[Morthoron]

Originally Posted by Balfrog

Morthoron

How hilarious! What wonderful trollery! And now we're all hoping you show us how Thomas Aquinas, Albertus Magnus and William of Ockham lived in the same era, knew of each other and were friends and rivals. Perhaps we'll see how their works are embedded in the scenes and text of The Hobbit. It'll be interesting to compare the strength of both parody theories; and of course we are all waiting with bated breath to hear more about 'Betty'!

Perhaps if you knew history rather than regurgitating someone else's work, you would know that of the three scholastic philosophers, Thomas Aquinas and Albertus Magnus did indeed know each other and worked together at the General Chapter of the Dominicans at Valenciennes in 1259. William of Ockham was born within 10 years of the other two's deaths. I would suggest he knew their work intimately. We know the average lifespans of medieval man, however, we are not informed on the longevity of trolls and what the relative ages of the three in question were. Aquinas was fat enough to be a troll, perhaps if he had a troll's longevity, he would be discussing Betty with Bill.

In any case, I made up my parody in under five minutes. I didn't bother to make it a several paragraph treatise to garner clicks on the internet, although I have certainly made a full blown parody of the trolls discussing philosophy. It is certainly funnier than the one you propagate:

Chapter 5: Roast Mutton

Bilbo set off to discover the source of the strange light in the woods, followed for a bit by the dwarves, who wished neither to appear cowardly, nor miss a chance to bag some easy swag, if the proper circumstance presented itself. Needless to say, after a long trek through the bracken and brush (and grumbling all the way), the dwarves stopped a goodly distance from their goal, leaving Bilbo the burglar to practice his appointed profession without their interference, but not until Thorin gave Bilbo some sage advice.

“Now, be careful, but do not hesitate,” Thorin whispered hoarsely.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied.

“Just get a lay of the land, so to speak, and then come back.”

“Alright then.”

“But don't take overlong.”

“Certainly.”

“If trouble should arise, make three short warbles like a rosebreasted grosbeak, and then a series of mating calls like the male piping plover.”

“And we shall answer,” Balin added, “in the antiphonal duetting of a bobwhite quail.”

“Ummm...huh?” Bilbo was bebothered and flummoxed. “Do what with a which?”

“Off you go then,” Thorin smiled reassuringly, patting Bilbo on the back.

Bilbo slunked stealthily through the woods towards the mysterious light, not even daring to breathe. As he approached the clearing, Bilbo indeed saw a roaring bonfire and three figures of giant stature gnawing on great, greasy legs of roast mutton. Even though he had never seen one, Bilbo was convinced these were trolls based on their tremendous size and their gruff voices speaking in a vulgar language that was almost foreign to Bilbo. Even now, the trolls were engaged in an argument.

The troll Bilbo later indentified as William was growling and grunting: “...but Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy, with its reverent Platonism, certainly had a direct effect on Thomistic Scholasticism and even on the works of Chaucer.”

Another troll, Bert, was obviously being disagreeable: “Yes, yes, you and your Neo-Platonist platitudes. Boethius' work has been largely rejected for a more Aristotelian view, and a modern emphasis on material productiveness.”

And it seemed the third troll, Tom, sided with Bert: “Not to mention Boethius' inward looking virtues -- quite foreign these days.”

“Yes, that's precisely what I am saying,” Bert nodded with a satisfied air.

William would not back down. “Yet it is noble to eschew worldly goods such as money and power, and to seek instead internalized virtues.”

But neither did Bert. “But nobility will not feed an empty stomach, Bill m'dear; the more practical applications of Aristotle and the rational search for meaning found in his scientific method...”

“Bah!” William spat. “The scientific method! Just another means by which the military-industrial complex foists its technocracy on the proletariat, subjugating the masses in industrial thrall with the nodding consent of the pretentious bourgeoisie!”

“Bloody Marxist Franciscan swine!” bellowed Bert.

“Capitalist Jesuit hyena!” William countered and stuck his greasy thumb in Bert’s eye.

The trolls then started bashing each other with branches and rolled about near the fire. While the mayhem ensued, Bilbo saw a chance to practice his burgling skills. He had noticed that a large purse was hanging enticingly from William's pocket. Summoning up every ounce of courage he possessed, Bilbo snuck into the circle of light.

“Easy now, Bilbo,” the hobbit said to himself, “just slip the purse from the pocket and sneak back to the dwarves, no worse for the wear...”

But, as we all know, trolls’ purses are enchanted (how we know that, I am not sure, but it seems plausible). Suddenly the purse, in a voice reminiscent of Maurice Chevalier, shrieked in patois, “Vat ees thees? Eet seems I am being -- how you say -- purloined by un petit burglar sans hauteur! Mon dieu! L'aide, je suis volé!”

In a twinkling, William had roughly picked Bilbo up by an ankle and suspended him in mid-air. “Well, well, my dear chaps,” the troll laughed, “look who's come for dinner!”

“Hmmm, he seems a bit on the smallish side, Bill,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should stuff him in a capon l'orange met sous verre, garnished with leeks and pimento.”

Bert shook his head. “Nonsense, Thomas, he is obviously a hors-d'oeuvre -- a finger food, if you will.”

“Fingers and toes, my dear Bertram,” Tom chuckled, “fingers and toes!”

“Ah, your wit is delicious, brother Tom,” Bert replied.

“Enough of this idle banter, lads!” William growled. “We need to find out exactly what this creature is, and furthermore, if there are more of his ilk skulking about.” The troll gave Bilbo a jarring shake and said harshly, “Now, little fellow, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Yes, what are you exactly?” Bert asked suspiciously.

Being suspended upside did not aid Bilbo in this interrogation. The blood was rushing to his head and the ashes from the fire had got in his eyes. All he could do was sputter, “I...I...am a bur...a hobbit.”

“Burrahobbit?” Tom hissed incredulously. “What species is that precisely? An insect?”

“He appears more mammalian,” Bert deduced. “Perhaps a rabbit with mange -- what with fur only about his head and toes.”

“Never mind all that,” William groused, “are there more of you about?”

Bilbo could not think clearly. “Many...None. There are none.”

“Now that's a bit paradoxical,” said Tom.

“I should say!” Bert agreed.

William was taking a dim view of Bilbo’s dissembling. “Now look, my mammalian appetizer, what do you mean by 'many and none'?”

Just then, Balin walked into the midst of the camp, and faster than one could say, “Boy, am I in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the dwarf was quickly scooped up and bagged by the trolls.

“Never mind searching for these silly little burrahobbits, my dear fellows,” William roared, “there are dwarves about. I can smell ‘em.”

“I just thought you had gas, Bill,” Bert said sympathetically. “You know how mutton disagrees with your digestion.”

“Well, rest assured we won't be having any more mutton,” William replied with a lascivious grin. “Tonight, I shall prepare Dwarf a la Guillame in a nice bordelaise sauce.”

And so, as each dwarf crept warily into camp, the lurking trolls popped them into sacks. Soon, all thirteen were enveloped in smelly burlap, wriggling and mumbling helplessly by the campfire. Bilbo and the dwarves now found themselves in a fine stew (or would be stewed presently), and what of little Nell? Will she find Grandfather before the evil Taskmaster Moriarity sells the farm to her priggish cousin, Deacon Sprague? And will her delicate condition be revealed to her beau, Geoffrey DeBourgeron-Heathcliffe-Wellsley? How will she explain the drunken troop of Portuguese sailors and the trapeze in her boudoir? All these questions and more shall be answered in the next thrilling installment.

ooOOooOOoo

When last we left our band of intrepid questers, Bilbo’s feet were near crushed by the wicked trolls and the dwarves were all in sacks, individually wrapped for a busy homemaker's convenience. Just pop them in boiling water, heat and serve. Voila! You have a tasty and economical meal for even the most trollish of appetites...

“HMMMMPPPPHHHMMMMPPPHHH!” Thorin said from his sack.

Right. Sorry. The unsuspecting trolls were gleefully preparing for their meal, but they never expected [cue menacing music]...THE SPANISH INQUISITION! Ha-ha-ha, just had to throw that one in there!

“HMMMMPPPPHHHMMMMPPPHHH!” Thorin continued, not at all amused at the narrator’s callousness.

Yes, yes, hold your sack on. As I was saying, little did the unwitting trolls know that even now Gandalf had returned -- just in the nick of time!

“HMMPH-MMH!” Thorin said gratefully.

You're welcome.

As the trolls were preparing their dwarvish repast, a voice like Bert’s was heard to say, “It was Thomas Jefferson who rightly said, ‘Take from Plato his sophisms, futilities and incomprehensibilities, and what remains? His foggy mind.’”

William, who thought Bert was speaking, snarled, “Don't start that argument all over again, Bert, or it'll take all night!”

Bert, who thought it was William speaking, replied angrily, “Who's arguing, I should like to know? I thought you had an epiphany and were finally agreeing with Tom and me regarding the modern rejection of Plato.”

“I'll give you an epiphany all right!” William barked. “Stop arguing, you lout!”

“I was not arguing,” Bert said, “and I demand you retract you assertion!”

“I shall not!” William answered indignantly.

A voice like Tom's interrupted, “Well, Friedrich Nietzsche did say ‘Plato is a bore.’”

William, who thought it was Tom speaking, sighed, “See? Now you've got Tom in on it, with his boorish asides!”

Tom, who thought it was Bert speaking, shot back, “I'm not in on nothing! But Bert's got a point about Nietzsche's appraisal...and what do you mean by boorish asides?”

“Nietzsche? Bah!” William spat. “A syphilitic mental-case mumbling nihilistic aphorisms!”

A voice like Bert's then spoke, “Well, Thomas Aquinas was so grossly obese he should have named his philosophy Elasticism rather than Scholasticism!”

William, who thought it was Bert speaking, said sarcastically, “Oh, very clever, Bert! Did you think that one up all by yourself, or did you confer with the other buffoon?”

Bert, who thought it was William speaking, yelled, “Who's the buffoon? You're the idiot arguing with himself, like some contradictory schizophrenic!”

And so, the philosophical battle of intellectual giants (well, trolls, actually) raged on through the evening, and into the night, and right up to the break of day, when...

“And isn't that just like an existentialist,” William bellowed in exasperation, “trying to get the last posit in...”

But that was the last word poor Will or his troll brothers ever uttered. As the sun peeked over the hills, they froze in their positions, their rhetorical semantics forever suspended in mid-retort.

“Well, would you look at that,” Bilbo shouted in relief, “the trolls have turned to stone!”

“Of course they turned to stone, dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said as he popped out from behind some bushes. “Trolls can't take the sunlight.”

“I get a rash myself,” Bilbo replied, recalling his solar intolerance. Then the hobbit, finally noticing Gandalf's unexpected arrival, said, “Gandalf! Then it was you throwing your voice that caused the trolls to argue. Brilliant!” But a hint of annoyance crept into Bilbo’s greeting and he glared at Gandalf. “Hey, wait a minute!” the hobbit hissed. “Where have you got off to? We nearly drownded in the rain, froze without a fire and were about to be fricasseed by pretentious trolls!”

Gandalf was rather taken aback. “Errrmm...I had to run an important errand. Yes, an errand that could not wait.”

Gandalf’s mind wandered back to the day spa at Rivendell, with Elvish maidens massaging him in a hot tub. But this pleasant reverie was rudely interrupted by Bilbo, “An important errand? Out here in the wilderness?”

Clearing his throat, Gandalf adopted his ‘compassionate and wise wizardly mien’ and said earnestly, “Never you mind, Bilbo. You are, after all, a small person in a large world; while a wizard's toil is great and never ends.”

“Well, yes...of course,” Bilbo said abashedly, “Forgive me.”

“Think nothing of it, dear boy,” Gandalf smiled. “But let us make haste and get these dwarves out of their sacks. They're near to suffocation, I'd wager.”

“HMMPH-MMH!” Thorin said enthusiastically.

“My pleasure,” Gandalf answered.