Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all characters herein belong to good old JRR. Cheers to all the people who have taken the time to read and review.
Lord of the Sleaze 5
The Near Miss-ty Mountains
After being thrown out, Boromir had become so desperate for a drink he had constructed a complete working distillery in the Rivendell orchards. He took an experimentary sip and gagged. The stuff was strong enough to fell a rabid troll.
'Perfect,' he muttered and filled the canteen on his waist. At that moment, the rest of the Fellowship arrived, out of breath and gabbling about elven sharpshooters giving them five minutes to get out of range. Gandalf led then on and into the wild. Soon the trees closed threateningly around them, and in the dark beside the path there was the sound of unseen beasts, only their eyes glinting in the falling light.
It soon became apparent that Legolas and Gimli despised one another with a vengeance.
'Never trust an elf, for they are a complete bunch of tossers,' called Gimli, readjusting his grip on his axe.
'Hope we're not going near any Dwarf cities,' retorted Legolas hotly, 'where your mother's your sister.'
Gimli sprang forward with a dwarvish battle cry, only to be halted by Gandalf brandishing a cocked Magnum.
'We cannot allow ourselves to give in to the will of Sauron,' he said, 'if your going to fight, let it be man to man, fist to fist.'
The rest of the Fellowship set up camp while Legolas and Gimli pummelled each other to pulp. Pippin spread blankets over their unconscious forms later in the night. They voted that Aragorn should stay up to watch out of a retaliation attack by Elrond's henchmen and all rolled themselves in their blankets. Aragorn was asleep in some five minutes.
With a jump, Frodo awoke from a deep involving dream of Arwen, clothed in PVC and brandishing a leather whip, strapping him down to a bed. Instantly he knew something was wrong. He could hear a strange wheezing sound, as if air was being breathed into ruined lungs, and then a hissing whisper 'myy prrreeeccciouuuuss'. Looking across the camp, he saw a strange creature bent over Sam, flicking through one of the sleeping Hobbits copies of Playboy. As the creature reached the centre spread, his eyes widened and Frodo could see they were vast and bloodshot.
'Hey,' he spluttered, rising to his feet. The creature gasped and fled into the darkness of night.
'What the fuck was that?' whimpered Sam in a cowardly voice, retrieving his dropped mag.
'Gollum, the little bastard,' yelled Gandalf excitedly, blasting a couple of rounds into the bushes. 'He's trying to get his hands on the Weed again. Luckily Sam's porn distracted him. Well done my lad,' he said kindly, laying a hand on the quivering Hobbits shoulder.
'How long has he been following us?' asked Frodo nervously.
'How the Hell should I know?' said Gandalf moodily. 'Do you expect me to keep track of every single little thing? Now I suggest we all get back to sleep, for tomorrow we begin our climb into the Misty Mountains.'
He then proceeded to lay a perimeter of mines around the camp, muttering 'this'll teach the son of a bitch…'
The next morning, the sun blazed down on the sleeping Fellowship. They had all overslept – again. Gandalf roused them with a hefty clout with his riot stick. After a couple of hours of cursing and moaning, they finally started walking towards the mighty snow-covered peaks before them.
'I would say we were taking the long way round,' gasped Gimli who as trying to keep up despite the fact that his leg was broken in two places. 'We could go through the 'Hood of Moria.'
'That place has an evil omen,' said Gandalf darkly and continued walking in silence. That told everyone else that the old wizard probably owed a considerable amount of money and/or weapons to that cities foul inhabitants. This was proving to be a recurring problem in the Fellowships quest. If it hadn't for the wizard's financial dispute with Eriador Airlines, they could have got rid of the Weed some three weeks ago and spent the rest of their days getting VIP entry into the best clubs in Middle-Earth.
After several hours of climbing the Fellowship were extremely high. Unfortunately though, they had only progressed some fifty metres up the mountain. It had been scarcely past noon when Gimli had broken into his own weed supplies, calling for joint stops every ten metres or so. The rest of the Fellowship was more than happy to oblige. The Hobbits passed round the grubby spliff until it came to Legolas.
'I would never suck on the work of a dwarf!' he announced, looking up from combing his hair.
'Your more of a girly pill-pusher,' laughed the Dwarf, taking a large blast and blowing smoke into the Elf's face.
There followed a heated argument about the relative merits of weed over pills, which ended in the entire Fellowship suffering a blazing row and vowing never to talk to eachother again.
'And I'm not climbing this damn mountain either,' sulked Aragorn.
'This is what separates the men from the boys,' sneered Boromir, and the two launched into a rather unmanly slapping fight. Gandalf appealed for calm above the wrestling bunch, but to little effect.
Deep in the dark land of Mordor, the Drug Lord Sauron turned on the palantir. The picture was fuzzy again. He looked out the window to check there were no Orcs sitting in the dish like the time before. One of the damn Nazgul had parked his fell beast on it.
'Oi!!!' he yelled irritably. 'Number 7, can't you read?' He pointed to a large sign that read 'do not obstruct – owner is prone to unreasonable acts of malicious cruelty – you have been warned.' Sauron turned back to his throne. He was wearing a t-shirt with 'FREE MORGOTH' emblazoned across the chest, above a picture of the Drug Master in question, chained and forlorn, on the telephone to his Mum.
Presently, the palantir cleared and the Great Enema himself settled back with a family bag of Doritos and a crate of ale to watch the show. As the static cleared, he could see the Fellowship as a mass of punching figures, through which Gandalf was currently wading, swinging indiscriminately with his staff. He bent his evil will more strongly upon their location…
At that moment, a great cry came from Mordor, making the very mountains shake with it malice. Immediately, alarms began so sound in the missile silo of Minas Morgul and the Nazgul on duty dropped his copy of Readers Wives in shock.
'FIRE,' he cried shrilly at the Orcs who were playing Twister in the corner. There was a frenzied burst of activity and in the next few seconds the terrifying roar of the ICBM filled the bunker with fire and smoke, before it arose in a vast dark cloud and thundered into the West.
It passed over the corrupt city of Osgiliath, the beleaguered Minas Tirith, the land of Rohan, where there were a great many men 'riding' their horses. At Isengard, where Saruman was currently accepting bribes to turn a blind eye to the Great Eye, it turned North and bore down upon the unsuspecting Fellowship.
Legolas, whose ears were sharper than most, heard it first. 'There is a fell sound on the air,' he wailed. The others stopped to listen. An eerie whine was building, a sound which filled them with dread.
'Its Sauron,' screamed Gandalf, totally losing it. 'He means to bring down the mountain upon us!'
At that moment, the missile crashed into the slopes above them and they were all thrown to the ground. A great avalanche poured down towards them, and before they could regain their footing, it swept over their struggling bodies. All was silent.
Legolas burst from the snow, looking about him in wonder. There was no sign of the others and he concluded that they must be buried around him. He considered just leaving them where they were and going home, but at that moment Gandalf's staff came thrusting through the snow, hooked around his neck and dragged him to the ground. The old wizard then pulled himself from the ice using Legolas's fallen form.
'Cheers, mate,' Gandalf grinned, as the other members of the Fellowship dug themselves out.
'Sauron's powers have grown strong indeed if he can throw ICBMs at us,' said Aragorn darkly.
'His powers have grown strong,' admitted Gandalf, sadly examining what was left of his joint.
'What say you now, conjurer,' smirked Gimli, knowing Gandalf despised this nickname. 'It is time we headed for the 'Hood – my cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome. Roast Rohirrim off the bone, all the weed you can smoke, come on – what do you say?'
Everyone but Gandalf seemed enthusiastic about this, but even he conceded after Frodo told him to stop being such a girl.
'Whatever the Weed-Bearer commands,' he sneered and sulked along at the end of the line.
Coming Soon – 'A Journey in the 'Hood'
Lord of the Sleaze 5
The Near Miss-ty Mountains
After being thrown out, Boromir had become so desperate for a drink he had constructed a complete working distillery in the Rivendell orchards. He took an experimentary sip and gagged. The stuff was strong enough to fell a rabid troll.
'Perfect,' he muttered and filled the canteen on his waist. At that moment, the rest of the Fellowship arrived, out of breath and gabbling about elven sharpshooters giving them five minutes to get out of range. Gandalf led then on and into the wild. Soon the trees closed threateningly around them, and in the dark beside the path there was the sound of unseen beasts, only their eyes glinting in the falling light.
It soon became apparent that Legolas and Gimli despised one another with a vengeance.
'Never trust an elf, for they are a complete bunch of tossers,' called Gimli, readjusting his grip on his axe.
'Hope we're not going near any Dwarf cities,' retorted Legolas hotly, 'where your mother's your sister.'
Gimli sprang forward with a dwarvish battle cry, only to be halted by Gandalf brandishing a cocked Magnum.
'We cannot allow ourselves to give in to the will of Sauron,' he said, 'if your going to fight, let it be man to man, fist to fist.'
The rest of the Fellowship set up camp while Legolas and Gimli pummelled each other to pulp. Pippin spread blankets over their unconscious forms later in the night. They voted that Aragorn should stay up to watch out of a retaliation attack by Elrond's henchmen and all rolled themselves in their blankets. Aragorn was asleep in some five minutes.
With a jump, Frodo awoke from a deep involving dream of Arwen, clothed in PVC and brandishing a leather whip, strapping him down to a bed. Instantly he knew something was wrong. He could hear a strange wheezing sound, as if air was being breathed into ruined lungs, and then a hissing whisper 'myy prrreeeccciouuuuss'. Looking across the camp, he saw a strange creature bent over Sam, flicking through one of the sleeping Hobbits copies of Playboy. As the creature reached the centre spread, his eyes widened and Frodo could see they were vast and bloodshot.
'Hey,' he spluttered, rising to his feet. The creature gasped and fled into the darkness of night.
'What the fuck was that?' whimpered Sam in a cowardly voice, retrieving his dropped mag.
'Gollum, the little bastard,' yelled Gandalf excitedly, blasting a couple of rounds into the bushes. 'He's trying to get his hands on the Weed again. Luckily Sam's porn distracted him. Well done my lad,' he said kindly, laying a hand on the quivering Hobbits shoulder.
'How long has he been following us?' asked Frodo nervously.
'How the Hell should I know?' said Gandalf moodily. 'Do you expect me to keep track of every single little thing? Now I suggest we all get back to sleep, for tomorrow we begin our climb into the Misty Mountains.'
He then proceeded to lay a perimeter of mines around the camp, muttering 'this'll teach the son of a bitch…'
The next morning, the sun blazed down on the sleeping Fellowship. They had all overslept – again. Gandalf roused them with a hefty clout with his riot stick. After a couple of hours of cursing and moaning, they finally started walking towards the mighty snow-covered peaks before them.
'I would say we were taking the long way round,' gasped Gimli who as trying to keep up despite the fact that his leg was broken in two places. 'We could go through the 'Hood of Moria.'
'That place has an evil omen,' said Gandalf darkly and continued walking in silence. That told everyone else that the old wizard probably owed a considerable amount of money and/or weapons to that cities foul inhabitants. This was proving to be a recurring problem in the Fellowships quest. If it hadn't for the wizard's financial dispute with Eriador Airlines, they could have got rid of the Weed some three weeks ago and spent the rest of their days getting VIP entry into the best clubs in Middle-Earth.
After several hours of climbing the Fellowship were extremely high. Unfortunately though, they had only progressed some fifty metres up the mountain. It had been scarcely past noon when Gimli had broken into his own weed supplies, calling for joint stops every ten metres or so. The rest of the Fellowship was more than happy to oblige. The Hobbits passed round the grubby spliff until it came to Legolas.
'I would never suck on the work of a dwarf!' he announced, looking up from combing his hair.
'Your more of a girly pill-pusher,' laughed the Dwarf, taking a large blast and blowing smoke into the Elf's face.
There followed a heated argument about the relative merits of weed over pills, which ended in the entire Fellowship suffering a blazing row and vowing never to talk to eachother again.
'And I'm not climbing this damn mountain either,' sulked Aragorn.
'This is what separates the men from the boys,' sneered Boromir, and the two launched into a rather unmanly slapping fight. Gandalf appealed for calm above the wrestling bunch, but to little effect.
Deep in the dark land of Mordor, the Drug Lord Sauron turned on the palantir. The picture was fuzzy again. He looked out the window to check there were no Orcs sitting in the dish like the time before. One of the damn Nazgul had parked his fell beast on it.
'Oi!!!' he yelled irritably. 'Number 7, can't you read?' He pointed to a large sign that read 'do not obstruct – owner is prone to unreasonable acts of malicious cruelty – you have been warned.' Sauron turned back to his throne. He was wearing a t-shirt with 'FREE MORGOTH' emblazoned across the chest, above a picture of the Drug Master in question, chained and forlorn, on the telephone to his Mum.
Presently, the palantir cleared and the Great Enema himself settled back with a family bag of Doritos and a crate of ale to watch the show. As the static cleared, he could see the Fellowship as a mass of punching figures, through which Gandalf was currently wading, swinging indiscriminately with his staff. He bent his evil will more strongly upon their location…
At that moment, a great cry came from Mordor, making the very mountains shake with it malice. Immediately, alarms began so sound in the missile silo of Minas Morgul and the Nazgul on duty dropped his copy of Readers Wives in shock.
'FIRE,' he cried shrilly at the Orcs who were playing Twister in the corner. There was a frenzied burst of activity and in the next few seconds the terrifying roar of the ICBM filled the bunker with fire and smoke, before it arose in a vast dark cloud and thundered into the West.
It passed over the corrupt city of Osgiliath, the beleaguered Minas Tirith, the land of Rohan, where there were a great many men 'riding' their horses. At Isengard, where Saruman was currently accepting bribes to turn a blind eye to the Great Eye, it turned North and bore down upon the unsuspecting Fellowship.
Legolas, whose ears were sharper than most, heard it first. 'There is a fell sound on the air,' he wailed. The others stopped to listen. An eerie whine was building, a sound which filled them with dread.
'Its Sauron,' screamed Gandalf, totally losing it. 'He means to bring down the mountain upon us!'
At that moment, the missile crashed into the slopes above them and they were all thrown to the ground. A great avalanche poured down towards them, and before they could regain their footing, it swept over their struggling bodies. All was silent.
Legolas burst from the snow, looking about him in wonder. There was no sign of the others and he concluded that they must be buried around him. He considered just leaving them where they were and going home, but at that moment Gandalf's staff came thrusting through the snow, hooked around his neck and dragged him to the ground. The old wizard then pulled himself from the ice using Legolas's fallen form.
'Cheers, mate,' Gandalf grinned, as the other members of the Fellowship dug themselves out.
'Sauron's powers have grown strong indeed if he can throw ICBMs at us,' said Aragorn darkly.
'His powers have grown strong,' admitted Gandalf, sadly examining what was left of his joint.
'What say you now, conjurer,' smirked Gimli, knowing Gandalf despised this nickname. 'It is time we headed for the 'Hood – my cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome. Roast Rohirrim off the bone, all the weed you can smoke, come on – what do you say?'
Everyone but Gandalf seemed enthusiastic about this, but even he conceded after Frodo told him to stop being such a girl.
'Whatever the Weed-Bearer commands,' he sneered and sulked along at the end of the line.
Coming Soon – 'A Journey in the 'Hood'