It's here! The sequel to the not-that-popular short story, Breakfast At Merry's! And this one actually sort of has a plot! Hurray! And without further ado, here is the new story, Afternoon At Merry's...

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, McDonald's, or albino donkeys.

Caution: I do not endorse smoking. It is not good for yourself and for those around you. DON'T SMOKE.

Merry, lying on his back, gazed at the clouds floating overhead. Such peace, such tranquility. He smiled with content. If only it could last forever.

Bang! Crash!

The loud sounds coming from inside shook Merry from his serene calm. Sighing, he rose to his feet and turned to his house. Through the window he could see Pippin attempting to juggle several plates and saucers, with, as one might expect from a Took, disastrous results. Regretting that he had ever let the fool stay at his home, Merry clambered back into the chaos that was his sweet, humble abode.

Sam sat at the dining table, chuckling at Pippin's frivolous antics. The Took was now trying to balance several cups on his head while eating an apple and singing "The Road Goes Ever On and On" in Spanish. Merry ignored the two and plopped down on his sofa, depressed.

At that moment he realized that he was sharing the couch with another hobbit. Frodo, also looking very depressed, sat next to him, his head bowed. Merry studied his friend. "What's wrong, Frodo?"

Frodo closed his eyes in sadness. "Well, it turns out I have to throw this ring into this big volcano while evil guys in cloaks chase after me and try to stab me. Plus, I'm the only person in the movies who ever seems to have any angst. I hate my life."

Pippin grinned at them while balancing on a tub of turkey oil. "Oh, come on, you two, cheer up. It's not that bad to be a hobbit."

Sam nodded. "Unless, of course, you want to play professional basketball."

Pippin frowned. "Sam, I was trying to make a point. You don't have to ruin it with your whole lament about 'basket tall' and stuff."

"Basketball."

"Whatever."

Sam rubbed his rumbling stomach. "I wonder when Gandalf will be getting back with our food."

Merry shrugged. "I don't know. I sent him to get it a half hour ago. I hope he's all right…"

Meanwhile, at the local McDonald's…

"Do you want fries with that?"

Gandalf groaned in agony. He leaned close to the order box. "For the seventeenth time, no, I don't want to fries with that!"

"Oh, okay. Your total is twenty-three forty-five. Please pull up to the seventh window."

Gandalf kicked his horse. "Come on, Shadowfax, we have to move. The hobbits are going to kill me if I don't get this food to them soon."

Shadowfax, very upset at being kicked, shook Gandalf off and galloped away. The wizard sighed. "Dang. Ah well. I will just ride the Lord of the Donkeys. Come, Bob!"

An all-white donkey ran up. Gandalf jumped onto it and then, with his skilled donkey-riding abilities, guided the animal through the empty drive thru.

As the wizard rode towards the correct window, he noticed a green Santa hat popping up from the bushes. He stared at it, puzzed about its meaning. Then the man wearing the green Santa hat stood up. Even with the giant wig and blue paint-covered body, Gandalf could see right through the person's disguise. He rolled his eyes. "Hello, Faramir."

Faramir put a finger to his lips. "Shhhhhh. I'm not Faramir."

"Yes you are. You're the only person I know that lugs around a Webster's dictionary everywhere he goes."

Faramir shook his head, still whispering. "I'm not Faramir."

"Whatever. Look, you're still hiding from the grammar police, aren't you?"

"No, because I'm not Faramir. If I was Faramir I would be hiding. But since I'm not, well, I'm not hiding."

"Then why are you disguised?"

He glanced down at his attire. "This is my normal clothing. I'm not Faramir."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"SIR! CAN YOU PLEASE TAKE YOUR ORDER?!"

Gandalf whirled around. This caused him to fall off of his donkey and land with a loud thud on the ground. He picked himself up and looked at the window.

An employee was holding out several bags of steaming hot McDonald's meals. Gandalf took them from the worker. "Oh. Sorry."

"No problem. Now, the money?"

Gandalf saw his chance. Quickly he leapt onto Bob. "Now, Bob, show us the meaning of haste!" The two raced off into the sunset, but not before Gandalf yelled back to them, "Should have had me pay before you gave me the food!"

At Merry's house, approximately three seconds later…

Sam sighed. "I'm hungry."

Frodo rolled his eyes. "You're always hungry."

"Well you're always Mr. Angst."

Merry held up his hands. "Boys, boys, we shouldn't be arguing. Gandalf will be here really soon with our food, and then we can eat, and then we can go and throw the Ring of Power into the fires of Mount Doom. Will that make you happy?"

Pippin shook his head. "It won't make me happy."

Merry tossed him some Longbottom Leaf and a pipe. "Here. Go crazy."

"NOOOOOOO!"

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli burst into the home. They marched into the cozy kitchen of the hobbits. Well, actually, Legolas and Aragorn bumped their heads on the ceiling and started yelling and cursing in Elvish. Merry looked around, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

Aragorn, still rubbing his head, turned to the hobbits. "What do you think you're doing?"

Pippin put a hand to his chin. "Well, let's see…"

Aragorn ignored him. "We are the Anti-Smoking Trio. You can't smoke! Smoking is wrong! It causes lung cancer and can destroy your health. You could die if you smoke! It's addictive! Don't smoke!"

Gimli shook his ax at the sky. Or the ceiling. Whatever. "Curse you, author, and your foul humor! Promoting smoking in this story… It should be rated T just for that!"

Legolas ran a hand through his long, blond hair and let it flap femininely in the wind. Everyone expected him to say something profound and cool, but he just stood there. Eventually Aragorn and Gimli got bored, so they dragged Legolas out of the house, ending their brief stint in this story.

Just as they left, Gandalf dashed into the house, carrying several McDonald's bags. Sam jumped up and down in celebration. "Yes! Our food is here! We can eat!"

Gandalf dropped the bags on the table. "Whatever, fine, eat, quickly!"

Frodo furrowed his brow. "I don't know why, but I suspect Gandalf has done something wrong."

Pippin nodded. "Yes, I did too. What was your first clue, the way he ran in here, or the heavy sweat covering his brow?"

"Actually, I think it was the police officers surrounding the house."

Merry peered through the window. Sure enough, dozens of armed officers were around the building, holding their weapons at the ready. Merry slammed his fist into the table in anger. "Shoot! Gandalf, why did you steal our food?!"

The wizard glanced around frantically. "Um, well, I, you see, the worker gave me the food, and, well, I didn't want to have to dig out my wallet, and, well, um, I, um, you see, something, or other, or whatever, and…" He shook his head. "Oh, forget it! Quickly, Bob, come! We must ride again!"

A donkey galloped into the house. Much to the hobbits' dismay, Gandalf hopped on the animal and rode away. Merry gritted his teeth and steeled himself for the coming events. "Dang that man! Frodo, Sam, grab some toothpaste and a bottle of mouthwash. Pippin, do whatever you can to distract the officers while Frodo and Sam clean their teeth."

Pippin looked at Merry, bewildered. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know, eat a sandwich, clean the gutter; do something to get them away from here!"

"Why don't I just go out and tell them that Gandalf isn't here and that he rode off towards the north?"

Merry stared at him. "That would be the smart thing to do. Okay, go do that. Get them out of here. I'll help Frodo and Sam. Now go! Hurry!"

Pippin skipped out of the house, humming to himself. Merry turned to Frodo and Sam. "Okay, guys, we have to be quick."

Frodo tilted his head to the side. "Now why do you want us to clean our teeth? Does it have some deeper meaning or something?"

"No, I just think your breath stinks."

Someone knocked on the door. Odd, because the door was open, so they could have just walked in. But they knocked on the door anyway. "This is the police. Don't be alarmed. We need to ask you some questions."

Sam crawled under the table. "Oh no! They must be here for me! I'm sorry; I didn't mean to steal that Sierra Mist! It was an accident! I mean, the bottle said it was free!"

"We're not here for that, son." Two policemen stepped into the hobbit home, ducking to avoid hitting the low roof. "We're looking for a fellow. Goes by the name of Faramir. Do you know him?"

Merry furrowed his brow. "Faramir… Faramir…"

Frodo snapped his fingers. "I remember! He showed up here a few days ago. He was hiding from some evil police group or something. We had a lovely elevensies over at IHOP. Then he left. I haven't seen him since."

The officer nodded. "I see. You two." He stared at Merry and Sam. "Have you seen him since then?"

They both shook their heads. The cop looked back outside. "Well, thank you boys for your time."

"Boys?!" Frodo ran up and stomped on the policeman's foot. "I'm fifty years old, you clout!"

The cop grabbed Frodo and pinned the hobbit's arms behind his back. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court."

"I hate you!"

"Whatever." The policeman handcuffed Frodo. After securing the hobbit's binds he turned and nodded at Merry and Sam. "Farewell to you two. We'll contact you when we set a bail for your friend."

The two cops departed, taking Frodo with them. Sam sighed. "Great. Now how are we going to throw the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom?"

A female police officer entered the house, dragging Pippin behind her. "Hello. Is this a friend of yours? He was outside pointing off into the distance and yelling something about a wizard who heisted off some food from a McDonald's. Then he started balancing jugs of apple cider on his head while eating a sausage McMuffin® and singing 'The Edge of Night' in Norwegian. I think he's crazy. Anyway, do you two know him? If I can't find this guy's family I might have to go and throw him into the local orphanage."

As inviting as that sounded to Merry, he knew the right and responsible thing to do. "Yeah, I know him. He lives here."

"Oh. He lives here?" She stared at Merry with compassion and pity. "May God have mercy on your soul." She dropped Pippin on the floor and then left without another word.

Pippin smiled. "I think I distracted them, Merry. They didn't even notice the three bags of potatoes we took from Farmer Maggot's, or those mushrooms from the week before."

"Whatever, Pip." Merry turned to Sam. "Well, I'm going to go back down to that McDonald's to pay for our food. Hopefully they won't press charges."

Eomer popped up. "Don't trust to hope. It has forsaken this land."

"Oh, shut up." Merry slugged the Rider of Rohan, knocking him out. "That ought to teach you a thing or two about the reach of my arm."

Pippin glanced around the house. "Hey! Where's Frodo?"

"He's gone, Pip. Gone." Sam put an arm around the hobbit's shoulder. "But don't worry. We're still best friends."

"Ah! Stay away from me!" Pippin wiped some sweat from his brow and hurled it at Sam. The perspiration hit the gardener right between the eyes, sending him to the ground.

Merry closed his eyes. "Please, author, can't you spare us one moment of sanity?"

THE END…MAYBE