Disclaimer: All the characters are pinched from Tolkien except my storyline
is more epic.
The Lord of the Sleaze 9
Fellowship Now - Redux and The Departure of Boromir's Liver.
Right from the start they knew they weren't going to get one of the flashy pleasure yachts moored along the posh riverfront. When informed that the Fellowship needed a boat to journey down the river Anduin on a mission to save all of Middle-Earth, the boat master had gained a cunning look in his eye, and informed them he would be back soon. They passed the time by lobbing rocks at passing elves and passing round a bottle of something dubious that Boromir had got his hands on. Eventually, the boat master returned in the most dilapidated barge imaginable. At one time it had obviously been used to ferry dead Orcs to the sausage factory, as several limbs still hung limply over the side. Sam gaped in horror as he saw three elves bailing out water at top speed just to keep it afloat. 'This should suit you my young masters,' said the boat master, trying to avoid catching their eyes. 'Whatever,' groaned Boromir and passed out head first into the slimy water that filled the boat's deck. Aragorn was just preparing to castrate the boat master with the aid of Gimli's beard, when they heard a wonderful singing. Then the effect was ruined when someone tried to sing along to the CD in a cracked, warbling voice, and around a bend in the river came Galadriel, borne in a boat shaped in the likeness of a beheaded dwarf. It was powered by eight strapping young elves, handcuffed to their oars and leashed to the elf queen's own hand. Aragorn dropped to his knees. 'Brave travellers,' she recited in monotone. 'I come bearing you gifts that will make your journey seem light and carefree.' She began to rummage around in a cardboard box. There was the sound of something breaking. 'Oh,' she muttered. 'I don't seem to have a gift for Aragorn any more.' The Ranger cursed and went and sat in the water beside the fallen Boromir. 'For Gimli,' she said, 'I give a beard care set, complete with comb and three different kinds of conditioner!' The dwarf accepted his gift graciously. 'For Legolas, a book of '101 Postures of Elf Superiority.' 'For Boromir, a book of '100001 Drinking Games - Take It To The Next Level.' She tossed it upon his recumbent form. 'And to the Hobbits, I'm giving bugger all. It patently obvious they've just been getting stoned on the One Weed so that's all the fun their getting.' She cracked a leather bullwhip, and the boat began to move away. The Fellowship breathed a sigh of relief.
After thoroughly roughing up the boat master, they ended up pinching one of the sparkling pleasure yachts anyway and set off down the river, letting themselves drift with the current as no one could be bothered to work out how to start it. They began to suspect that they might have tested the kindness of the elves when they examined the items in the boat such as a box of cigars emblazoned with the word 'Haldir's', a case of brandy labelled 'Haldir's' and finally the discovery by Pippin that the actual name of the boat was 'Haldir's Morning Glory'. A great feeling of doom fell over them, as if a shadow had passed before the sun. 'We will never leave this land alive,' announced Aragorn wearily. Boromir nodded silently before adding, 'Haldir once used to work in the dungeons of the Drug Lord - that elf sure does know his torture techniques.' Despite these bleak prophecies, the afternoon passed uneventfully apart from a few run-ins with the feisty Orc fishermen who objected to them ploughing into their tackle at full whack. In fact the atmosphere became quite merry, culminating in tossing Gimli over the side and then throwing him in the river. Legolas was just making a pair of water skis from Haldir's drinks cabinet, when Aragorn suddenly cut the engine and whispered 'Listen'. Gradually they began to discern that upon the air was the noise of rushing water and the boat was swept between rocky cliffs, which suddenly rose on either side. It suddenly dawned on the dim-witted bunch that there was a distinct possibility that they were just about to get washed over a waterfall or something, but by that time it was far too late. The canyon began to open up, revealing a sight that caused the Hobbits to gasp involuntarily. They turned around and saw Aragorn, who suddenly did not seem like the scruffy Ranger they loved to hate, but now looked like some kind of ridiculous orang-utan with his arms draped over the side and his lower jaw distended in awe. 'Long have I desired to gaze upon the 'pillars' of the Kings,' he gasped. The Hobbits returned their eyes to the gigantic erections that reared skywards on either side of the river. Even Legolas was duly impressed. 'That Isildur was certainly a big fella,' he gasped, staring at the carven works of art as they passed beneath them.
They were washed into a gigantic lake, and Legolas used his elvish eyesight to peer into the distance. 'All I can see is a cloud of spray, and hear a distant rumbling sound, so we could just all have a sleep and drift for a bit,' he suggested. The Fellowship awoke some four hours later to find themselves snagged on a rock at the very brim of a gigantic waterfall, quickly identified by Boromir who exclaimed, 'Fuck me, it's the Falls of Rauros!' Disembarking from their craft and pushing it over the waterfall to hide their tracks, the Fellowship stared dejectedly into the woods before them. 'If only Gandalf were here,' murmured Frodo. 'Thank God he isn't,' said Aragorn sharply. 'I can't stand being bossed around by an old man.' With more than a little persuasion, they built up a camp on the shores of the lake. Legolas built himself a small hut, further up the hill. 'I hope it doesn't rain tonight, for your sake,' he called mockingly. Aragorn saw that when he was in his tent, his head was merely inches from the water, and silently cursed the cocky elves. He felt like kicking something and looked around for Frodo, but the young Hobbit was nowhere in sight. 'Where's Frodo?' he enquired, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. 'He went to get firewood,' answered Pippin, taking an experimental bite from a mushroom he'd just found in the forest. 'But I suspect,' added Merry bitterly, 'that he's gone to get mashed on the One Weed.' Aragorn scanned the rest of the Fellowship. Sam was hunched over 'Celeborn's Sexy Stories' in the latest issue of 'Elf Erotica'. Gimli was demolishing Legolas's hut with his axe in a fit of jealous rage, with the elf in question lying unconscious beside his collapsing creation. Boromir was nowhere to be seen.
Frodo crept through the woods, trying to find a secluded spot for a quick joint. The area had obviously been one of major importance and broken statues lay scattered around. Atop a fallen king, Frodo carefully rolled his joint and took a large blast. Instantaneously, he was transported to the strange, bleached world of the One Weed, his eyes and ears became sharper, and he leaned back. It was then that he perceived the shadow of an approaching figure and he looked up. Above him towered Boromir of Gondor, a glimmer of danger in his eyes, and an empty whiskey bottle held loosely in his shaky grasp. 'Give me the Weed, Frodo!' he thundered, stepping forward menacingly. Frodo was taken aback, and scrambled to his feet. 'Fuck that,' he mumbled, slurring. 'I see your mind you short-arse. You mean to keep the Weed for yourself!! Give it to me for with it I can unite the free-drinkers of Middle-Earth into a pub-crawl of unimaginable proportions. Sauron cannot trouble us if we just all get stoned!' With a final roar he flung himself at the gob-smacked Hobbit and wrestled him to the ground. 'GIVE IT TO ME!! GIVE IT TO ME!!' he hollered, trying to hold down the struggling Frodo. 'Am I interrupting something?' came Aragorn's voice, and the bushes parted to reveal the Ranger with an excited grin on his face. It was all the diversion that Frodo needed and turning, fled away uphill. 'Were you trying to molest a Hobbit?' gasped Aragorn incredulously. 'Er.no,' ventured Boromir unconvincingly, shuffling off back to camp.
Frodo continued to run, still cloaked in the hazy reality of the Weed's influence. Before long he found himself atop a wooded hill, where the shattered ruins of a watchtower poked forcibly through the canopy. Standing upon these foundations he perceived through the mists of his high, many far off and strange lands. To the north, a great many dwarves were building a vast tower on which there was a sign saying 'Club Dwarf - go away Sauron (and elves)'. To the west, the dark border of the Misty Mountains rose threateningly, and the Hobbit watched in horror as he witnessed Galadriel ordering Orc assassins to hunt them down to retrieve Haldir's boat. Looking quickly down the hill, he saw the boat in question splintered into a million pieces and still receiving a trashing at the bottom of the falls. Shaking, he turned instead to the south, where the white city of Minas Tirith stood upon its mountain throne. There, he could discern the figure of Denathor sparking up a huge joint, and saying to his son Faramir that he had always thought of Boromir as a drunken pillock and hoped he would not return. It was with great reluctance that he turned his gaze to the east. There, dark beyond the blackest of night, taller than the hulking grey mountains that enclosed it, immeasurably vile and blazing with crude neon effigies, he saw it. Club Barad-dur, the foul establishment of the Drug Lord himself. Hoards of drunken Orcs reeled around its base, drinking cheap liquor concoctions and taking unreasonably expensive designer drugs. All hope left him. Suddenly he became aware that there was an eye in the tower, a bloodshot red eye, that fixed upon him from afar before sliding drunkenly away, and then closing shut in an alcoholic stupor. The sudden rattling of pint glasses drew his attention back to his surroundings and he peered down the hill.
The captain of the Uruk-Hai stood before the Fellowship, holding a frothy pint in each hand. 'Challenge me you cowards,' he hissed, 'or prepare to meet thy doom.' The appearance of the Uruk-Hai, trained heavy drinkers from Club Orthanc, had caught everyone by surprise during their pre-fortification building sleep. The Hobbits were tiredly blinking their eyes, and Aragorn was wearing a floral nightdress. Legolas and Gimli both wore his and hers matching nightcaps. When the Fellowship didn't move, the whole band of Uruks began to laugh and jeer. 'LIGHTWEIGHTS!!!' bellowed their captain, downing both his pints in a quick gulp. 'I will challenge you!' came a sudden voice, and turning they saw Boromir, a harsh light of determination glowing in his eyes. The Uruk captain sized him up slowly. 'I can drink twice as much as all of you,' added Boromir. The rest of the Fellowship had begun to edge further away until they could crouch behind a fallen tree to watch. A couple of mangy goblins began lining up the pints as the band of Uruks took their positions and got ready to drink. Boromir turned and gave the thumbs up to the rest of them and reached for his first pint.
What followed was beyond any horror the Fellowship had yet encountered. Boromir received challenges from every member of the Uruk-Hai, and yet he remained standing. Some started to pass out and lay in a heap before the drink-slamming warrior, while others stumbled away into the bushes never to be seen again. Eventually, there were only a few left and in that moment it seemed although he would make it. 'Another triple vodka for both of us,' gasped the Uruk captain, barely managing to finish his last. Then disaster struck. Boromir's knees suddenly buckled and he slumped forward, spilling his last drink upon the forest floor. Gloating smiles of triumph curled around the lips of the Uruks as they gathered round to watch him slide finally onto his face. 'NOOO!!!!' screamed Merry and Pippin and rushed forward to drink in his place. As Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli hid under a log, the Uruk-Hai scooped up the struggling Hobbits and stumbled drunkenly away into the forest. Aragorn opened an eye and saw there was no one in sight, after which he got up and ran to the fallen Boromir. The warrior was deathly cold to the touch and his face was pale and splattered with whiskey. 'They took the little ones,' he managed to gasp. 'I know,' wept Aragorn, 'but fear not my brave friend, we will rescue Merry and Pippin from evil.' 'The Hobbits?' said Boromir. 'Who gives a toss about them. They vile Orcs pinched all my brandy miniatures!!' Indeed, the Uruk captain had run off with Boromir's emergency drink sack. 'Also,' he muttered, his voice now no more than a whisper, 'I tried to take the Weed from Frodo.I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough..' And with that, Boromir drew his last breath and sank back to the ground. 'The bastard,' said Aragorn incredulously. 'He tried to pinch the Weed and didn't let us in on the plan!'.
Meanwhile, Sam was running back towards camp in a desperate bid to save his porn collection from the teaming hoards of Orcs. As he barrelled through the bushes, his feet suddenly made contact with something solid and he tumbled upon his face. Looking back to see what had sent him sprawling he saw the One Weed, carefully wrapped in a Playboy centrefold, lying unguarded on the forest floor. Eagerly, he scooped it up and was just about to roll a large joint when the memory of his beloved porn came to mind, and he continued to run back to the lake. When he reached the shore, he saw Frodo sitting astride Aragorn's inflatable Arwen doll, paddling across the lake with his hands. 'FRODO,' called Sam desperately, seeing that his master had taken off with his rucksack of porn. 'Stay there, Sam,' warned Frodo. 'I'm going to Mount Doom by myself to rid Middle-Earth of this evil Weed. I cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.' He tapped his pocket and then took on a panicked look. 'Bugger!' he swore, peering into the lake. Sam held the Weed aloft and Frodo swore even more. 'I'm coming with you,' shouted Sam, 'because I don't trust you not to smoke it all before you get there!' 'Foiled again,' muttered Frodo under his breath. Paddling back to the shore, he tied a rope round his trusty sidekick and dragged him across the lake, towards Mordor and the might of the Drug Lord.
'Make sure you've emptied out his wallet,' said Gimli helpfully as Aragorn and Legolas prepared to sling Boromir over the waterfall. 'First thing I did when his eyes closed,' muttered Aragorn, seizing the dead Gondorian by the arms while the elf grasped his legs. 'One.Two.Three!!!' shouted the Ranger and they tossed him as far as they could into the foaming torrent, and they all ran to see him get washed into the rocks far below. 'That should stop any blame falling on us,' said Legolas hopefully as he dubiously regarded Boromir's body and Haldir's prize boat churning around in the white water. The others looked doubtful. 'What are we going to do now? Rescue the Hobbits?' queried Gimli, sparking up a fat one. 'I don't see that there's much else we can do,' said Aragorn dejectedly. 'Either way, if the Forces of Sauron don't get us, then the Elves and Gondorians will. Plus, we need at least two puny weaklings to kick around.' They all grinned. Aragorn placed his hand on the shoulder of his two companions, and they locked arms, each secretly hoping that no one else was watching. 'But first, lets go hunt out a Burger King,' Gimli let out a roar of approval and turning, the remains of the Fellowship fled into the gathering dusk.
Against the gathering night, two small figures scrambled over a rocky ridge. Climbing into the clear air they observed from afar a black land where lightning flickered and a rumbling voice laughed 'Mwahhahahaha'. 'I'm glad you're with me,' said Frodo softly. 'That's alright master Frodo,' said Sam, who then looked round to find his companion was actually talking to the One Weed in his pocket. For a moment he was sad but then he remembered the reams of porn stuffed in his sack and his outlook brightened. There were still plenty of Hobbit bondage photosets to keep him company, and who knew what sort of sordid mags he could pick up in Mordor. The two adventurers began their descent into the Dead Marshes.
Coming After Christmas - 'Lord of the Sleaze - The Two Taverns'
Exclusive Preview!!!
'That bastard Boromir wasn't my brother,' cursed Faramir. 'Spent his life supping foul beverages and playing pool in the houses of ill repute in Minas Tirith.' 'But isn't Denathor your father?' questioned Sam innocently. Faramir fixed the Hobbit with an icy stare. 'Just because my father used to sleep about a bit, doesn't mean you can't show respect, short-shanks,' he sneered. 'In fact,' he added, a note of pride in his voice. 'My father fathered children from here to the Misty Mountains and beyond. They say I've got a half-brother and sister in Rohan somewhere, but I think that may be hearsay.' 'To be honest,' slurred Frodo, mashed again on the One Weed, 'I don't give a fuck!'
Join the Fellowship again after Christmas for more drug taking, booze swilling, violence inducing, porn watching, and incestuous fun. Cheers for all the reviews by the way - hope you've enjoyed it!!
The Lord of the Sleaze 9
Fellowship Now - Redux and The Departure of Boromir's Liver.
Right from the start they knew they weren't going to get one of the flashy pleasure yachts moored along the posh riverfront. When informed that the Fellowship needed a boat to journey down the river Anduin on a mission to save all of Middle-Earth, the boat master had gained a cunning look in his eye, and informed them he would be back soon. They passed the time by lobbing rocks at passing elves and passing round a bottle of something dubious that Boromir had got his hands on. Eventually, the boat master returned in the most dilapidated barge imaginable. At one time it had obviously been used to ferry dead Orcs to the sausage factory, as several limbs still hung limply over the side. Sam gaped in horror as he saw three elves bailing out water at top speed just to keep it afloat. 'This should suit you my young masters,' said the boat master, trying to avoid catching their eyes. 'Whatever,' groaned Boromir and passed out head first into the slimy water that filled the boat's deck. Aragorn was just preparing to castrate the boat master with the aid of Gimli's beard, when they heard a wonderful singing. Then the effect was ruined when someone tried to sing along to the CD in a cracked, warbling voice, and around a bend in the river came Galadriel, borne in a boat shaped in the likeness of a beheaded dwarf. It was powered by eight strapping young elves, handcuffed to their oars and leashed to the elf queen's own hand. Aragorn dropped to his knees. 'Brave travellers,' she recited in monotone. 'I come bearing you gifts that will make your journey seem light and carefree.' She began to rummage around in a cardboard box. There was the sound of something breaking. 'Oh,' she muttered. 'I don't seem to have a gift for Aragorn any more.' The Ranger cursed and went and sat in the water beside the fallen Boromir. 'For Gimli,' she said, 'I give a beard care set, complete with comb and three different kinds of conditioner!' The dwarf accepted his gift graciously. 'For Legolas, a book of '101 Postures of Elf Superiority.' 'For Boromir, a book of '100001 Drinking Games - Take It To The Next Level.' She tossed it upon his recumbent form. 'And to the Hobbits, I'm giving bugger all. It patently obvious they've just been getting stoned on the One Weed so that's all the fun their getting.' She cracked a leather bullwhip, and the boat began to move away. The Fellowship breathed a sigh of relief.
After thoroughly roughing up the boat master, they ended up pinching one of the sparkling pleasure yachts anyway and set off down the river, letting themselves drift with the current as no one could be bothered to work out how to start it. They began to suspect that they might have tested the kindness of the elves when they examined the items in the boat such as a box of cigars emblazoned with the word 'Haldir's', a case of brandy labelled 'Haldir's' and finally the discovery by Pippin that the actual name of the boat was 'Haldir's Morning Glory'. A great feeling of doom fell over them, as if a shadow had passed before the sun. 'We will never leave this land alive,' announced Aragorn wearily. Boromir nodded silently before adding, 'Haldir once used to work in the dungeons of the Drug Lord - that elf sure does know his torture techniques.' Despite these bleak prophecies, the afternoon passed uneventfully apart from a few run-ins with the feisty Orc fishermen who objected to them ploughing into their tackle at full whack. In fact the atmosphere became quite merry, culminating in tossing Gimli over the side and then throwing him in the river. Legolas was just making a pair of water skis from Haldir's drinks cabinet, when Aragorn suddenly cut the engine and whispered 'Listen'. Gradually they began to discern that upon the air was the noise of rushing water and the boat was swept between rocky cliffs, which suddenly rose on either side. It suddenly dawned on the dim-witted bunch that there was a distinct possibility that they were just about to get washed over a waterfall or something, but by that time it was far too late. The canyon began to open up, revealing a sight that caused the Hobbits to gasp involuntarily. They turned around and saw Aragorn, who suddenly did not seem like the scruffy Ranger they loved to hate, but now looked like some kind of ridiculous orang-utan with his arms draped over the side and his lower jaw distended in awe. 'Long have I desired to gaze upon the 'pillars' of the Kings,' he gasped. The Hobbits returned their eyes to the gigantic erections that reared skywards on either side of the river. Even Legolas was duly impressed. 'That Isildur was certainly a big fella,' he gasped, staring at the carven works of art as they passed beneath them.
They were washed into a gigantic lake, and Legolas used his elvish eyesight to peer into the distance. 'All I can see is a cloud of spray, and hear a distant rumbling sound, so we could just all have a sleep and drift for a bit,' he suggested. The Fellowship awoke some four hours later to find themselves snagged on a rock at the very brim of a gigantic waterfall, quickly identified by Boromir who exclaimed, 'Fuck me, it's the Falls of Rauros!' Disembarking from their craft and pushing it over the waterfall to hide their tracks, the Fellowship stared dejectedly into the woods before them. 'If only Gandalf were here,' murmured Frodo. 'Thank God he isn't,' said Aragorn sharply. 'I can't stand being bossed around by an old man.' With more than a little persuasion, they built up a camp on the shores of the lake. Legolas built himself a small hut, further up the hill. 'I hope it doesn't rain tonight, for your sake,' he called mockingly. Aragorn saw that when he was in his tent, his head was merely inches from the water, and silently cursed the cocky elves. He felt like kicking something and looked around for Frodo, but the young Hobbit was nowhere in sight. 'Where's Frodo?' he enquired, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. 'He went to get firewood,' answered Pippin, taking an experimental bite from a mushroom he'd just found in the forest. 'But I suspect,' added Merry bitterly, 'that he's gone to get mashed on the One Weed.' Aragorn scanned the rest of the Fellowship. Sam was hunched over 'Celeborn's Sexy Stories' in the latest issue of 'Elf Erotica'. Gimli was demolishing Legolas's hut with his axe in a fit of jealous rage, with the elf in question lying unconscious beside his collapsing creation. Boromir was nowhere to be seen.
Frodo crept through the woods, trying to find a secluded spot for a quick joint. The area had obviously been one of major importance and broken statues lay scattered around. Atop a fallen king, Frodo carefully rolled his joint and took a large blast. Instantaneously, he was transported to the strange, bleached world of the One Weed, his eyes and ears became sharper, and he leaned back. It was then that he perceived the shadow of an approaching figure and he looked up. Above him towered Boromir of Gondor, a glimmer of danger in his eyes, and an empty whiskey bottle held loosely in his shaky grasp. 'Give me the Weed, Frodo!' he thundered, stepping forward menacingly. Frodo was taken aback, and scrambled to his feet. 'Fuck that,' he mumbled, slurring. 'I see your mind you short-arse. You mean to keep the Weed for yourself!! Give it to me for with it I can unite the free-drinkers of Middle-Earth into a pub-crawl of unimaginable proportions. Sauron cannot trouble us if we just all get stoned!' With a final roar he flung himself at the gob-smacked Hobbit and wrestled him to the ground. 'GIVE IT TO ME!! GIVE IT TO ME!!' he hollered, trying to hold down the struggling Frodo. 'Am I interrupting something?' came Aragorn's voice, and the bushes parted to reveal the Ranger with an excited grin on his face. It was all the diversion that Frodo needed and turning, fled away uphill. 'Were you trying to molest a Hobbit?' gasped Aragorn incredulously. 'Er.no,' ventured Boromir unconvincingly, shuffling off back to camp.
Frodo continued to run, still cloaked in the hazy reality of the Weed's influence. Before long he found himself atop a wooded hill, where the shattered ruins of a watchtower poked forcibly through the canopy. Standing upon these foundations he perceived through the mists of his high, many far off and strange lands. To the north, a great many dwarves were building a vast tower on which there was a sign saying 'Club Dwarf - go away Sauron (and elves)'. To the west, the dark border of the Misty Mountains rose threateningly, and the Hobbit watched in horror as he witnessed Galadriel ordering Orc assassins to hunt them down to retrieve Haldir's boat. Looking quickly down the hill, he saw the boat in question splintered into a million pieces and still receiving a trashing at the bottom of the falls. Shaking, he turned instead to the south, where the white city of Minas Tirith stood upon its mountain throne. There, he could discern the figure of Denathor sparking up a huge joint, and saying to his son Faramir that he had always thought of Boromir as a drunken pillock and hoped he would not return. It was with great reluctance that he turned his gaze to the east. There, dark beyond the blackest of night, taller than the hulking grey mountains that enclosed it, immeasurably vile and blazing with crude neon effigies, he saw it. Club Barad-dur, the foul establishment of the Drug Lord himself. Hoards of drunken Orcs reeled around its base, drinking cheap liquor concoctions and taking unreasonably expensive designer drugs. All hope left him. Suddenly he became aware that there was an eye in the tower, a bloodshot red eye, that fixed upon him from afar before sliding drunkenly away, and then closing shut in an alcoholic stupor. The sudden rattling of pint glasses drew his attention back to his surroundings and he peered down the hill.
The captain of the Uruk-Hai stood before the Fellowship, holding a frothy pint in each hand. 'Challenge me you cowards,' he hissed, 'or prepare to meet thy doom.' The appearance of the Uruk-Hai, trained heavy drinkers from Club Orthanc, had caught everyone by surprise during their pre-fortification building sleep. The Hobbits were tiredly blinking their eyes, and Aragorn was wearing a floral nightdress. Legolas and Gimli both wore his and hers matching nightcaps. When the Fellowship didn't move, the whole band of Uruks began to laugh and jeer. 'LIGHTWEIGHTS!!!' bellowed their captain, downing both his pints in a quick gulp. 'I will challenge you!' came a sudden voice, and turning they saw Boromir, a harsh light of determination glowing in his eyes. The Uruk captain sized him up slowly. 'I can drink twice as much as all of you,' added Boromir. The rest of the Fellowship had begun to edge further away until they could crouch behind a fallen tree to watch. A couple of mangy goblins began lining up the pints as the band of Uruks took their positions and got ready to drink. Boromir turned and gave the thumbs up to the rest of them and reached for his first pint.
What followed was beyond any horror the Fellowship had yet encountered. Boromir received challenges from every member of the Uruk-Hai, and yet he remained standing. Some started to pass out and lay in a heap before the drink-slamming warrior, while others stumbled away into the bushes never to be seen again. Eventually, there were only a few left and in that moment it seemed although he would make it. 'Another triple vodka for both of us,' gasped the Uruk captain, barely managing to finish his last. Then disaster struck. Boromir's knees suddenly buckled and he slumped forward, spilling his last drink upon the forest floor. Gloating smiles of triumph curled around the lips of the Uruks as they gathered round to watch him slide finally onto his face. 'NOOO!!!!' screamed Merry and Pippin and rushed forward to drink in his place. As Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli hid under a log, the Uruk-Hai scooped up the struggling Hobbits and stumbled drunkenly away into the forest. Aragorn opened an eye and saw there was no one in sight, after which he got up and ran to the fallen Boromir. The warrior was deathly cold to the touch and his face was pale and splattered with whiskey. 'They took the little ones,' he managed to gasp. 'I know,' wept Aragorn, 'but fear not my brave friend, we will rescue Merry and Pippin from evil.' 'The Hobbits?' said Boromir. 'Who gives a toss about them. They vile Orcs pinched all my brandy miniatures!!' Indeed, the Uruk captain had run off with Boromir's emergency drink sack. 'Also,' he muttered, his voice now no more than a whisper, 'I tried to take the Weed from Frodo.I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough..' And with that, Boromir drew his last breath and sank back to the ground. 'The bastard,' said Aragorn incredulously. 'He tried to pinch the Weed and didn't let us in on the plan!'.
Meanwhile, Sam was running back towards camp in a desperate bid to save his porn collection from the teaming hoards of Orcs. As he barrelled through the bushes, his feet suddenly made contact with something solid and he tumbled upon his face. Looking back to see what had sent him sprawling he saw the One Weed, carefully wrapped in a Playboy centrefold, lying unguarded on the forest floor. Eagerly, he scooped it up and was just about to roll a large joint when the memory of his beloved porn came to mind, and he continued to run back to the lake. When he reached the shore, he saw Frodo sitting astride Aragorn's inflatable Arwen doll, paddling across the lake with his hands. 'FRODO,' called Sam desperately, seeing that his master had taken off with his rucksack of porn. 'Stay there, Sam,' warned Frodo. 'I'm going to Mount Doom by myself to rid Middle-Earth of this evil Weed. I cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.' He tapped his pocket and then took on a panicked look. 'Bugger!' he swore, peering into the lake. Sam held the Weed aloft and Frodo swore even more. 'I'm coming with you,' shouted Sam, 'because I don't trust you not to smoke it all before you get there!' 'Foiled again,' muttered Frodo under his breath. Paddling back to the shore, he tied a rope round his trusty sidekick and dragged him across the lake, towards Mordor and the might of the Drug Lord.
'Make sure you've emptied out his wallet,' said Gimli helpfully as Aragorn and Legolas prepared to sling Boromir over the waterfall. 'First thing I did when his eyes closed,' muttered Aragorn, seizing the dead Gondorian by the arms while the elf grasped his legs. 'One.Two.Three!!!' shouted the Ranger and they tossed him as far as they could into the foaming torrent, and they all ran to see him get washed into the rocks far below. 'That should stop any blame falling on us,' said Legolas hopefully as he dubiously regarded Boromir's body and Haldir's prize boat churning around in the white water. The others looked doubtful. 'What are we going to do now? Rescue the Hobbits?' queried Gimli, sparking up a fat one. 'I don't see that there's much else we can do,' said Aragorn dejectedly. 'Either way, if the Forces of Sauron don't get us, then the Elves and Gondorians will. Plus, we need at least two puny weaklings to kick around.' They all grinned. Aragorn placed his hand on the shoulder of his two companions, and they locked arms, each secretly hoping that no one else was watching. 'But first, lets go hunt out a Burger King,' Gimli let out a roar of approval and turning, the remains of the Fellowship fled into the gathering dusk.
Against the gathering night, two small figures scrambled over a rocky ridge. Climbing into the clear air they observed from afar a black land where lightning flickered and a rumbling voice laughed 'Mwahhahahaha'. 'I'm glad you're with me,' said Frodo softly. 'That's alright master Frodo,' said Sam, who then looked round to find his companion was actually talking to the One Weed in his pocket. For a moment he was sad but then he remembered the reams of porn stuffed in his sack and his outlook brightened. There were still plenty of Hobbit bondage photosets to keep him company, and who knew what sort of sordid mags he could pick up in Mordor. The two adventurers began their descent into the Dead Marshes.
Coming After Christmas - 'Lord of the Sleaze - The Two Taverns'
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'That bastard Boromir wasn't my brother,' cursed Faramir. 'Spent his life supping foul beverages and playing pool in the houses of ill repute in Minas Tirith.' 'But isn't Denathor your father?' questioned Sam innocently. Faramir fixed the Hobbit with an icy stare. 'Just because my father used to sleep about a bit, doesn't mean you can't show respect, short-shanks,' he sneered. 'In fact,' he added, a note of pride in his voice. 'My father fathered children from here to the Misty Mountains and beyond. They say I've got a half-brother and sister in Rohan somewhere, but I think that may be hearsay.' 'To be honest,' slurred Frodo, mashed again on the One Weed, 'I don't give a fuck!'
Join the Fellowship again after Christmas for more drug taking, booze swilling, violence inducing, porn watching, and incestuous fun. Cheers for all the reviews by the way - hope you've enjoyed it!!