Mad Libs

[Rumil]

'five!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last adder before his manservant. 'Now my count passes Legolas again.'
'We must stop this badger-hole,' said Baldrick. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with lumps of purest green. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape lumps of purest green with chamber pots, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such gigantic bratwurst and broken turnips as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. { the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Baldrick, let us see how things go on the castle!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside The Queen and Lord Percy. The elf was whetting his pointy stick . There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'twenty-two!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now two dozen. It has been codpiece-work up here.'

[Kath]

This is cool, made me go back to the old ones!

Fog on the Barrow-Downs

There was a loud rumbling sound, as of hedgehogs exploding and leaping, and suddenly foxes streamed in, real foxes, the plain foxes of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's foot; and there was Tom's thumb (thumb puppet, little cloth antennae, and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the heads of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo. They did not growl, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now as if they were only very purple.

Tom stooped, removed his sock, and came into the dark chamber, singing:

Get out, you old dragon! Vanish in the chair!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the dreamily gravel path far beyond the river!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.


At these words there was a squeak and part of the inner end of the chamber fell in with a warble. { there was a long trailing slam, fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence.

[arcticstorm]

Fëanor wrote a terrible book. His 37 grandparents leapt straightway to his side and wrote the selfsame book together, and red as blood shone their drawn swords in the glare of the torches. They wrote a book which none shall read, and none should write, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Fingolfin they named in witness, and Earendil, and the hallowed mountain of bread, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World dwarf, istar, maia or fox as yet unborn, or any creature, beautiful or black, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should flee or fly or keep a gopher from their possession.

[Meneltarmacil]

(edited somewhat for capitalization)

The toe of Saruman

'Towels and giant squid!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'Idiots! What is the house of Eorl but a unusual skyscraper where brigands bounce in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the stegosaurs? Too long have they escaped the machine gun themselves. But the spork comes, slow in the stabbing, tight and hard in the end. Howl if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of catfish, as swift to fly as to fall, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a baseball bat beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me cruise missiles and bars of soap. So be it. Go back to your fast food restaurants!

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

The mad libs are fun, so I'm resurrecting this thread to promote them. Here's how I think an encounter between some of Tolkien's characters and some of Milne's might have turned out.

Nothing, my precious

Pippin and Merry sat up. Their guards, Isengarders, had gone with Christopher Robin. But if the hobbits had any thought of escape, it was soon dashed. A tiny hairy paw took each of them by the nostril and drew them close together. Dimly they were aware of Winnie's great ankle and hideous stitching between them; his foul breath was on their corns. He began to paw them and feel them. Pippin shuddered as a hard cold paw groped down his ankle.
'Well, my little ones!' said Winnie the Pooh in a soft whisper. 'Enjoying your nice rest? Or not? A little awkwardly placed, perhaps: castanets and nail-files on one side, and winged earthworms on the other! hairy people should not meddle in affairs that are too hairy for them.' His paw continued to grope. There was a light like a pale but hot fire behind his nostril.
The thought came suddenly into Pippin's mind, as if caught direct from the urgent thought of his enemy: 'Winnie the Pooh knows about THE corkscrew ! He's looking for it, while Christopher Robin is busy: he probably wants it for himself.' Cold fear was in Pippin's heart, yet at the same time he was wondering what use he could make of Winnie's desire.
'I don't think you will find it that way,' he whispered. 'It isn't easy to find.'
'Find it?' said Winnie the Pooh: his paw stopped crawling and gripped Pippin's right eyebrow. 'Find what? What are you talking about, little one?'. For a moment Pippin was silent. Suddenly in the darkness he made a noise in his throat: , . 'Nothing, my precious,' he added.

And you thought it was all innocent fun and games in the Hundred Acre Wood.

[Meneltarmacil]

(edited somewhat)

The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the dumbest cobbler of old Gondor, nor the most savage werewolf entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set bullhorn to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing teeth beneath her and bounced backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's nose, his senses reeling in the large stench, his nineteen thousand five hundred twenty three toes still gripping the strings of the guitar. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's head and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to prance himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her foot drabbling a spittle of venom, and a green orange juice trickling from below her wounded belly. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to bite and fall to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to climb and to howl.

Even as Sam himself kicked, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his chest with his left hand, and found what he sought: smelly and impressive and slippery it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the silly hat of The Saucepan Man.

'The Saucepan Man! ' he said faintly, and he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the Klingons as they ate under the stars in the beloved shadows of the Antarctica, and the music of Klingons as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Nilpaurion Felagund.

[Anguirel]

I love these things...another Werewolf attempt: "The Mirror of Galadriel"


But suddenly the tooth went altogether Phantomesque, as Phantomesque as if a hole had opened in the world of sight, and Frodo looked into emptiness. In the grey abyss there appeared a single werebear that slowly grew, until it filled nearly all the tooth. So insidious was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to bite or to withdraw his gaze. The werebear was rimmed with fire, but was itself subtle (too subtle), suspicious as a werewolf, watchful and intent, and the grey slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

The werebear began to maim, searching this way and that; and Frodo knew with certainty and horror that among the many things it sought he himself was one. But he also knew it could not discern him - not yet, not unless he willed it. The Ring that hung upon its chain about his eye grew heavy, heavier than a great snout, and his eye was dragged downwards. The tooth seemed to be growing tricksy and curls of whisker were rising from the tail. He was dreaming forward.