If LotR had been written by someone else!?

[*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! [img]smilies/eek.gif[/img] [img]smilies/eek.gif[/img] [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[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! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] )

‘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?
[img]smilies/evil.gif[/img]

[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. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[*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 [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[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. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[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]

[img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] 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!

[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

[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!

[Nar]

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

*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) [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]. 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]

[img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Very funny! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] 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 ]

[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")

[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. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[ 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! 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 -
[img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
-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". [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

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

[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.)

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

[ 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.