increase to flank!”
“All ahead flank, aye.” It is not generally known that a ship sometimes exceeds its known maximum speed, due to unexpected engine efficiency or some other factor. In this case, the sails fully unfurled gave Vingilot an additional five knots of speed.
“Sir, the b****** just kicked full throttle! Estimate speed at forty knots.”
Eärendil rushed to the bridge. “Helsman, right full rudder!”
“Right full rudder, aye. No course given.” Falathar turned the control wheel all the way to the right. “Sir, my rudder is right full.”
“Bridge, sonar. Contact just turned to starboard . . . ” There was silence over the intercom for a few seconds. “New contact! Low frequency rumbling, bearing five degrees on either bow, three-five-five to zero-zero-five. Sounds like rocks crashing against each other.”
“That’s Helcaraxë. Ignore that for now. Tell me about our stalker.”
“Sir, range to target under five hundred yards.”
“Helm, left full rudder. Return to base course three-one-two.” He hoped to confuse their tail.
“Bridge, sonar. Contact matched our turn to port, and his speed increased to fifty knots. Range to target under one hundred yards!”
“Sound collision! Brace for impact!” shouted Eärendil as he left the bridge and rushed to the stern of the boat. He saw a giant wave bearing an illuminated figure. Before he could make out what it was, the wave crashed down on Vingilot, and Eärendil found the figure sitting atop him. It was Elwing, unconscious, with the Silmaril on her breast.

I'll be back with more, possibly an Alexandre Dumas fils. :cool:

Whatever. Just something we'd understand.

[Lobelia]

Lord of the Rings By Enid Blyton

"Oh, I do love the first day of the holidays!" said Aragorn. "What do you think we should do today, Boromir, old thing?"

Boromir looked thoughtful as the girls spread a blanket for their picnic. They were spending the holidays at Imladris and enjoying the view of the Rivendell Valley.

"We could investigate the Mystery of the Missing Ring," he suggested. "The police seem to think that horrid Sauron is after it."

"All right," agreed Aragorn. "We'll go down to the village after lunch. I say, Arwen, what's for lunch, by the way?"

Arwen opened the basket. "Lembas and boiled eggs," she said, "with tinned peaches from the Shire for dessert. And lashings of miruvor. I made the lembas myself."

"Mm, you'll make a wonderful housewife one day," Aragorn said happily. "Oh, I say, what a super blanket! Did you weave that?" It was black, with a white tree embroidered on it in diamonds. Arwen nodded shyly.

"Woof!" said Bill the pony.

Eowyn blushed. She'd always wanted a dog when she was growing up, but Uncle Theoden said they were too boyish. So she had to make do with a pony, but it was always embarrassing when he barked instead of neighing.

"Do be quiet, Bill!" she said. "I vote we go and save the world. Not today, though, it's going to rain."

"Good idea," said Aragorn. "It'll give me time to get Narsil re-forged. Pass the miruvor, Arwen old thing."

[Aldarion Elf-Friend]

This is a great thread. I'm glad I discovered it.

So, what if Terry Brooks wrote...

Oh, never mind...

[Lobelia]

This is a great thread. I'm glad I discovered it.

So, what if Terry Brooks wrote...

Oh, never mind...

LOL!
You cheeky person! :D

[Elven-Maiden]

This is my favourite book in all the world, though I have never read it.

How is such a thing possible? I'll do my best to explain.

The year that Bilbo Baggins left the shire, the most beautiful woman in the world was Gondorian scullery maid named Annette. Annette worked hard and in her spare time loved to play with the young prince Denethor. It did not escape the King's notice that someone extraordinary was polishing the pewter (only they didn't have pewter yet. More precisely, they had pewter, but it wasn't called "pewter"). The King's notice did not escape the notice of the Queen either, who was not very beautiful, not very rich, but plenty smart. The Queen set about studying Annette and shortly found her adversary's tragic flaw.

Llemba bread. :D

[Elven-Maiden]

2941 of the Third Age
WHAT WAS THEN HOBBITON

The intruder came from beyond. A powerful, celestial being, almost as old as the universe itself, he had been born in a vast cloud of ice, rocks, dust, and gas a thousand years before.

Bilbo Baggins owned the prestigious hobbit-hole at the base of the hill. To an outsider it looked like a old, run-down, uninteresting hole. But that was merely a clever disguise to keep would-be thieves out. Inside this hobbit-hole were rooms and rooms filled with antique automobiles, and wine cellars stocked with Bourbon, Cabernet Sauvignon, Dom Perignon, Ferri-Carano Siena, Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin Brut Champagne, Chardonnay, Sparr Pinot Noir and even Retsina, a fine old Greek wine.

Baggins was handsome, but not in the movie-star sense. He was tall for a hobbit, dark-haired and well-built, with deep green eyes and hairy feet. An urgent knock on the door interrupted his reverie. He downed his tequila and cocked his trusty old .45 caliber automatic Colt pistol.

He opened the door to his hobbit-hole and grinned as he recognised his old childhood pal, Gandalf the Gray.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

The Maia of Mt. Caradhras by Alexandre Dumas fils

Gandalf had returned to his house on the sixth level of Minas Tirith with Pippin, and was sitting alone wrapt in thought when the door suddenly opened. The Istar frowned.
“Ah, my Lord Denethor,” said Gandalf calmly.
“Yes, it is I,” said the Steward, with a dreadful contraction of the lips which prevented him from articulating clearly.
“I only seek to know now to what I owe the pleasure of seeing the Steward of Gondor at such an early hour,” continued Gandalf.
“You had a meeting with my son this morning, monsieur?”
“You knew about it?”
“I also know that my son had a very good reason to take the Ring, and to do his utmost to bring it to me.”
“He had, but you see that, notwithstanding these reasons, the Ring is still headed for Mt. Doom.”
“Yet he looked upon it as a weapon for our aid, and as a gift to win my heart.”
“That is true, monsieur,” said Gandalf, with dreadful calmness, “the secondary cause, but not the principal one.”
“No doubt the Halflings escaped his custody.”
“The Halflings he set free, and he even gave gifts before they left.”
“But to what do you attribute such conduct?”
“To conviction; probably he discovered there was more to it than taking the love you gave to a son whom you sent to death.”
“That may be, but you know that I would not have you stir the cup I have stirred for myself.”
“I know, and I expected all this.”
“You expected my son to be a coward?”
“Monsieur Faramir is not a coward!”
“A man who has a great weapon within his grasp is a coward if he does not take it. Oh, that my son Boromir may be there! He would have sent me a mighty gift.”
“I presume you have not come here to tell me your little family affairs,” replied Gandalf coldly. “Go and say that to Monsieur Faramir, perhaps he will know what answer to give you.”
“No, no, I have not come for that!” replied the Steward, with a smile which disappeared immediately. “I came to tell you that I know of your plans. Did you think that the eyes of the White Tower were blind?”
“Bah!” said Gandalf with exasperating coolness. “Are you not the son of Ecthelion who rejoiced at Thorongil’s departure? Are you not the Steward of the King of Gondor who used the palantír in his pride? Are you not the Lord of Minas Tirith who sent both his sons to danger? And have not all of these driven you to madness and despair, falling before your city is taken?”
“Villain! to reproach me thus!” cried the Steward. “I know well, demon that you are, that your hope is to rule in my stead, to stand behind every throne. I have read your mind and its policies. With the left hand you would use me for a while as a shield against Mordor, and with the right bring up this Ranger of the North to supplant me.
“But I say to you, Gandalf, I will not be your tool! I am a Steward of the House of Anárion. I will not bow to the last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship and dignity. Now it is the name of this upstart I wish to know, so that I may pronounce it before the men of Gondor when I reject his claim.”
One cloaked in grey came behind the Steward, and with his arms crossed, walked up to Denethor, who had wondered at this man wearing a green stone. On seeing him his teeth chattered, his legs gave way under him, and he stepped back until he found a table against which to lay his clenched hand for support.
“Denethor!” he cried, “I need but mention one of my many names to strike terror into your heart. But you guess this name, or rather you remember it, in the visions you received from the Seeing Stone, do you not? For in spite of all the hardships I endured, I show you to-day a man about to come into his own.”
With head thrown back and arms stretched out, the Steward stared against this terrible apparition in silence; then leaning against the wall for support he glided slowly along to the door through which he went out backwards, uttering but one distressing and piercing cry:
“Elessar!”
Just then two people were coming towards the house, and he had only just time to hide himself behind the open door. It was Faramir, leaning on Beregond’s arm. Beregond said:
“Come, my lord! The King is here.”
The words died away and the steps were lost in the distance. The Steward drew himself up, clinging to the walls with clenched hands, and the most terrible sob escaped him that ever came from the bosom of a father and a lord abandoned at the same time by his son and his subjects.
He went up to the seventh level of the City, and there he cast himself down the walls of the White Tower.

Wow. Movie ending.
Denethor is not like that!

[Lalwendë]

Gandalf’s Letter to Frodo from Book 1, Chapter 10 - as written by an ‘official’.


The Department of Istari
North Western District Field Office
C/O The Prancing Pony
Bree

23 June 1418

Dear Mr Baggins,

I was concerned to hear of your current problems concerning the situation with the One Ring, and I would like to recommend that you consider leaving The Shire as soon as it is convenient. Rivendell has been recommended as one of many strategic centres which you may find to be of benefit to you in your current situation.

In the meantime you may also wish to contact Mr Strider at the Lean, Dark & Tall Agency as we have been very much engaged in joined-up working. Further details can be found on their website; to enter the password protected directory area of the site you will require the password “Aragorn“.

Finally I would like to reiterate our policy that Hobbits should desist from utilising One Rings due to the overwhelming evidence that they can have a deleterious effect upon the well-being of members of the public.

If you have any concerns please do not hesitate to contact me at the above address, and I look forward to hearing from you soon,

Yours sincerely


Mr G the Grey.

[Kuruharan]

Caesar’s De Bello Hobbito

The Hobbits are a whole divided into three parts, the Stoors, the Harfoots, and the Fallowhides, though we call them all Shorties. All these have practically the same languages, customs and laws. The Stoors dwell primarily in the South and West, the Harfoots and Fallowhides dwell everywhere else. The Hobbits are divided from each other by their innate suspicion of anyone who dwells more than five miles away. The Fallowhides are the leaders of these peoples, being more adventuresome they are also more apt to vanish without warning into the Blue. This last trait is considered most alarming by the Hobbits as it tends to take one more than five miles away from home. Those Hobbits dwelling in the area known as Buckland are braver than the rest of the Hobbits because of the nearness of the Old Forest, into which they will occasionally sally forth to engage in some deforestation.
….
The foremost Hobbit of the Marish, in rank and wealth, was Gorhendad Oldbuck. In the consulship of Marcus Messala and Marcus Piso (more or less) he was induced by the extreme dreariness of his habitat (and an impulse to chop lumber) to move across the Brandwine River and set up his own little kingdom. He changed his name to Brandybuck to confuse the authorities and granted himself the title “Master of Brandy Hall” without the permission of the Senate and Roman People. This was the foundation of Buckland.

[HerenIstarion]

Once upon a midnight dreary, Fatty pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of the cookery lore,
While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," he muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak September,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly he wished the morrow - vainly had he sought to borrow
From his books surcease of sorrow- wish to be the lone no more-
For the rare quest he was enthrusted and the Nazgul at the door -
Nameless here for ever more!

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled him and filled with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said he, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here he opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Mordor!"
This he whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Mordor!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all his soul within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said he, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here he flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately warrior of the ghastly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, stood afore his chamber door-
Stood into the Crick of Hollow just afore his chamber door-
Glint of eye, and nothing more.

Then his ebony hood beguiling Bolger’s fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," said he, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient warrior wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Sauronian shore!"
Quoth the warrior, "To Mordor."

Much he marvelled this ungainly lord to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was cursed with seeing Wraith afore his chamber door-
Live or Dead upon the dusty porch afore his chamber door,
With such name as "Tomordor."

But the warrior, standing lonely on the dusty porch, spoke only
These two words, as if his soul in these words he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a garment then he fluttered-
Till the hobbit merely muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my mates have flown before."
Then the lord said, "To Mordor."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
Fatty pondered, "what he utters must be only stock and store,
Learnt from some cartography Master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of this olden- old Mordor."

But the Nazgul still beguiling all his fancy into smiling,
Straight he wheeled a cushioned seat in front of lord, and porch and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, Fatty took himself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous lord of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous lord of yore
Meant in croaking "To Mordor."

This he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the lord whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom's core;
This and more he sat divining, with his head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
Baggins shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then he thought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," He cried, "Dark Lord hath lent thee- by these roads he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Mordor!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this old Mordor!"
Quoth the warrior, "To Mordor."

"Prophet!" said he, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if man or
devil!-
Whether Dark Lord sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there way to Havens?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Warrior, "To Mordor."

"Be that word our sign in parting, man or fiend," he shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Sauronian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the porch afore my door!
Take thy claw from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Warrior, "To Mordor."

Than the Bolger, suddenly flitting, in the air his fists a-beating
To the pallid road to Buckland just in time has hit the door;
And his yells had all the hearing of great fear expressed in screaming
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throwed his shadow on the
moor;
And his soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the moor
Was not taken to Mordor!

[HerenIstarion]

"There are Rings in Middle-Earth,
Horatio, Man was not meant to wear."

HAMLET


One of the few redeeming facets of tutors, I thought, is that occasionally they can be fooled. It was true when Bilbo taught me to read Elvish, it was true when he tried to teach me to be a poet, and it's true now when I'm learning Ring-handling.

"You haven't been practicing!" Gandalf's harsh admonishment interrupted my musings.

"I have too!" I protested. "It's just a difficult exercise."

As if in response, the Ring I was trying hard not to put on but throw into the hearth began to tremble and wobble in midair.

"You aren't concentrating!" he accused.

"It's the wind," I argued. I wanted to add "from your loud mouth," but didn't dare. Early in our lessons Gandalf had demonstrated his lack of appreciation for cheeky Ring-Bearers.

"The wind," he sneered, mimicking my voice. "Like this, dolt!"

My mental contact with the object of my concentration was interrupted as the Ring darted suddenly toward the fire. It jarred to a halt as if it had become imbedded in something, though it was still a foot from
the grating, then slowly rotated to a horizontal plane. Just as slowly it rotated on its axis, then swapped ends and began to glide around an invisible circle like a leaf caught in an eddy.

I risked a glance at Gandalf. He was draped over his chair, feet dangling, his entire attention apparently devoted to devouring a leg of roast mutton, a mutton I had cooked, I might add. Concentration indeed!

He looked up suddenly and our eyes met. It was too late to look away so I simply looked back at him.

"Hungry?" His grease-flecked salt and pepper beard was suddenly framing a wolfish grin. "Then show me how much you've been practicing."

It took me a heartbeat to realize what he meant; then I looked up desperately. The Ring was tumbling floorward, a bare shoulder-height from landing. Forcing the sudden tension from my body, I reached out with my hand . . . gently . . . don't knock it away....

I caught it a scant two hand-spans from the floor.

I heard Gandalf's low chuckle, but didn't allow it to break my concentration. I hadn't let the Ring touch the floor for three evenings already, and it wasn't going to touch now.

Slowly I raised it to eye level. Wrapping my mind around it, I rotated it on its axis, then turned it. As I led it through the exercise, its movement was not as smooth or sure as when Gandalf set his mind to the task, but it did move unerringly in its assigned course.

Although I had not been practicing with the Ring, I had been practicing. When Gandalf was not about or preoccupied with his own studies, I devoted most of my time to throwing pieces of metal—old mathoms, to be specific, into the hearth. Each type of throwing had its own inherent problems. Not rounded metal was not hard to work with because it was an inert material. The Ring, having once been part of a living Dark Lord, was more responsive . . . too responsive. To throw metal took effort, to maneuver a Ring required subtlety. Of the two, I preferred to work with metal. I could see a more direct application of that skill in my chosen profession. After all, why not put a Ring on and cast sword or something into the Crack?

"Good enough, lad. Now put it back into your pocket"

I smiled to myself. This part I had practiced, not because of its potential applications, but because it was fun.

[Bungo Baggins]

LOL. Those are great! I'll have to try to think of some later!

[Son of Númenor]

Frodo awoke with a pounding headache. Standing up, he felt a searing pain shoot down his spine, and realized he had been sleeping on a root. He cursed, and walked drowsily over to where Sam was making a pot of coffee.

"You look like hell," said Sam, pouring him a cup.

"It's the Ring," said Frodo.

In 1976, Mordor Technology Management & Services Inc. had conceived of the One Ring: an electronical manifestation of a fraction of the Dark Lord's being, encoded digitally into a golden band with microconductive properties. The idea of making an evil spirit physically manifest was not new; years before, MelkCom engineers had used type IIb boron-coated diamonds to disseminate their CEO's EVIL (Electronically Viable Inherent Loathsomeness) into the fabric of earth's lithosphere. But MTMS Inc. was taking it to a new level, with sophisticated doping techniques allowing engineers to procure an infinitesimally small electronic encoding of EVIL. In another ten years, dissemination techniques would become obsolete, replaced with extreme concentrations of structurally pure EVIL. The ramifications were huge if this technology became commercially and -- more importantly -- militarily viable.

Frodo knew all of this, of course, being the one who had been hired by Riven Dell Electronics to 'devalue' the Ring -- an industry euphemism for the destruction of a superior technology by a rival company, amounting essentially to corporate hijacking.

Frodo shouldered his pack as he downed the last swig of hot coffee. "Let's get moving," he said. "We should make camp in Bree by 1900 hours."

[Anguirel]

THE RETURN OF THE KING by Evelyn Waugh


"So the ruffians were allowed to surrender, as you promised me?" Frodo Crouchback asked.

Merry De Souza shook his head. "Awfully sorry, old chap. The partisans up at the Smials insisted we shoot them all. After all, they were traitors against the Communist state."

"They'd done nothing wrong," Frodo replied. "The woman in charge of them insisted they were displaced factory workers, nothing more."

"They were a danger to the sovereign power of the Party in the Shire," De Souza replied curtly. "The price they paid was appropriate. Oh, and by the way, there's a telegram...two, actually..."

Frodo took them from De Souza uneasily. The first read:

Crouch End. Rosie has had a son stop. Best wishes sir Sam Gamgee stop.

The second:

Michel Delving War Office. We regret to inform you that a bomb landed on your residence at Bag End yesterday evening, killing all inside except one newborn infant stop.

***

Frodo looked at the baby in horror. "It's...ah..."

"Doesn't look anything like Sam, does it?" the Gaffer growled. "No, everyone knew that girl was carrying Ted Sandyman's child."

"It doesn't matter whose son it is," Frodo answered. "I must bring it up."

"It'll need a mother," the Gaffer observed. At that moment, Pervinca Took walked by. Frodo hung his head in quiet resignation.

Later in the day, he remembered Arwen's jewel, and how it had fallen into a quagmire on the way home. He had feared then for his path to the West. Now, saddled with wife and child, he knew the journey could no longer occur. He only hoped he wouldn't be forced to act as Mayor, now Sam was dead. His shoulder was aching.

***

In Gondor, two gloomy, armoured men sat in a pub. Faramir had lost his seat as Steward of Gondor at the election, to a young Labour candidate. Aragorn had found himself unemployed after the postwar abolition of the Gondorian monarchy.

"Any news from Frodo Crouchback?" he asked.

"Married," Faramir said bitterly. "He's got a grand new house up in Buckland, and a son and heir. He's been appointed Mayor of the Shire in perpetuity for the rest of his life."

"Yes, all in all," Aragorn concluded, "things have turned out very well for Frodo."

[Kuruharan]

And Tuor stood upon the shore, and the sun was like a smoky fire behind the menace of the sky; and it seemed to him that a great wave rose far off and rolled towards the land, but wonder held him, and he remained there unmoved. And the wave came towards him, and upon it lay a mist of shadow. Then suddenly as it drew near it curled, and broke, and rushed forward in long arms of foam; but where it had broken there stood dark against the rising storm a living shape of great height and majesty.

Then Tuor bowed in reverence, for it seemed to him that he beheld a mighty king. A tall crown he wore like silver, from which his hair fell down as foam glimmering in the dusk; and as he cast back the gray mantle that hung about him like a mist, behold! he was clad in a gleaming coat, close-fitted as the mail of a mighty fish, and in a kirtle of deep green that flashed and flickered with sea-fire as he strode slowly towards the land. In this manner the Dweller of the Deep, whom the Noldor name Ulmo, Lord of Waters, showed himself to Tuor son of Huor of the House of Hador beneath Vinyamar.

He set no foot upon the shore, but standing knee-deep in the shadowy sea he spoke to Tuor, and then for the light of his eyes and for the sound of his deep voice that came as it seemed from the foundations of the world, fear fell upon Tuor and he cast himself down upon the sand.

“Tuor, son of Huor,” said Ulmo, “OH DON’T GROVEL!!! If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s people groveling!!”

“Sorry,” said Tuor, very much crushed.

“AND DON’T APOLOGIZE!!!” roared Ulmo. “Every time I try to talk to somebody it’s always ‘Sorry this’ and ‘Forgive me that’ and ‘I’m not worthy.’ WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?!”

“I’m averting my eyes, O Lord,” replied Tuor.

“WELL DON’T!!” boomed Ulmo. “It’s like that miserable Narn it’s going to be so depressing. NOW KNOCK IT OFF!!!”

“Yes Lord,” said Tuor.

“Right,” said Ulmo. “Tuor, son of Huor, you shall have a task to make yourself an example in these dark times.”

“Good idea, Lord,” interrupted Tuor.

“OF COURSE IT’S A GOOD IDEA!!!” roared Ulmo. Tuor was shown a vision of a shining city upon a hill. “Behold, Tuor,” said Ulmo, “this is Gondolin. Look well Tuor for it is your sacred task to seek this city. This is your purpose, Tuor, the Quest to tell Turgon its time to get out of Dodge!”

The waves rolled and it seemed to Tuor that they formed two great curtains. These curtains swept together with a crash and took Ulmo from Tuor’s sight.

“A blessing,” said Arminas, “a blessing from the Lord of Waters!”

“Ulmo be praised!” said Gelmir.

“Aren’t the two of you supposed to be headed south?” asked Tuor. “This is my blessing!!”

[Folwren]

This has been very humorous to glance through, and, alas, that's all I've had time to do - glance. I have read only one or two in full. (I like the Alexandre Dumas one, by the way.)

I did, however, decide to try my own hand at it and after looking at what authors have been used I didn't find anything written by him. So, off we go.

The Steep Stairway
By Lemony Snicket (author of A Series of Unfortunate Events)

When you think of a stair way you probably have a picture in your mind of a stair way at your home, or perhaps at school, or maybe even at church, and possibly a hotel. The stairway at home leads to a pleasant place if you're going to the kitchen to get a snack or to your room to get some sleep. The stairway at school can take you pleasant places if you like your art teacher, or liturature class, and the stairs at church often lead you to no worse place than a little bathtub that the pastor dunks you in and you get a little wet. Or the stairs at a hotel are handy if the elevator is broken, or you can't use them because your enemy is using them you have to leave by the back door. Of course, no harm can come of these stairs and no one is afraid of them. The stairway that this book is about is nothing like the stairs in your house, school, church, or hotel. They don't lead to a pleasant place, and they're not pleasant in themselves at all. They climb up and up the virtical cliff face as though they meant to go right up into the clouds and continue on, and they did, as far as Frodo and Sam could see from the bottom.

It was quite a gloomy outlook for the hobbits and they could not help but feel discouraged, a word which here means "feeling too tired to climb all those stairs to do something as nasty as throw a ring into a blazing hot fire that might kill them anyway."

"I feel quite discouraged," Frodo said. "Almost too tired to climb all those stairs and all we get to do when we get to the top is throw this ring into a blazing hot fire that might kill us anyway."

Sam looked at his master sadly and took his hand.

"It's alright, Mr. Frodo," he said quietly. He often wanted to bear the burden his master had to take, but sometimes you can't take other people's things from them and this was one of the times. "We won't think about the fire just now. Let's concentrate on going up. Look, Gollum's waiting for us up and he seems in an awful hurry. Come on."

They started the climb up and Gollum went on before them. But I don't think you want to read about their horrible climb up the slippery, slimy stairs. It was such an uncomfortable journey that you would probably throw the book down in digust if I even mentioned the mud that came off on their hands and knees and feet as they climbed, and how tired their knees became as they continued to bend and straighten, and how hungry and thirsty they became as they went. Not that it would be bad if you threw down the book, but you have chosen to read it. But you don't have to finish the account of their horribly long journey upwards into darkness, but it would leave you in such complete misery and a state of weeping that you would never want to read about Frodo and Sam again. But because I have sworn to research and write everything I learn of Frodo and Sam's journey up these stairs and into Mordor, I must faithfully pen all that I know. You, however, have not sworn to read it and so may put down the book at once before I begin.

It is not enough merely to write that "Frodo and Sam climbed up and up so long that it is not enough merely to write that 'Frodo and Sam climbed up and up so long that it is not enough merely to write that "Frodo and Sam climbed up and up so long that it is not enough merely to write that...

Dear Elrond,

I take the liberty to write you while I have a chance. My reader has hopefully taken my advise and abandoned this book and put it somewhre else, in which case it will be safe to write you without much worry of being discovered. If the reader did not stop then we are safe because he is brave enough to read whatever I have to say to you.

I would like to accept your invitation to tea, it sounded quite wonderful. But what we have to do and what we would like to do are often quite two different things, so I am afraid that I have to say that I can not make it.

With all due respect,

Lemony Snicket

[daeron]

" Ah Sir!It seems you have hurt my Lord! ",cried Eowyn

" I am extremely sorry. But I am in a terrible hurry, please excuse me!", said the witchking.

" Excuse you! Why you come barging through on that abominable steed, throw a horse over my lord, crush him under its weight and you think you can run off. Undeceive yourself comrade.You are not the Dark Lord."

"Well I did say I was sorry. But I really am in the greatest haste. I have a war to win. I did not do it on purpose.Nevertheless I apologize once again though at this time it seems an excess of courtesy."

"Well your apology is not accepted. You are by no means polite.You look like a gentleman from your clothing. I would expect a little more courtesy from you. "

" You are no one to instruct me in manners."

"Perhaps I am."

"Well then, draw your sword. And who shall you call for seconds. I have eight to choose from, you observe."

" Well, as I have no one, we shall have to settle this between ourselves, unless you are such a coward as to call for seconds when I have none"

" I am more than a match for you. Let me warn you that I never require a second shot at my opponents."

" Neither will you this time, lord for I shall thrust this blade into you before you even take your stroke."

" We shall see. it has been said no man can kill me. But before we start, I would like to know with whom I have the honour of fighting."

" I am Eowyn de Edoras, Lady de Rohan and the niece of the Lord Theoden de Rohan. As you see, I am no man."

[Folwren]

Excellent Muskateer style!! Yes! Another Dumas. That is sweet.

[HerenIstarion]

Following How would it be (http://69.51.5.41/showthread.php?t=12113) thread

--------------------

DAVID BRIN

NATULIFE

I know, things taste better fresh, not packaged. Lembas clots your arteries
and hurts the rain forest. We should eat like our stone age ancestors, who dug
roots, got lots of exercise, and always stayed a little hungry. So they say.

Still, I balked when Sam served me termites.

"Come on, Master Frodo. Try one. They're delicious."

Sam already had the hive uncrated and set up by the time I woke up. Putting
down my cloak and walking staff Faramir gave me, I stared at hundreds of the pasty-colored critters scrabbling in grubbed up hive, tending their fat queen,
making themselves right at home again.

Sam offered me a stick to serve as a probe.

"See? You use this stick to fish after nice plump ones, like apes do in the wild!"

"How do you know apes do that? Oh, all right, don't recite any other verses... oliphaunt was enough...

I gaped at the insect habitat, filling the last free space between our
little fire and the sacks to the right.

"But . . . we agreed, we still have dried apples. . . and lembas too..."

"Oh, Master Frodo, I know you'll just love them. Anyway, don't I need protein and
vitamins for helping you to carry It to that land?"

Putting my hand over his swelling belly normally softened any objections he might
have. Only this time my own stomach was in rebellion.

"I thought you already got all that stuff from the nest back there... and the hollow too"

I pointed to the pieces of shell and bits of fur occupying half of Sam's pans, venting nutritious vapors from racks of tissue-grown cutlets.

"That stuff's not natural," Sam complained with a moue. "Come on, try the real thing. It's just like Gollum said, and he knows his staff, living in the Wild and all!"

"I . . . don't think . . . "

"Watch, I'll show you!"

Sam passed the stick-probe through a hole in the left side of the hive to delve after six-legged prey, his tongue popping out as he concentrated, quivering with excitement from his square nose down to his rounded belly.


"Got one!" he cried, drawing a twitching insect out the hatch and to his lips.

"You're not seriously . . . "

My throat stopped as the termite vanished, head first.

Bliss crossed Sam's face. "M-m-m, crunchy!" He smacked, revealing a still-twitching tail.

I found enough manly dignity to raggedly chastise him.

"Don't . . . talk with your mouth full."

Turning away, I added -- "If you need me, I'll be on the other side of that rook there.

------------

(to think dear Mr. Brin writes articles (http://www.davidbrin.com/tolkienarticle1.html) about Tolkien :p )

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Hope this is allowed.

What if The Slmarillion was a Werewolves game?
(Or What if The Silmarillion was written by a Werewolves mod?)

Ainulindalë: The Saga of the Village of Ardaland.

Eru: Hey, everyone! I’ve found a new game, and it’s called ‘Werewolves.’ Wanna play it?

Ainur: Ooh, we want to join!

Ulmo: Maybe we should have jobs in the village so we’ll have more fun. I’ll be the plumber.

Melkor: I’ll be the king* of the village.

Manwë: No, you can’t! Eru made me king!

Varda: I’ll play a lamp-maker.

Aulë: I wanna be the blacksmith!

Melkor: I’ll be king, Manwë, so just cry home to momma! :p

Yavanna: I wanna be a gardener!

Mandos: I shall be a judge.

Manwë: If you want to play, Melkor, then you’ll have to play by the rules. Since Eru made me king already you can’t be king.

Nessa: I’m a dancer!

Lórien: I’ll be selling sleeping pills.

Melkor: Rules, schmules! I’m the most powerful, so I’ll be king!

Vairë: I shall be a weaver.

Oromë: I’ll be a furrier.

Manwë: Stop it, Melkor, or I’ll tell on you!

Nienna: I’m the village psychiatrist.

Melkor: You can’t be a psychiatrist! You can’t have other jobs! You’re all my slaves!

Ainur: SHUT UP!

Melkor: Why you . . .

Tulkas: I wanna be a wrestler!

Eru: OK, let’s start the game now. Eä!

Illuin and Ormal: Sorry, we’re late! Can we still join?

Valar: Sure!

NIGHT 1

Melkor: ++Illuin and Ormal Because they’re too bright for their own good.

Illuin and Ormal were killed.

DAY 1

Aulë: Melkor did it, I tell you!

Flames from Illuin and Ormal: Due to a random formula, we have decided to lynch ++Almaren

Almaren was lynched.

NIGHT 2

Balrogs (mythomaniac): Hey, Melkor. Can we join you?

Melkor: Yeah. Sure.

DAY 2

Yavanna: What do we do? We need known innocents!

Laurelin and Telperion: We are the Shiriffs!

Aulë: Maybe we need new players.

Dwarves: Can we join?

Eru: Sorry, you’ll have to wait for the next game.

Oromë: Hey, other players want to join the next game!

Tulkas: Then let’s end this game already! Lynch Melkor!

Valar: ++Utumno

Utumno was lynched. VILLAGERS WIN!

Mandos: Eru said I’ll be mod for the new game.

Eldar: Yay! We can join now!

Mandos: So it is doomed.

DAY 1

Melkor (to Noldor): Look, I’m telling you. The Valar are the werewolves. They want this game to end so they can let the newbies join. And those newbies are easy to manipulate.

Noldor: Murmurmurmur.

Fëanor: We need to start another game! No Valar, Elves only!

Mandos: That is not allowed.

Tulkas: Grrr, that Melkor! He tricked us into thinking he’s an innocent villager! Lynch him!

NIGHT 1

Melkor (to Ungoliant): So, you’re the Beorning, huh? We should help each other.

Ungoliant: Deal, but let’s kill the Shiriffs first.

Laurelin, Telperion and Finwë were killed.

DAY 2

Fëanor: I told you something bad would happen! New game, I say! No Valar!

Noldor: YEAH!

Olwë: The Valar can help you, let them join!

Noldor: NO!

Fëanor: Traitors! ++Teleri

The Teleri were lynched. They were innocent.

NIGHT 2

Mandos: Because you have lynched innocent blood, you shall fear the Cobbler role.

Fëanor: We don’t care! We’ll still lynch Morgoth!

Finarfin: That’s it, I quit this game!

DAY 3

Fëanor: Haha! Look at me! I’ll finally lynch Morgoth!

Gothmog: No, you won’t. ++Fëanor

Fëanor: Farewell, fellow villagers! Lynch Morgoth! I won’t be joining another game for a very long time!

Fëanor is lynched.

To be continued?
__________________
* The role of ‘mayor’ has been changed into ‘king’ to avoid turning this into an allegory.

(For an explanation of roles, see here (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=396448&postcount=1) and here (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=410360&postcount=1).)
__________________

I tried turning the entire Silm into a Werewolves game, but I got stuck at Of Túrin Turambar.

[Anguirel]

I certainly hope so...this is brilliant. I wish I'd thought of it...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Back up for your reading pleasure - and hopefully for new contributions! :Merisu:

[Alfirin]

[ Just who or what was 'Pitman's model', anyway?

It's "Pickman's model" and as for waht it is its a Ghoul. the point of the story is that Pickam has been tempting ghouls into the basemnt of the house (though the tunnel to the burying grounds) and has been painting them and conversing with them. (In the later "Dream Quest of Unkown Kadath", we find out that after his death/dissaperance Pickman became a Ghoul himself. to quot the old Lovecraftian limerick (apolgies to whoever wrote it,),

"Pickman used models exotic,
well versed in matters necrotic.
They're burrowing still,
out under Copp's Hill,
and all those who know are psychotic.

Anywhoo
While I (regrettably) lack the skill to do so I think that a funny rewrite migh be LOTR in the style of Terry Prachett's Discworld novels (though this might get a little cyclical) also how about LOTR a la Red Dwarf? I am working on finalzing a LOTR as done by L. Frank Baum (theoretic title "The Wizard of Arda")

[Milady Revenwyn]

I am no good at doing any of this type, but they are freakin' hilarious!

[Estelyn Telcontar]

If lolcats had written LotR: (idea generated by Lush's signature)

Book 1, The Itti Bitti Fellowkitti Committi

Bilbo: Oh hai - I haz berfday, can haz partee?

Gandalf: I r seryus wizard, ring iz evul, you no can keep.

Frodo: I must leeve Shire, destroi Basement Cat's ring.

Sam, Pippin, Merry: Itti bitti kitti committi goes wif u.

Tom Bombadil: I kill hooman who dressed me in blue jackit an yello boots.

Strider: I iz Aracat, son of Arapaw, I goes wif u.

Bill the Pony: Where ma bukkit?

Ringwraiths: We comez from Morrdorr, Basement Cat says mwa-ha-ha!

Frodo: I can haz horsie, 'scape evul riderz?! Kthxbai.


(to be continued - perhaps by others?)

[Aiwendil]

One wonders if that's what LotR would've looked like if Sauron had remained Tevildo Prince of Cats.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

footnote:

Glorfindel: I r 'portant Elf wif vital role - Arwen no can haz!

[Pitchwife]

I wonder if any of you will recognize this...

LotR by Patti Smith (Horses):

The hobbit was sitting in his hole drinking a cup of tea
On the other end of the hole the wizard was uncloaking
The wizard looked at Frodo
Frodo wanted to run
but the movie kept moving as Peter Jackson had planned
The wizard took the Ring
he threw it into the fire
threw it deep into the fire
started explaining the fiery letters
started sermonizing ominously
when
suddenly
Frodo
gets a feeling
he's being surrounded by
Nazgûl
Nazgûl
Nazgûl
Nazgûl
black, eery, creepy wraiths with their swords in flames
he saw
Nazgûl
Nazgûl

(etc.; goes on for about ten minutes, covering the story by wild associative jumps, and ends with something like: )

No one saw
that sail
No one saw
the elven ship
sailing west
on a simple
straight
path

[Gordis]

what a great thread!:D

Here is my little contribution:

LOTR by RL Stevenson

At the Sign of the Admiral Took

King Aragorn Elessar, Gandalf the Wizard, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about the Ring Quest, from the beginning to the end, I, Frodo Baggins, take up my pen in the year of the Shire Reconing 1420 and go back to the time when my uncle Bilbo kept the Admiral Took inn and the haggard old hobbit with greenish skin and bulging pale eyes first took up his lodging under our roof.

I remember as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door. I remember him looking round and whistling to himself as he did so, and then in his high, old hissing voice breaking out in that strange song that he sang so often afterwards:

"We only wish
to catch a fish,
so juicy-sweet!"

"This is a handy hole," hissed he at length; "Much company, fat hobbitses?" My uncle Bilbo told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.

"Well, then," said he, "this is the hole for me. I'll stay here a bit, among nice hobitses. I'm a plain customer; water and eggses and sweet juicy fissh is what I want…" Here he made a strange noise in his throat: gollum gollum! "What you mought call me? You mought call me Preciousss. Oh, I see what you're at — there"; and he threw down three or four silver pennies on the threshold.

All days he spent fishing in the river; all evenings he sat in a corner of the parlour furthest from the fire, his gnarled fingers constantly fiddling with a plain golden ring. Mostly he would not speak when spoken to, only look up sudden and fierce with greenish light in his eyes and make this sound in his throat "Gollum!"; and we and the people who came about our house soon learned to let him be. Between us we called him Gollum.

Every day when he came back from his fishing he would ask if any Big Men had gone by along the road. For me, at least, there was no secret about the matter, for I was, in a way, a sharer in his alarms. He had taken me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny on the first of every month if I would only keep my "eye open for a tall half-blind Big Man in a black cloak" and let him know the moment he appeared. "Now, if I can't get away nohow, and they pierce my heart by the black knife, mind you, it's my Ring they're after; you get on a pony, and go to — well, yes, I will! — to the Sheriff, and tell him to call all magistrates and such. But not unless you see a Big Black Man." How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy nights, I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. And altogether I paid pretty dear for my monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.

There were nights when he took a deal more brandy than his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old, wild songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call for glasses round and force all the trembling company to listen to his stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the house shaking with " to catch a fish, so juicy-sweet! " all the neighbours joining in for dear life, and each singing louder than the other to avoid remark.

His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories they were — about evil Big Men and Orcs and Spiders, and walking in the wilderness, and deep caves under the Mountains, and the dread Land of Mordor, and wild deeds and places in the Wide world. Uncle Bilbo was always saying the inn would be ruined, for people would soon cease coming there to be tyrannized over and put down, and sent shivering to their beds; but I really believe his presence did us good. People were frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country life, and there was even a party of the younger hobbits who pretended to admire him, calling him a "true fearless adventurer" and such like names.

[Morthoron]

ELROND'S SOLILOQUOY
By Will Shakespeare after a night of drinking port

An Elf or not an Elf...that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler to be mortal and suffer
The twinges and hair-loss of mankind's fortune,
Or to take up Elfdom and unlimited potential,
and by inference become immortal. An Elf -- to sleep no more --
Because Elves rarely sleep given their high metabolism.
But there is heartburn -- a thousand years of eating lembas --
Does not aid in my digestion. 'Tis not a bowel movement
One would wish on an enemy. And sheep -- the sheep that yearn to dream --
Ah, I've lost count. For in that count of sheep no dreams may come,
While snuggly mortals coil soundly 'neath comforters and nap without pause,
There's only insomnia that makes a calamity of so long a life....

[Morthoron]

Part of an aborted Rock Opera by Deep Purple (this section refers to the Battle of Laketown):

When Smaug came out to Laketown,
He flew up and down the shoreline.
The baked wreckage burnt in profile --
He ate a troop of mimes.

Rank sacks and broken rudders
Floated to the shore from town,
Cos’ some monster like Godzilla
Burned the place to the ground.

Smaug on the water --
A dragon in the sky!
Smaug on the water...

He burned down the Master’s house,
Who cried as it toppled down.
A fool named Bard was running in and out,
Trying to save the stunned crowd.
When they ran for cover,
They couldn't find a safer place.
In boats they paddled out,
And rowed like they were in a race.

Smaug on the water --
A dragon in the sky!
Smaug on the water...

Bard ended up all alone as well --
The town was empty burnt despair.
But a flitting blue thrush flew from outside.
Whisp'ring to Bowman there.
Bard took his aim for just a bit
His bowstring thrummed with sweat.
Slow motion shot -- the arrow hissed --
And Smaug, and Smaug was finally dead.

Smaug on the water --
A dragon in the sky!
Smaug on the water.

[Pitchwife]

Morth, that was gorgeous!

[mark12_30]

The Voyage of Eärendil by Tom Clancy

“Talk to me, Randy,” said Eärendil to his sonarman.


Nilp: Brilliant. Three cheers.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

There have been some really nice things on this thread (also in its very beginnings :) ). I have been thinking about several like this as well, but this far I've written down just one - because it was the easiest :) (And I also know that at least some 'Downers around here might appreciate it...)

THE BRIDGE OF KHAZAD-DUM by Masashi Kishimoto

"Gandalf?"
"Huh? Oh..."
"..."
"...What is this feeling?"
This feeling... Could it be...
"Byakugan!
- Ai! Ai!!!"
"What - ?"
"Legolas! What do you see?"
"What an immense chakra..."
"What is that thing?"
"It's a Balrog!"
"Uh, Gandalf... a Bal... what?"
"A Balrog, Pippin. In ages long past, the Valar have destroyed the fortress of Angband in the country of ice far north. Among its denizens, there were demon beasts called Balrogs. One of them had escaped and hid here... he was sealed inside Moria. But the greedy Dwarves released him..."
"Uh... I see, Gandalf..."

"Roarrrrrrrrrrr!"
"Oh no! It's coming!"
"Run! Fly! Over the bridge!!!"
"No! I won't leave you here, Gandalf!"
"No, run, Aragorn!"
"I will not leave my comrades, Gandalf! Not any more! Not this time!"
"No, Aragorn! You must go!!!
...Take care of Frodo."
"... A-all right, Gandalf..."
"Roarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
"Gandalf!!!"
"You cannot pass!"
"Roarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!"
I will not last long. He is too powerful.
At this rate...
I have no choice. I have to use THAT...
"KATON: ANOR NO KOUEN!!! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!"

[Lobelia]

I love it! And I've read many of the authors mimicked here.

For the record, in reply to a question part way down: Bagenders" is a reference to long-running British soap "Eastenders". The name "Bagenders", by the way, was used in a LOTR fanzine some years ago, so someone had the idea back in the 80s, I think.:)

[Lobelia]

sorry that story isn't all that good, but you try to write in that dialect. It's mind bogling. smilies/smile.gif

Hey, it's great! The language is just right. I had a huge laugh, me little droog!:D

[Orofarne]

Sorry, I was reading this thread and this just came to me.


There once was a Hobbit called Baggins,
who rode ponies, not horese nor wagons.
He owned the One Ring
That terrible thing!
And broke into the houses of dragons.



_________________________
"Look my friends, here's a pretty hobbit skin to wrap an Elven princeling in!"

[Galadriel]

HAHAHAHA! P.G. Wodehouse?? HAHAHAHA! He's one of my favourites buuut...
Nay, I think 'tis best left to Tolkien!

Oh Lord, imagine if Stephenie Meyer wrote LotR!
"There was also an Elf wearing green and brown. His name was Legolas, I think. He was a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of Mirkwood. It was hard to determine who was more beautiful: the rugged ranger Aragorn, or the Elf."
"I gasped. Lothlorien was so beautiful. Everything seemed so bright: the flowers swayed in the breeze and the trees shimmered in gold and silver. It wasn't fair. Why was EVERYTHING in Lothlorien so perfect?"
Haha, what an epic fail!

[Orofarne]

1] is Bella running around in Middle Earth? and
2] if so,how come no one has killed her yet?

[Galadriel]

1] is Bella running around in Middle Earth? and
2] if so,how come no one has killed her yet?

Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if Gimli just cut off her head. She is incredibly annoying

[Archaic Elf]

The versions by James Joyce and PG Wodehouse are the best in the original post. I would probably read one or the other if there were legitimate parodies. I've never read Wodehouse, but that just looked to be so funny. The version by Raymond Chandler also looked good. I'm into old 1930s mobster films, and that reads like one.

I haven't finished reading the whole thread yet, but a version by William Blake would be cool to read. It would be pretty hard to figure out the symbolism, but he would bring a new found intensity to the novels.

What a cool thread.

[Pitchwife]

a version by William Blake would be cool to read. It would be pretty hard to figure out the symbolism
Yeah to both! Especially the ambiguity of Orc:D. On a slightly more serious note, I could imagine a Blakeish Silmarillion, mapping the Zoas onto the Valar or vice versa - Aulë would obviously be Urthona/Los, while Luvah/Orc would have to be something like Tulkas and Melkor rolled into one; and then it gets complicated.

But what about this for starters?

Did Elven feet in ancient times
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And were the holy fairy folk
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the light of Valinor
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Cortirion builded here
Among these dark Mordorian mills?

Bring me my pen of silver bright;
Bring me my notebooks of desire;
Bring me my inkpot dark as night;
Bring me my typewriter of fire!

I will not cease to subcreate
Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand
Till I've rebuilt Cortirion
In England's green & pleasant land.

[Archaic Elf]

Yeah to both! Especially the ambiguity of Orc:D. On a slightly more serious note, I could imagine a Blakeish Silmarillion, mapping the Zoas onto the Valar or vice versa - Aulë would obviously be Urthona/Los, while Luvah/Orc would have to be something like Tulkas and Melkor rolled into one; and then it gets complicated.

But what about this for starters?

Did Elven feet in ancient times
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And were the holy fairy folk
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the light of Valinor
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Cortirion builded here
Among these dark Mordorian mills?

Bring me my pen of silver bright;
Bring me my notebooks of desire;
Bring me my inkpot dark as night;
Bring me my typewriter of fire!

I will not cease to subcreate
Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand
Till I've rebuilt Cortirion
In England's green & pleasant land.

Sweet! Very nice indeed.
Thinking of the Songs of Experience, there would be so many subtly dark undertones to even the most innocent and harmless features of the story, never mind seeing Mordor! I haven't read Blake's prophetic books in years, but they were so vivid and thought provoking. I think we would all walk away a little scarred like Frodo after reading Blake's LOTR or Silmarillion.

[Morthoron]

WAITING FOR GONDOR

(A pastiche of Beckett's absurdist two-act play juxtaposed with an abandoned Ingmar Bergman script whittled down to a single page of narrative for the sake of relieving the inveterate boredom related to plays – and wordy absurdist plays in particular - what with their parroting on about personal and public paradigms and parameters, whilst nihilistically relating human foibles in a stream-of-consciousness manner without moral or satisfying climax. So, get out your clove cigarettes and absinthe, don your Che Guevera t-shirt and put a volume of Camus or Sartre on your archetypical, upper-middle-class, bourgeois coffee table milled from recycled barn board, and recite after me: Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…)

Erkenbrand dismounted gingerly from his steed and slumped onto a low mound of grass that jutted from the side of the rutted road. He grunted. Sluggishly, he attempted to pull off his boot and remove the insidious stone that had bitten into his arch for the last several leagues. But the boot was as immovable as he was exhausted. He made one last half-hearted attempt but was defeated before he even started.

"Such is life," he muttered tonelessly. "Life is such."

"I am of like mind," said Erestor, who had walked with his lame steed from the far side of the tumbling field. "But we Elves have fought the long defeat for the last three ages. We fought valiantly. We died with our boots on. But now the shoe seems to be on the other foot."

Erkenbrand simply shrugged off the irony. He should have been surprised at the sight of an Elf in the middle of Rohan, but he was just too tired. "I am glad to see Elves this far south once again; I thought you were gone forever."

"Forever?" Erestor laughed a bit. "A few years, a decade, a century: these seem an eternity to you Mannish-folk."

Erkenbrand caught the haughty undertones of the Elf's words. "But Prince Imrahil down in Dol Amroth claims to have Elven ancestors."

"Not bloody likely," Erestor grunted with his usual Noldorin disdain. "He is a nobody. A petty prince. Imrahil's mythic forebear couldn't even get a whiff of that perfumed personage."

Erkenbrand was taken aback at the Elf's profane brusqueness. "So much for vaunted Elvish courtesy."

Erestor shrugged and sat next to the man of Rohan on the raised bit of turf. "Don't believe the hype," the Elf grumbled. "It is merely a device we Elves use to maintain a social advantage over you miserable Aftercomers."

Erkenbrand raised an eyebrow. He shifted the toes in his boot but the stubborn stone was lodged indelibly between sole and skin. He grimaced. Erestor noticed the man's discomfort but ignored it. Or perhaps he was amused by it. It could be that this precise moment was a microcosm of history itself, and the Firstborn at last refused to aid the Usurper. Erestor the rebel.

"Oh, would you lay off the stilted inner dialogue and help me?" Erkenbrand grumbled.

"Help you what?"

"Help me take off this boot!"

"Does it pain you?"

"Does it pain me? Who else but an effete Elf would utter such a phrase!"

"Does it hurt the precious?" Erestor hissed in return.

"Yes, it hurts. Dash it all!"

"Live with pain; it will make you stronger."

"Is that an Elvish saying?"

"No, but it is appropriate in this instance."

Erkenbrand was not amused. He leaned again toward his stubborn footwear: a boot as bold as his brash Dunlender servants - and just about as useless. He didn't want to show any weakness to the Elf, but he had ridden for many an hour and even the Horse Lords of Rohan knew well the exhaustion of mounted travel. Evidently, Elves did not. Erestor sighed in exasperation, rose without a hint of exertion, grabbed Erkenbrand's boot by the heel and casually slid it from the man's swollen foot. The recalcitrant rock rolled out onto the rutted road.

"There. All better?" Erestor smirked and then muttered, "So much for the Gift of Men."

"What do you mean by that?" Erkenbrand growled, quite tired of the Elf's pomposity.

"Nothing, nothing," Erestor said distractedly. "I just find it rather odd that Middle-earth shall be ruled by your" – and here he paused with a sour frown as if it were an effort to maintain a sense of decorum - "your…race."

"Well, you high 'n' mighty folk have left us a pish-poor inheritance, to be sure," Erkenbrand laughed. "And what do you Elves know of Man's destiny in any case?"

"What do I know of Man's destiny?" Erestor pursed his lips. "I could tell you more of cabbages than mortal kings. But it matters not. Soon the Elves shall be leaving these shores."

"Leaving? Where are you off to?"

"West. Over the Sundering Sea. To Elvenhome."

"Pffft!" Erkenbrand spat. "It's not like you've been a bloody part of this world anyway."

"Beg pardon?"

"You Elves. You're like madly eccentric neighbors holed up in moldering mansions for countless years. Safe but insecure behind high iron gates. Weird, decrepit folk, mooning over past glories."

Erestor rolled his eyes. "And Men?" he laughed corrosively. "You know not where you are going, and you know not where you have been. You and your ilk are like little lap dogs chasing their tails. Thank Eru you lack the ability of the hound to lick its own private parts; otherwise, your race would be extinct."

Erkenbrand cursed and his face turned red. But Erestor merely laughed. "Forgive me. Please, forgive me, man of Rohan," the Elf said cheerfully. "We are allies; or, at least, we are both enemies of the One Enemy. And an enemy of my enemy is –"

"-- is a friend?" Erkenbrand interrupted as he slowly unclenched his fists. "We Rohirrim have just such a saying."

"Most likely borrowed from the Elves," Erestor winked.

Now Erkenbrand laughed. "Then let us lay aside insult and misunderstanding and be on our way," he said as he slipped his boot back on.

"Hold!" Erestor answered, surveying the area with the visual acuity of the Elves. Seemingly satisfied, he added, "No sense in leaving. We might as well wait here."

"Wait? Wait for whom?"

"Wait for Gondor."

"Do you think they'll come?"

"Certainly," Erestor said with a certain certainty.

There was a very long silence. Gondor, it seems, was running late.

"Ummm," Erekenbrand hummed dumbly. "What shall we do while we wait?"

"How about a nice game of chess?" Erestor asked.

That would be fine," Erkenbrand nodded. "Do you have a set, Ingmar?"

"Yes, I have one in my saddle bag," the Elf replied. "And it is Erestor, not Ingmar."

The Elf laid the board on a boulder on the beach as the susurration of the surf sighed while sadly sidling up and down the sand.

"Alliteration is a hidebound byword for the Old Guard," The harlequin dwarf croaked as he brushed sand from his parti-colored pantaloons. "It is the sad gibbering pronouncement of the global cultural narrative." He then moved a pawn forward two spaces (but he never actually used the word pawn – to him, it was 'proletarian worker held in thrall by bloody monarchists').

The old fishwife aggressively brought out her knight. "Lor', 'ere ye go agin'," she spat, "rejectin' classic forms 'o' lit'rature fer yer post-modern caterwaulin'. 'Oil take th' 'literation 'o' Beowulf o'er Joyce's pale imertations, truth t' tell. Gimme Blake or Shakespeare any ol' day – it's blokes loike Borges 'n' Burroughs what gets me 'ackles up."

The Harlequin dwarf's motley cap tinkled merrily as he loomed over the chessboard, but the jester was not pleased by the fishwife's harangue. He glowered. With a wave of his mock scepter, his bauble, he signaled to the one-eyed undertaker, who blew a futile horn, took his place behind the shrew, and waited. It is what funeral directors do best: wait, patiently. The Harlequin moved another 'proletarian worker held in thrall by bloody monarchists' up a space to guard his brother worker.

"All I'm sayin'," the fishwife muttered, peering uneasily over her shoulder at the silent, vulturine man of the dismal trade, "is ye bloody well can't abandon four 'unnert year of lit'rary accomplishments merely by loudly proclaimin' th' failure 'o' language and Man's unability of escapin' 'is condition." She then slyly baited the Harlequin with a pawn prone at the center of the board.

The bells flopping from the three folds of the Harlequin's headgear jangled with the unnerving minimalism of a Phillip Glass composition. Barely able to contain his glee, he quickly took the fishwife's pawn and said, "Only a buffoon would have made that move."

The fishwife laughed aloud and took the Harlequin's pawn with her knight. "Tatterdemalion!" she squealed with delight. "You even babble in post-modern self-referential irony!"

Standing ankle-deep in the surf, a mime wept silently.

"Mister Frodo, Mister Frodo," Sam said nervously as he jostled his master awake. "It's getting near dawn. P'raps we'd best get on our way."

"Oh Sam, I had the oddest dream," Frodo grumpled as he yawned and stretched. "It was an absurdist nightmare with Rohirrim, Elves, jesters, fishwives, one-eyed undertakers, mimes and the music of Phillip Glass."

"I prefer John Cage or Zappa, personally," Sam grunted in disapproval.

[Pitchwife]

Sam obviously has a sound taste in music! :D

[Galadriel]

I was wondering...can anyone pull a Victor Hugo? I loved his Les Misérables. :)

[morwen edhelwen]

All right, so this is inspired by "That 70s Show", which is one of my favourite TV shows, other than "The Mentalist'. It's an AU, and I got the idea from jeanster's Leave It to Beaver parody "Leave It To Frodo" on the Straight Dope Message Board. NOTE: Some scenes are skipped because the Pilot episode is long. And some of the language is the same, although the text is mostly mine meant to represent the same ideas as the Pilot)

So here it is

That Third Age Show Pilot
(Theme snippet. White text on a black screen reads "Frodo Baggins' Basement, Hobbiton, The Shire, 8 pm. FRODO is sitting next to his relatives MERRY and PIPPIN, and the room also contains EOWYN, who lives down the street, SAM, and ARAGORN)

MERRY Come on Frodo, do it.

FRODO (looks at both Merry and Pippin) Why can't you or Pippin do it? It was your idea.

PIPPIN:Yeah but Frodo, you live here. It's your house.

MERRY: And if you don't do it, the ale will be gone
FRODO: But what about Gandalf? He'll see it.

MERRY: Frodo! I need that ale.

EOWYN: Just avoid my uncle if you're going to the kitchen

FRODO: What?

EOWYN: He's been acting different and looking different recently. Older.
Look, just don't look at him.

FRODO: OK.

PIPPIN: Remember the ale!

(FRODO makes this way upstairs. The hallway is crammed with guests from the neighbourhood. FRODO bumps into his uncle BILBO)
BILBO: Oh hi, Frodo.

FRODO: Hi, Uncle Bilbo.

BILBO (taking ale from the counter) Anyone want more food? Would you put these on the table?
FRODO: Sure, Uncle Bilbo.
(FRODO grabs hold of the ale. He puts some on the table but takes just enough for himself. As he walks back downstairs he runs into THEODEN)

FRODO: Mr. Theoden!

GANDALF: Theoden looks like-- what happened to Theoden? Humans don't age that fast.

FRODO: Someone cursing his ***?

GANDALF: Frodo, don't say that. You're still a young hobbit. And what are you carrying?

FRODO: Uh, just some ale

GANDALF: Put it away.

FRODO: I will, Gandalf.

(FRODO walks downstairs. As the kitchen door closes, a snippet of conversation between BILBO and GANDALF can be heard)

GANDALF: Still have that ring, Bilbo?

BILBO: Yes. But I've been thinking that I might give it to Frodo.

(The basement. FRODO rushes down with the ale)
FRODO: Guys! My uncle's giving me his ring!

ARAGORN: You're getting the ring?

FRODO: Yeah! The one he got from Gollum that can turn you invisible.


(MERRY has spotted the ale.)

MERRY: Well, the most important thing is- Frodo stole some ale! (He raises a toast) To Frodo!

ALL: To Frodo!

FRODO: This is the happiest day of my life!

(The Basement again, a few days later)

MERRY: So how are things with the ring?

FRODO: He hasn't really decided whether or not to give it to me yet. I think he secretly wants to keep it. He keeps on calling it his "precious".

(A knock on the door. ARWEN, Aragorn's girlfriend, comes in)

ARWEN: Hi Aragorn! Hey I heard about Frodo's ring. Can I have a look?

ARAGORN: You came here just to have a look at Frodo's ring?

(To be continued)

[morwen edhelwen]

OK, I know that was really bad...

[damonbutler11]

Wow brilliant really, I dont know what to say...

Dr. Suess : I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not eat Suaron's ring with ham! I will not eat them in the morn, I will not eat them with Boromir's horn! I will not eat them with a Ringwraith, I will not eat them in the bath! I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not Suaron's ring with ham.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Well, Legate already did a Naruto version. So I shall up the metaphorical ante with something . . . deeper in the anime esoterica.

(Urubochi Gen's someone who would be into the concept of eucatastrophe.)

~*~*~

Anello Portatore Frodo☆Magica
by Magica Quartet

Episode 8: I'm Such a Fool

[Spoiler warning: In the absolutely ludicrously unlikely case that you are following the original show, turn back now. Here be spoilers.]

"Ringbearers are messengers of hope, locked in perpetual battle with the Ringwraiths, bearers of despair. Annatar, a mysterious creature of fair semblance, offers young Hobbits a contract: he will grant one of their wishes, in exchange for becoming Ringbearers.

"Miki Sméagol and Sakura Bilbo discover the truth behind Ringbearers: that their souls have been taken from their bodies and placed inside the rings they bear. The next day, Smeagol realises that his grandmother, whom he had healed with a miracle he had obtained in exchange for becoming a ringbearer, continues to hold him in contempt. Smeagol falls deeper into despair."

[Madoka Frodo is sitting on a park bench, clearly in anguish. Annatar appears from behind a tree.]

Annatar: Do you hate me, too?

Madoka Frodo: If I hate you, will you turn Sméagol back?

Annatar: No. I'm afraid that's beyond my power.

Frodo: You said that I would be a really powerful Ringbearer. Is that true?

Annatar: "Really powerful" is an understatement. You would be extraordinarily powerful. Possibly the most powerful in Middle-earth.

Frodo: If I had listened to you, maybe Sméagol wouldn't have become a Ringbearer...

Annatar: Sméagol made his own wish. It has nothing to do with you.

Frodo: Why me? What's so special about me?

Annatar: I don't know. Honestly, your hidden potential is something I would never have even dreamed of, a Hobbit with a power equal to that of an Elf lord or a hero of the Edain. I would like an explanation myself.

Frodo: Really?

Annatar: All I know is, if you unleash your power, you may just cause a miracle, or you may even change the laws of Arda. But I can't explain why you alone have that kind of power.

Frodo: I thought I didn't have any dreams. I thought I'd just live out my life here in the Shire, never being able to make anyone happy or be good for anything. It made me sad and lonely, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Annatar: But the reality is very different. If you wish it, Frodo, I could make you into God.

Frodo: Then could I do what you couldn't?

Annatar: And what's that?

Frodo: If I made a contract with you, could I turn Sméagol back to normal?

Annatar: It would be easy for you. Is that a wish worth trading away your soul?

Frodo: For Sméagol, gladly. Make me a Ringbe--

[Annatar is shot in the eye with an arrow. Out of the shadows comes the figure of Akemi Samwise, holding a bow.]

Frodo: This is horrible! Why did you kill him?

Akemi Samwise: Why are you always sacrificing yourself? You're not good for anything?

Frodo: Huh?

Samwise: You have no meaning? Don't put yourself down. Think about the people who care about you. Stop this! There are people who would mourn if you were gone! Why don't you understand? What about everyone who is trying to protect you?

[Samwise falls to his knees.]

Frodo: Sam!

[Frodo stares blankly at Sam as the vague shadows of memory assault him.]

Frodo: Have we... Have we met somewhere before?

Samwise: I'm sorry...

Frodo: I have to find Sméagol.

Samwise: Wait! Miki Sméagol is already--

Frodo: I'm sorry.

[Frodo walks away.]

Samwise: Wait, Mr Frodo!

[Samwise reaches out for Frodo, but his knees won't support him. He falls back to the ground, sobbing. Meanwhile Annatar's body reforms, and he stands up holding the arrow that has pierced him.]

Annatar: You just don't learn, do you? That is not my true body. Destroying it won't do any good. You're just wasting your energy.

[Samwise stands back up, staring evenly at Annatar.]

Annatar: This is the second time you've tried to kill me. That's told me what kind of attacks you use. That was time-manipulation, right?*

[Samwise continues to stare at Annatar.]

Annatar: It seems that my guess was right. You aren't from this timeline, are you?

Samwise: I know what you are and what you're planning.

Annatar: And that's why you keep interfering with me. But do you think you can change Kaname Frodo's fate like this?

Samwise: Yes. I will not allow your plan to succeed, Annatar... Or should I say Sauron, Lord of the Rings?

[The scene switches to Sakura Bilbo and Miki Sméagol.]

Sakura Bilbo: I finally found you. When are you gonna stop being stupid?

Miki Smèagol: Sorry for wasting your time.

Bilbo: Huh? That's weird for you to say.

Smèagol: I don't care anymore. What was important to me, what I wanted to protect... I don't know what those are anymore.

Bilbo: Hey.

[Sméagol reveals his ring. The inscription on it is glowing bright red.]

Smèagol: Hope and despair always balance out to zero. That's what you said, right? I understand what that means now. I did save a few people, but with each one, the hate in me grew. I even hurt Frodo, my best friend.

Bilbo: Sméagol, did you...?

Smèagol: Whenever I wish for someone to be happy, someone else has to suffer as much. That's what it means to be a Ringbearer.

[Tears fall from Sméagol's eyes]

Smèagol: I'm such a fool.

[Sméagol's ring reacts, glowing and distorting the space around it.]

Bilbo: SMÉAGOL!!!

[Annatar watches from some high place.]

Annatar: Ringbearers refer to those who bear rings. And once the bearer falls into despair, they turn into Ringwraiths.
__________
* As used in The Lost Road. Sort of.

[Galadriel]

Wow brilliant really, I dont know what to say...

Dr. Suess : I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not eat Suaron's ring with ham! I will not eat them in the morn, I will not eat them with Boromir's horn! I will not eat them with a Ringwraith, I will not eat them in the bath! I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not Suaron's ring with ham.

It's Sauron. :) And this is funny.

[morwen edhelwen]

Wow brilliant really, I dont know what to say...

Were you talking about my LOTR-in-the-style-of-That-70s-Show? If so, thanks! I LOVE that show! Hey, anyone want to read another "That Third Age show"?