Disclaimer: The only thing in this fiction that belongs to me is the plot. All characters and "places" belong to the creative mind of J.R.R. Tolkien

A/N: For you to completely understand this story, I need to tell you something. First of all, this story has no relevance at all. This was done because I was bored. All it is, is a little western version of the Lord of the Rings. It doesn't even follow correctly nor does it have all/the same events. This is strictly for humor only. Also, I need you all to whip out your trusty maps of Middle Earth. Yup, this is still happening in Middle Earth, I just need to do some landscape changes. Basically, all of Middle Earth has the same landscape as southern Arizona or New Mexico. For those of you who have never been there, it's dusty, cactusie, and very very hot. However, there is still a few places in Middle Earth which provide a bit of shade and a cooler climate. Those places are, of course, Mirkwood and Lorien. The Misty Mountains are no longer Misty. They are now the Dusty Plateaus, with Rivendell near the foothills. The Shire is now a quaint little bustling county in the middle of the desert. They are used to receiving little or no news from outside the borders. Erm, that's really all I can think of now. I will tell you in paranthesis if there are anymore necessary landscape changes. Remember, this is Lord of the Rings: WESTERN STYLE!! Booya!

Also, do not be offended by any stereotypes I might use. This is an extremely crude version. Now, ENJOY

~*~*~

Frodo Baggins walked out of his little hobbit hole one hot July afternoon. He could smell ol' Bilbo sweating up a river as he walked up the hill towards their little home. Frodo had been out little under a minute and already he could feel the moisture rolling down his forehead. 'Now I know why Hobbits live in holes in the ground.' He thought to himself. He put his hand to his brow to shade his eyes and surveyed the land. The growing season was terrible this year. There has been such little rain, they'll be lucky to make it through next winter. He looked down towards the ground and brushed the dead grass with his foot and watched as its crumbles sailed away with the wind.

"The Road goes…*pant* ever on… and… on

Down ….from the door….where it began *wheeze*"

Frodo looked down the hill to his left and saw the little hobbit rounding the corner and began staggering up the hill. Once Bilbo was up to the yard, he fell to the ground. Frodo rushed to his side.

"You alright there, Bill?" Frodo asked concernedly with a Southern drawl. Bilbo looked up at him with mild disgust.

"Yes, I'm fine Frodo." replied Bilbo as he got back on his feet and began to brush his jacket off. "And for the last time, stop calling me Bill."

Frodo followed Bilbo into the hole as Bilbo continued to complain.

"Honestly, where did you learn to talk like that? Why, if your parents were still alive, I'm sure they'd have a thing or two to say to you. Gosh, Hobbiton has sure gone to hell since I got back from the Lonely Mountain." Bilbo began to fiddle with his old maps and just about anything else to get the younger hobbit to go away.

"T'ain't just me." argued Frodo. "All them other hobbits been talkin like this too."

Bilbo turned around and looked at Frodo.

"I know, I'm sorry my boy. I've just been stressed lately because of the party coming up tonight."

Frodo gave Bilbo a blank look.

"Oh, forgive me, the HO-DOWN tonight."

"Ooooh…." said Frodo.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Bilbo trotted to it to answer it, mumbling something about the Sackville-Bagginses and how they weren't going to get their hands on his "lair", as they liked to call it. However, Bilbo was pleasantly surprised to see an old friend at the door instead of those intruders.

"Gan … Gandalf?"

Frodo peeked around the corner to get a glimpse of an old man coming in through the door. Instead of the gray robes that Bilbo had said he wore, he was decked out in a gray suit, complete with a tail and tie. In place of the staff was an elegant cane. His raged hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail.

"Good morning, my old friend!" said Gandalf in a cheery, "proper" English accent. "Long time, no see; eh, old chap?"

Bilbo turned his head to look at Frodo. Frodo had to resist the urge to double over in laughter. The look on Bilbo's face was so pathetic, it was classic.

"So, one hundred eleven years old." Gandalf went on. Then, a smile crept across his face. "And if I do say so myself, you haven't aged a day. Mind if I come in?"

"Oh, yes, forgive me. Come on in, old friend." said poor little Bilbo as he scrambled out of the way of the wizard. "Tea?"

"Oh yes, please." replied Gandalf. "And crumpets, too, if you have any."

~*~*~*~

A/N: Off to a short start, but I need time to rethink this. Thanks to Tomeka for helping me come up with this idea. Hope you all had a good laugh, it's not over yet though. Please review!!