A/N: My friend James and I were talking aboutdoing terrible things to Middle Earth, and I remembered this piece. Unlike the other active goodies I have on this site, I actually did finish this one, and it is sitting in my closet. I just need to do the typing. You wouldn't want to read my chicken scrawl! I am placing this in the "Lord of the Rings" section, because I don't really want to put it in the "Miscellaneous", and "The Hobbit" was the prequel to "TLOTR". I wrote this piece when I 13, so it does sound very much like a 13 year old. I have not changed the names, places, or titles of the chapter. This was written for fun, and it is to be taken in that sense, mind you. Of course, I don't own the rights to "The Hobbit", and if the Tolien estate ever saw this, not only would JRR be rolling over in his grave, but I would get lynched!
Chapter 1: The Unexpected Party
In a smelly hole in the ground that could have easily passed for a sewer inlet, there lived an equally smelly hobbit. What's this bull I hear that you have no idea what a hobbit is! Geez! You must have been out of contact with the world since infancy. Since you don't know, I shouldn't tell you, but, then, what would be the point of the this whole story. Mother Nature is not quite sure why she created these creatures, except possibly to be some universal pests. And you thought that cockroaches were bad! Wait until you understand the total magnitude of what a hobbit is. Due to the constant pounding into the ground that they receive from each other (and other outside forces), they are thankfully quite small. Their usual choice in clothing is greens and browns, so that they can camouflage themselves from their pounders (and Orkin), and it helps in being unseen as they throw garbage at passerbyers. Their greatest joy in life is their special cute little garbage gardens that they thrill in rolling about in. Thus, this gives a good enough reason to account for their sliminess (which comes in quite handily when they slide through an attacker's fingers). Their hair is brown and curly, due to lack of washing and everything said to them curls it (Even though their fine vocabulary could make a New York street gang blush). Hobbits are also exceedingly cheap. They get one pair of shoes in a lifetime. So, after fifty years of constant wear and tear of the same shoes, they tend to end up barefooted. All that remains is the tops of the shoes tied firmly around their ankles. Well, our particular smelly ill-tempered hobbit is by the honorable name (i.e., honorable to hobbits) Bilbo Baggins.
The Baggins were a very old and particularly smelly family. The name has been held on high ever since Roughage Grummage Baggins discovered the Dragon Droppings Swamp, but sadly, he died in the process of the discovery. (It really had something to do with the quite sizeable troll he was throwing some not so agreeable garbage that he found in the bottom of the diaper hamper at him.) Let's say that he made a headlong dive into his discovery. Mrs. Burpa Baggins and her thriving twelve sons and fourteen daughters ( a small hobbit family) inherited the land, which eventually became a dumping ground to family's vast joy and wealth.
Stoolart Baggins (dear ole' Bilbo's dad) suckered his wife, Pile-a Took of the Crook persuasion into buying him the primary dumping ground of the surrounding towns. Sadly, he, his wife, and all of at least fifty of Bilbo's other siblings perished in the dumping of great shiny pointy nasty object in the year 2915 TA. Bilbo survived the tragedy because his brothers decided to stuff him into a bread box. There was no real reason behind this, except Bilbo was the runt of the litter, and they were just wondering if he would fit. Anyway, after the rather slicing and dicing experience, Bilbo became a confirmed bachelor in name only.
Well, upon the very fine day this story begins (A dark and stormy day), Gandalf the Weirdo came a-knocking. Gandalf was not the type of person you would like to meet in a dark alley (or a brightly lit one, at that . . . or a well lit busy street . . . )He gets his kicks from whips and chains in the conventional sense. He has a part time job in the Spanish Inquisition. His hobbies include apothecaries (that he gladly practices on friends and neighbors). He does furring on live and kicking animals. He also does have the habit of losing friends in the most untidy of ways, and then afterwards, he does a few experiments in the ways of anatomy and tagging the different internal organs. (Death is not a prerequisite for this activity).
On this fine day, he sat upon a pile of Bilbo's finest garbage and blew out smoke rings of a most peculiar odor. Bilbo floated out of his hole to sniff up this new and unique stench. He eyed over his visitor on his special garbage pile, as did the other with very different thoughts about each other. Gandalf was placing a sure bet that this creature had many and various unique organs to tag, and all Bilbo was interested in was some interesting tobacco, tag or no tag.
"Well," said Gandalf.
"Well, what?" asked Bilbo.
"You're perfect. A total dingbat. Just what I need!"
"What on Middle Earth are you talking about? I am perfect for what! Who do you think you are! I order you to pack up your bags and scoot off my garbage pile! But leave your pipe behind!"
"Enough!" Screamed Gandalf, as he created a ring of fire around himself and Bilbo. Gandalf always did wonder what it would be like to be roasted, but this was not the time nor the place. Business before pleasure. There would be plenty of opportunities later in the story. Bilbo, by this time, was in a frenzy. All his lovely hard earned collection of the moldiest nastiest stinkiest garbage was being destroyed.
"Please, dear kind sir, stop this fire, so that I may keep my favorite things in life. You are destroying my favorite debris! And a hobbit can only be judged by how tall his garbage patch is."
"Oh, all right, I'll stop." The fire disappeared. "Then I shall return tomorrow about teatime with a bigger surprise than today's."
With a flash of lightening, he disappeared. Bilbo went quietly and calmly into his house, crawled silently under his bed, and had a nice little nervous breakdown.
The next day was Wednesday, dumping day (i.e., when the Rumpke truck came around deposited its treasure troth). Bilbo crawled from under his bed. Feeling much relieved, he stretched and went for breakfast. Just after he ate everything in sight (including several attempts on his neighbors) for breakfast, a loud ring came at the doorbell. "Oh my," thought Bilbo, "Gandalf didn't forget to come!" So, dimwittingly, he opened the door, and in rolled a very old dwarf.
"Dwalin at your mistake of your lifetime."
Bilbo was a little disturbed by this, but he just simply forgot it. He welcomed the dwarf to some food and drink ( that he conveniently filched from his neighbors' refrigerator that morning). Bilbo had hoped that this fellow was the replacement for Gandalf. The hobbit had just settled down to hog out on his 58th breakfast (or, if you like, his third lunch), when an enormous ring came from the doorbell. Bilbo demonstrated some of his finer points of the aforementioned vocabulary. He was sure that it was Gandalf this time. It was, in fact, another dwarf.
"Balin, at your destruction."
Bilbo gave Balin a queer look. The dwarf frowned and remarked, "I don't swing that way."
The hobbit blanched and led the dwarf to the other room, where Dwalin was. Dwalin and Balin acted like they knew each other, and they were soon quarreling. Actually, the two were brothers, but that was really no reason for them to know each other, but, on the other hand, it was an excellent reason for them to quarrel. Bilbo was starting to feel another nervous breakdown coming on, but he could hold it for now. Then came an ear-piercing ring from the bell. Bilbo thought, "That ingrate Gandalf! He should be here by now, but, of course, he has to send these pesky dwarves to take care of his business. I am tired of this, and I am missing my soaps."
He opened the door and in came two more dwarves.
"Fili and Kili at your deathbed."
Bilbo welcomed them in. He just settled them down at the table, when an ear piercing enormously loud ring screeched came from the doorbell, as if the doorbell was completely torn off in a most painful way, that made most people of the male persuasion cross their legs and turn interesting shades of purple. Bilbo felt that nervous breakdown coming on again, especially after one of the dwarves handed him his mutilated doorbell.
"Oin, Gloin ,Ori, Nori, and Dori at your funeral."
Well, Bilbo acted cheerful and led the dwarves to the table, then he calmly went upstairs. He crawled under his bed and had the second nervous breakdown of the week.
"I think the little fellow may have been working too hard," remarked Kili through a mouthful of turkey.
"He finally lost it!" remarked Ori, spewing out bit of boar and wine as he spoke.
"He never had to lose it," added Gloin, as he gnawed at his chicken bone.
Fili took a broom and pounded on the ceiling. "Shut up, up there. There are people trying to eat down here."
"I wonder if the fellow may be a tad bit upset or something," pondered Dori, as he pondered the strange unidentifiable piece of meat that inched menacingly up his fork at him.
"I wouldn't be knowing," answered Nori, who grabbed the fork away from his kin, stomped the threatening chunk into the floor, then scraped it up and put it between two pieces of bread.
"He's certainly making enough noise about it!" Dwalin complained.
"What do you expect out of one of his kind?" Balin remarked.
"My, he certainly has no respect for his company," stated Oin, whose mug was empty and he was provoked into braving the cellar for another keg of beer.
Then a loud knock came at the door. Bilbo came calmly down the stairs and opened the door. Four more dwarves fell in. (They were all listening to Bilbo's racket with their ears glued to the door.) Bilbo, by now, felt better. "This certainly has been a freaky Wednesday!" he thought to himself. The four dwarves got off the floor, and three of them said quite brightly:
"Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur at your wrathful ghost."
Bilbo started back up the steps, but Gandalf appeared and brought him back down before he could have that third nervous breakdown. The four dwarves quickly acquainted themselves with the food, whatever it might be. The fourth dwarf was Thorin, and he felt no need for introductions or to say at your anything. Even though he was too high up to introduce himself, he was certainly not too choosy about his free meals! Bilbo came down the stairs grumbling about everything thought possible and quite a few things impossible. The dwarves, to make things worse for the poor fellow, picked up the dishes and started to clean them.
"Clean the glasses and wash the plates
Scrub the knives and wipe the forks
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates.
Put the corks on the bottles!
"With clean cloth, wash the treaded fat!
Clean the milk from the pantry floor!
Pick up the bones from the bedroom mat
Wash the blood from every door.
"Take the crocks from the bowling bowl.
Pound Bilbo with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if any are whole,
Send him down the hall to roll!
"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!
So, carefully, carefully with the plates!"
Bilbo was completely crushed. All his wonderful collection of dirt and mold was destroyed. Gandalf decided it was time to explain what he was planning to be done to him.
"Well, since there is no use in letting Thorin explain why we are gathered together here today, because we would be here all week, and that would ruin my well-laid plans . . ."
"I resent that remark. We can always have you replaced," Thorin grumbled.
"All right, then, do your stuff."
The dwarves gathered their instruments and sang a song that filled Bilbo with mystery. (Of course, that could have been due to the Ex-Lax cocoa that Bofur had slipped him.) He was flying in the vision (that could have been due to the fact that Gandalf was still creating those interesting smelling smoke rings), and he fell into the Black Sea, where he was drowning (and he was thoroughly enjoying himself). Just then the music stopped (and Gandalf ran out of interesting tobacco).
"Oh darn!" Bilbo exclaimed.
Gandalf flashed lightening in his face. (His fury really had to do with that empty pipe.) Bilbo fainted.
After he revived, he said, "Oh, what a feeling!"
"Did you get anything out of that song?" asked Gandalf.
"Not really. Unless it had something to do with drowning in the Black Sea."
"Well, it's simple. Thorin and his people got the boot in the seat for saying naughty things about the king's mother. They moved off to Lonely Mountain, the dragon showed up, had a grand barbeque, chased off Thorin and Company. We want you to go get the gold off of the dragon without getting us fried."
"Is that all?"
"Do you have any more granola bars?" Bombur asked.
Ignoring his fat cousin, Thorin answered (so that we could finally get this chapter over with), "Yeah, kind of. If you don't do as we ask, we will be having one hell of a weenie roast, and you will be playing the starring role."
"Oh, I guess I will be agreeing to this deal then."
"Thorin, here is the key that your father gave me to give to you after a rather not so nice poker game. And here is the map. So, you can go off and eavesdrop on Good ole' Smaug."
"How did you get your grimy hands on these! My father neither trusted you nor liked you! So, why did he give you these things?" asked Thorin.
"I have my ways. A word of advice. Never question a wizard, who is in a foul mood."
Thorin eyed him, but said no more on the subject. "Tomorrow we start our journey, Mr. Baggins."
"And you are providing us with breakfast," Gandalf so gently informed him, "My order first, I want three live and kicking hogs, four well-prepared vulture eggs, and two hobbits over easy with a twist of lemon."
After Gandalf placed his order, no one felt like talking about food anymore. So, Bilbo fixed them all a place to sleep. He, himself, slept under the bed, where he really felt at home anyway. All night long he heard in his ears (other than Thorin's snoring), "Let's go Krogering!"