EPICS, SHMEPICS
Hello! This is my LotR parody. Hopefully, you will find it funny... I know I enjoyed writing it, which must be a good thing.
All CC and praise very much appreciated, flames accepted but they must be good, amusing flames as opposed to ones with no good content. They must also have a beginning, middle and end.
DISCLAIMER: 'Lord of the Rings' is not my property, and I do not claim it or its characters as my own. Any references to any persons living or dead in this parody is purely coincidential.
And now, on with the fic...
CHAPTER ONE: The Not-Really-Expected Party
Frodo Baggins, a small, dark-haired hobbit, skipped happily through fields of daisies, prancing and bleating like an obese sheep in a typically cliché Hollywood opening.
He stepped into Bag End and greeted his kind old Uncle Bilbo, giving him a basket full of freshly picked flowers.
"Bilbo, old buddy, old pal!" Frodo shrieked enthusiastically.
This enthusiasm was very much one-sided. Bilbo sighed and reached for the phone (something which all the houses in Hobbiton seemed to have suddenly and inexplicably acquired). This was the third time he had called the police about his strange nephew in a week.
Unfortunately, the Chief of Police was most unhelpful and refused to help '"grumpy old misers like you is, sir, didn't even give us a tip last time, did they precious? No precious, no sir, nasty hobbitses..." Bilbo hung up after half an hour of this idiocy.
Frodo, completely unaware of the one-of-a-kind hate his uncle reserved especially for him, began to carefully fill Bilbo's most precious vase with the wilting daisies. All in all, it was not a desirable effect.
"I don't like daisies," Bilbo muttered resignedly.
"Me neither!" Frodo squeaked happily, and chucked the daisies (complete with antique vase) on to the floor. Bilbo winced.
"I liked that vase," The poor old hobbit groaned.
"Me too!" Frodo squeaked happily, and began trying unsuccessfully to put the damn vase back together again.
Bilbo began writing out an insurance claim for the vase. Under the field 'Cause Of Accident', he paused and thought for a minute, then wrote 'Earthquake'.
'Very believable,' Bilbo thought, satisfied, and then decided to change the subject. He cast his mind around for a suitable one, preferably one which would not cause any damage to any more of his antiques.
"So, Frodo... Have you got your guest list for our joint birthday party sorted out yet?" He asked, unconcernedly.
"Yes," The younger hobbit nodded, "But I have one question. Why am I only allowed two guests, while you're allowed one hundred and ninety eight? Is it because you think you're more popular, or do you just not like my friends?"
Bilbo froze inwardly and his unconscious mind took over. He used his favourite avoidance tactic- he faked an epileptic fit.
Frodo phoned the one person he could always rely on for advice- his good friend Samwise Gamgee.
"Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam!" He shouted in a frenzied panic as soon as the phone was answered.
One mile away at Sam's house, the Old Gaffer passed the phone over to Sam with an expression combining boredom and fatigue gracing his weary face.
"It's Frodo for you again, son," He sighed.
"Shit," Sam said, angrily, "That's the four hundred and eighty first time this week."
Back in Bag End, Bilbo giggled amid his seizures.
"So, Frodo..." Gandalf the Grey (aka He-Who-Insists-That-Every-Alternate- Word-Must-Be-Capitalised), attempted to make conversation with his friend's relation.
No one knew exactly what sort of relation Frodo was to Bilbo- Bilbo insisted fiercely that Frodo was a stray dog left out in the cold one night when he, out of his own kindness, had taken Frodo in. Other people suggested that Frodo was Bilbo's nephew, and others his second cousin. Whatever relationship it was, it was not a good one.
People were shocked that Bilbo would have a joint birthday party with Frodo for two reasons. The first was the obvious hatred between them, and the rivalry for Samwise Gamgee's affection (no one had the heart to tell either of them that Sam was straight). The second was the fact that (in spite of Bilbo's protests) Bilbo's birthday wasn't for another four months.
"Yes?" Replied Frodo, earnestly trying to impress his idol. Anyone that could do magic was pretty damn cool in Frodo's book.
"Are you... Do you... Do you like the Shire?" Gandalf the Grey asked, despairing of anything else to say to the goat-like creature that sat to his right.
Frodo shrugged, "It's alright. Do you have any weed?"
The ancient wizard fixed the young goat, erm, hobbit, with a stern glare, "You're underage."
"I'll smuggle you Bilbo's book. Then you can publish it and get lots of money. Deal?" Frodo pleaded.
"That seems fair," Gandalf the Grey nodded, and handed Frodo his sought- after weed.
They spent the next two chapters blowing smoke rings into interesting shapes. Actually, to be more accurate, Gandalf did. Frodo got high and giggled, eventually rushing off to 'join my good friend Mr. Sheep!'.
"I told you he was mad," Bilbo muttered to the unsuspecting readers whilst scrolling down the page of this story and grimacing whenever he was mentioned, "And still two pages to go. Good luck."
Tables were being set up, quorn-pigs were being slaughtered (after many centuries of vegans complaining that it was cruel to butcher pigs purely for the purposes of entertainment (What? You thought they actually ate those things?) the hobbits of the Shire had voted to change the laws regarding meat. Now only quorn-pigs could be butchered for entertainment) and everyone was choosing their best party outfit.
Frodo was trying to decide between a rather fetching pink polka dot number with a picture of Smaug the dragon stitched on to the right chest and another classy green and black shell suit with yellow buttons. Bilbo winced when he saw them- he wanted this party to be a success, and his nephew/second cousin/dog/goat was making things hard. At this rate, his social status would be zilch. He sighed, and struggled into his too-tight, (hey, Bilbo wanted to look cool and the guy selling the suit was kind of cute...) grey boiler suit.
"Gandalf!" Bilbo called, "Are we all set for fireworks?"
"What fireworks?" The old wizard looked puzzled. He then decided that a worried frown would be both more attractive to his female fans and more suitable for the occassion, and adapted his expression accordingly.
"The fireworks that you were supposed to set off!" Bilbo shrieked, alarmed by the worried frown on his friend's face.
"Oh..." Gandalf looked guilty, "I thought those were metaphorical. Like, when you kiss someone you're supposed to feel fireworks?"
Bilbo sighed, and got on the phone to his guests. Without fireworks, there was no party. Of course he'd have to let down Frodo...
He dialed faster. The party would have to wait for another chapter.
Hello! This is my LotR parody. Hopefully, you will find it funny... I know I enjoyed writing it, which must be a good thing.
All CC and praise very much appreciated, flames accepted but they must be good, amusing flames as opposed to ones with no good content. They must also have a beginning, middle and end.
DISCLAIMER: 'Lord of the Rings' is not my property, and I do not claim it or its characters as my own. Any references to any persons living or dead in this parody is purely coincidential.
And now, on with the fic...
CHAPTER ONE: The Not-Really-Expected Party
Frodo Baggins, a small, dark-haired hobbit, skipped happily through fields of daisies, prancing and bleating like an obese sheep in a typically cliché Hollywood opening.
He stepped into Bag End and greeted his kind old Uncle Bilbo, giving him a basket full of freshly picked flowers.
"Bilbo, old buddy, old pal!" Frodo shrieked enthusiastically.
This enthusiasm was very much one-sided. Bilbo sighed and reached for the phone (something which all the houses in Hobbiton seemed to have suddenly and inexplicably acquired). This was the third time he had called the police about his strange nephew in a week.
Unfortunately, the Chief of Police was most unhelpful and refused to help '"grumpy old misers like you is, sir, didn't even give us a tip last time, did they precious? No precious, no sir, nasty hobbitses..." Bilbo hung up after half an hour of this idiocy.
Frodo, completely unaware of the one-of-a-kind hate his uncle reserved especially for him, began to carefully fill Bilbo's most precious vase with the wilting daisies. All in all, it was not a desirable effect.
"I don't like daisies," Bilbo muttered resignedly.
"Me neither!" Frodo squeaked happily, and chucked the daisies (complete with antique vase) on to the floor. Bilbo winced.
"I liked that vase," The poor old hobbit groaned.
"Me too!" Frodo squeaked happily, and began trying unsuccessfully to put the damn vase back together again.
Bilbo began writing out an insurance claim for the vase. Under the field 'Cause Of Accident', he paused and thought for a minute, then wrote 'Earthquake'.
'Very believable,' Bilbo thought, satisfied, and then decided to change the subject. He cast his mind around for a suitable one, preferably one which would not cause any damage to any more of his antiques.
"So, Frodo... Have you got your guest list for our joint birthday party sorted out yet?" He asked, unconcernedly.
"Yes," The younger hobbit nodded, "But I have one question. Why am I only allowed two guests, while you're allowed one hundred and ninety eight? Is it because you think you're more popular, or do you just not like my friends?"
Bilbo froze inwardly and his unconscious mind took over. He used his favourite avoidance tactic- he faked an epileptic fit.
Frodo phoned the one person he could always rely on for advice- his good friend Samwise Gamgee.
"Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam!" He shouted in a frenzied panic as soon as the phone was answered.
One mile away at Sam's house, the Old Gaffer passed the phone over to Sam with an expression combining boredom and fatigue gracing his weary face.
"It's Frodo for you again, son," He sighed.
"Shit," Sam said, angrily, "That's the four hundred and eighty first time this week."
Back in Bag End, Bilbo giggled amid his seizures.
"So, Frodo..." Gandalf the Grey (aka He-Who-Insists-That-Every-Alternate- Word-Must-Be-Capitalised), attempted to make conversation with his friend's relation.
No one knew exactly what sort of relation Frodo was to Bilbo- Bilbo insisted fiercely that Frodo was a stray dog left out in the cold one night when he, out of his own kindness, had taken Frodo in. Other people suggested that Frodo was Bilbo's nephew, and others his second cousin. Whatever relationship it was, it was not a good one.
People were shocked that Bilbo would have a joint birthday party with Frodo for two reasons. The first was the obvious hatred between them, and the rivalry for Samwise Gamgee's affection (no one had the heart to tell either of them that Sam was straight). The second was the fact that (in spite of Bilbo's protests) Bilbo's birthday wasn't for another four months.
"Yes?" Replied Frodo, earnestly trying to impress his idol. Anyone that could do magic was pretty damn cool in Frodo's book.
"Are you... Do you... Do you like the Shire?" Gandalf the Grey asked, despairing of anything else to say to the goat-like creature that sat to his right.
Frodo shrugged, "It's alright. Do you have any weed?"
The ancient wizard fixed the young goat, erm, hobbit, with a stern glare, "You're underage."
"I'll smuggle you Bilbo's book. Then you can publish it and get lots of money. Deal?" Frodo pleaded.
"That seems fair," Gandalf the Grey nodded, and handed Frodo his sought- after weed.
They spent the next two chapters blowing smoke rings into interesting shapes. Actually, to be more accurate, Gandalf did. Frodo got high and giggled, eventually rushing off to 'join my good friend Mr. Sheep!'.
"I told you he was mad," Bilbo muttered to the unsuspecting readers whilst scrolling down the page of this story and grimacing whenever he was mentioned, "And still two pages to go. Good luck."
Tables were being set up, quorn-pigs were being slaughtered (after many centuries of vegans complaining that it was cruel to butcher pigs purely for the purposes of entertainment (What? You thought they actually ate those things?) the hobbits of the Shire had voted to change the laws regarding meat. Now only quorn-pigs could be butchered for entertainment) and everyone was choosing their best party outfit.
Frodo was trying to decide between a rather fetching pink polka dot number with a picture of Smaug the dragon stitched on to the right chest and another classy green and black shell suit with yellow buttons. Bilbo winced when he saw them- he wanted this party to be a success, and his nephew/second cousin/dog/goat was making things hard. At this rate, his social status would be zilch. He sighed, and struggled into his too-tight, (hey, Bilbo wanted to look cool and the guy selling the suit was kind of cute...) grey boiler suit.
"Gandalf!" Bilbo called, "Are we all set for fireworks?"
"What fireworks?" The old wizard looked puzzled. He then decided that a worried frown would be both more attractive to his female fans and more suitable for the occassion, and adapted his expression accordingly.
"The fireworks that you were supposed to set off!" Bilbo shrieked, alarmed by the worried frown on his friend's face.
"Oh..." Gandalf looked guilty, "I thought those were metaphorical. Like, when you kiss someone you're supposed to feel fireworks?"
Bilbo sighed, and got on the phone to his guests. Without fireworks, there was no party. Of course he'd have to let down Frodo...
He dialed faster. The party would have to wait for another chapter.