DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I do, however, own a little gray stuffed bear named Roscoe. And no, you may not have him.
Bilbo Baggins and the Seven Dwarves
Bilbo Baggins was, at this moment, probably the most unhappy hobbit in the world. For starters, he was outside, walking on a cold, rainy day, with the rocks under his feet making the going very uncomfortable. Even worse, he was surrounded by people he absolutely despised. If it hadn't been for Gandalf the Wizard, he wouldn't even be here. And, for that matter, he never would have seen exactly what an old man in a dress looked like.
He'd known Gandalf was a freak from the instant he showed up at the hobbit's doorstep. But, unlike the rest of the freaks, he couldn't just attach a third eyeball to his shoulder. Oh no, he had to parade about in women's clothing. Sure, he wore the rather impressive-looking robe whenever they were in public, but the instant nobody else was around, off came the gray robe, and on came the pink frilly dress.
And, if there was anything worse than the Seven Dorks, Bilbo had never encountered it. And he'd been raised by hobbits. He'd believe for the longest time one didn't get much dumber than that bunch of gluttons. That was part of the reason he'd come; to actually enjoy some intelligent company for once in his miserable life. He cast another hate-filled glare across his shoulder at the seven dwarves that trumped happily along behind he and Gandalf. He had been wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
"High-hoe!" belted out one…Doc, Bilbo believed his name was. He wondered, for a second, just who had named these unfortunate loons. And, inevitably…
"High-hoe!" joined in the others. Soon, they were singing away about the joys of working hard in their mines, tearing jewels away from the earth or something. Groaning, Bilbo looked up at his much taller companion.
"Do they know any other songs?" he griped. Gandalf paused to adjust one of his high heels, then sighed.
"I don't think so."
"Why in God's name did you bring them along?"
"It's in the contract. I have to have dwarves along." Behind them, the dwarves finally finished their stupid song. Bilbo sighed with relief.
"Hey, fellahs!" cried one of them, Bilbo couldn't tell which. "How about we sing that same song again!" Without even the slightest thought to their two companions, they belted out once again. Bilbo was, by now, fairly certain they were Communists.
"So, tell me again, where did you find them?" he asked Gandalf.
"They were guarding some dead floozy in a glass coffin. Incidentally, that's where I got this lovely dress," he said, wincing as more mud got on his frilly gown.
"…you stole that dress off a corpse?"
"Yeah."
"Was she wearing it when she died?"
"I think so, yes."
"…you do know what happens to a person's bowels when they die, right?"
"…I fail to see your point."
Behind them, the dwarves finished their song again. Bilbo pricked up his ears, waiting for them to do it again. He was not disappointed. Oh well; Gandalf may be a freakish pervert, but at least he was semi-intelligent conversation.
"Bilbo?" Gandalf asked.
"Yes, Gandalf?"
"Tell me, does this dress make me look pretty?"
There was a long silence.
"Gandalf?"
"Yes, Bilbo?"
"Please kill me."