No, I don't own the story or anything contained here, except for the sick
sense of humour that provides me with endless excuses to write fanfics...
Enjoy.
Frodo Gets Flatulant
"Mr. Frodo, sir, we're wantin' to leave now abouts," Sam called worriedly from a safe distance to the hobbit. Frodo barely croaked out, he'd 'be there shortly' when another spasm of pain surged through his bowels.
It was awful. And it had been this way for some time now, ever since eating those blasted beans on Amun Sul. Forty-eight hours following the usual time frame of normal digestion, and those beans had yet to surface. "Last time I let Gimli cook," moaned Frodo.
But he couldn't hold up the others any longer. From a distance, the hobbit watched his companions, each in the various stages of boredom. The stout dwarf, swinging his axe absently, trimming an inch of Gandalfs beard with each swing. Gandalf, who normally would have fried him, was asleep, his blue hat pulled over his face, oblivious to the anarchy about him.
Merry and Pippin had taken the liberty of extracting a pair of briefs from Boromirs back-pack. They provided a merry chase for the future stewart of Gondor, as they spun his cotton underwear above their heads. They were quite aerodynamic, noted Frodo.
Aragorn, on the other hand, was lying on his stomach, feet vertical and toes pointed, picking lithely at a daisy. "She loves me, she loves me lots, she loves me so much she'll give up her immortality, she loves me..." It really was a pitiful thing to see such a rugged, brave ranger such as Aragorn fall to the baser indignities of love.
Even Legolas was weary of waiting on Frodo. He was lecturing a despondant birch on the joys of lembas and elven males. On second assessment, Frodo wasn't sure if this was actually a sign of boredom, since the elf could so often be found on an intimate level with nature. Sometimes in the most disturbing of ways...
Frodo gave one last grunt before departing the underbrush. Those poor campunelas. Frodo doubted very much they would ever flower again. He'd better not let Legolas discover that.
"Pardon the delay, friends," apologized the hobbit on returning. So after Boromir had retrieved his underpants from the giddy halflings, they continued their trek.
It had been a generous ten minutes perhaps, when events took a devastating turn. The wandering group had been trotting lazily through the forest, subject to the inceaseant ramblings of their resident dwarf, Gimli. As usual, his topic was Moria.
"...in which Morrrria was errrrrected by Durrrin, and so stands it prrresently." Thus ended a two hour tirade on the vast Mines of Moria. "A fascinating study, don't you agrrree?"
"A re-telling at bedtime might aid us all in a more expedient slumber.." murmured Gandalf, still begrudging his freshly trim beard.
"Personally, I think a good spot of romance would up the ratings," added the lovesick Aragorn. "Why, I'd even allow you to name your lovers after darling Evenstar and I..."
"I'm hungry," complained Pippin.
"There is a foul smell on the air," Legolas said in sudden recognition.
"Oh, that's Boromir," yawned Merry, "he forgot his pit-stick this morning."
The future stewart of Gondor reeled on the hobbit, "as I recall, certain Shire personell used it as a volleyball!"
Merry hid behind Gandalf, "you'd not begrudge a hobbit a bit of fun now, would you!"
"No," interupted Legolas, indifferent to the mindless banter about him, "it is not of man. It is a scent of such vile aura, it is unthinkable!"
Gimli was the next to detect the odor, "WhhhOOooaA! What a rrrrant!" he roared.
Like plague, each and every member of the fellowship fell under the abominable scent, each gasping in turn for breath or at least a good gas mask. They were spared however, the tedius guessing game to the origin, when Frodo rent the air with an explosive escape of gas.
"HOLY VALAR!" squealed Merry and Pippin, and took off running in search of some clean air.
"I'm sorry!" gasped Frodo, his cheeks turning red, (and not just the ones on his face, either.)
Aragorn, who had attempted at holding his breath, was now blue. He collapsed in an undignified heap by lack of air. Boromir and Legolas ran to their comrad, but only to nick a few of the scented papers Lady Arwen had expelled her love to the ranger upon. They apparently served as a good freshener, even if they had entertained Aragorns sweaty vest for a few weeks.
Gimli nudged the embarassed Frodo, "ahem, you might want to give those brrreeches a hearrty scrrrape, Frrrodo, lad." Graciously he lent the hobbit his sharpened axe.
Frodo was about to turn an even darker shade of red, when the cries of his hobbits friends arose. "Orcs! Orcs! bloody, there are at least one hundred Orcs!" squealed Pippin.
"Every man to their swords," voiced Aragorn.
"--and his pots and pans!" added Sam.
Frodo felt strangly secure with his mithril coat on, but his hope dwindled upon realizing his last expression of flatulence had deteriorated the back of the armour.
Over the hill, a troop of scowling Orcs charged. They were met with the arrows of archers Aragorn and Legolas, but more came forward. A bloody brawl broke forth, in which Frodo did nothing but uselessly drop his sword and moan over.
"Frodo!" called Sam, after knocking an Orc senseless with his best tefflon pan, "use the--" he was cut short by a Goblin club.
"--the force!" finished Pippin, "use the force!"
"This isn't Star Wars, nitwit," snapped Frodo over the war cries.
"And it's not Sesame Street, either, so either let some of that mustard gas free, or start using that sword!" retorted the hobbit.
"But it was Bilbos! It might get dented! I would feel simply awful should it ever lose it's bluish radiance!"
"Good Vala, Frodo, get off your arse and do some bloody work!" screamed Merry, "these wooden spoons won't hold them off for long!"
Frodo sighed. Why were these big tasks always saddled on him? It wasn't fair. On top of that, he still hadn't purged those god-awful beans from his system.
"Alright, but just this once!" Frodo called over the roaring Orcs. "Plug your noses!"
Bilbos heir then lit one so powerful, that every plant in a twenty mile radius wilted, and everyone was thrown and tossed about the air in acrobatic indecency. A storm on the Great Sea could not have had such effect.
Merry was the first to recover from the toss. "That's a mighty wicked ass you've got on ye, matey!" he called to Frodo, "flew twenty straight miles, I did!"
While they had been spared in an undignified manner, each and every one of the fellowship was glad of it. Not a single Orc was left standing, and the only apparent damage was a nasty dent in Sam's best pan. At least at the time there seemed to be no other damage. "Where has Boromir gotten to?" asked Pippin.
It was a sad truth to find their comrade fallen amongst the Orcs. Too brave to take a hanky to his nose, he had inhaled the deathly air and took the full toll of his mistake. There was no warriors peace settled on his face, but a horrified distortion instead. His eyes had near popped and the mans' mouth had stretched into a petrified grimace. Even Gandalfs magic couldn't have him look respectable for a decent burial.
Being too lazy and inconsidarate to construct a proper grave, the fellowship jammed their departed friend into a hollow log. (It was meant to be a boat, but no one was in the mood) With him, the swords of the fallen Orcs were placed. Unfortunatly, they had underestimated the weight of an Uruk-hai blade, and Boromirs short procession sank halfway across the river.
"We can only hope his father doesn't hear of this act," winced Gandalf.
"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON!?" Boromir popped out of the log.
"Why, he's not dead Gandalf!" squealed Pippin, "Isn't it wonderful!?"
"HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M GOING OVER THE WATERFALL!"
"Gandalf! Hadn't we better get him?" asked a concerned Aragorn.
"Er..no..it's only rigor mortis, friends, it will pass," said the knowing wizard.
Frodo stared in horror as Boromir fell screaming over the falls. Was that a smirk on Gandalfs face?
"Grrreat Firrres, Gandalf! You killed the poorrr fellerrr!" roared Gimli.
"My dear dwarf, I merely aided him in acheiving a heros end and nothing more. Really, I resent the implication--even if I did rather dispise the man."
"Hadn't we better be going?" asked Sam, "the sooner we discover what a hole those Mines of Moria are, the sooner Gimli will shut up."
"Good point." murmured Gandalf. "Onward!"
And so, the eight remaining members of the fellowship took their march to Moria.
"MoOOooRRRrrIIIiiiaAAaaAa!" squealed Gimli.
"We've reached the mines, I gather," moaned Legolas.
"Ooooh! Look Merry! An ominous pit of black water! shall we toss rocks into it?" exclaimed Pippin.
"Most certainly!" replied the hobbit.
Gandalf crossed the rocks to come to face a moonlit wall. It read in Elvish tongue; Speak Friend and Enter. After boasting how simple it would be to gain entry to the Mines, Gandalf found himself battering his staff hopelessly against the door, cursing in every language he knew.
"Do you admit defeat, sir?" wheedled Frodo. "Why, it would only take a little muscle contraction on my part to get us through." By now, Frodo had become almost cocky with his new found strength.
"Good Vala, Frodo, it is not a difficult thing to do properly. Cease your banter."
"Alright, but I might want to warn you that there is a huge ancestor of Gimlis surfacing out of the water and I think he wants to eat me."
"You say it like it's a bad thing, melaninn.."
And the door cracked open!
Frodo Gets Flatulant
"Mr. Frodo, sir, we're wantin' to leave now abouts," Sam called worriedly from a safe distance to the hobbit. Frodo barely croaked out, he'd 'be there shortly' when another spasm of pain surged through his bowels.
It was awful. And it had been this way for some time now, ever since eating those blasted beans on Amun Sul. Forty-eight hours following the usual time frame of normal digestion, and those beans had yet to surface. "Last time I let Gimli cook," moaned Frodo.
But he couldn't hold up the others any longer. From a distance, the hobbit watched his companions, each in the various stages of boredom. The stout dwarf, swinging his axe absently, trimming an inch of Gandalfs beard with each swing. Gandalf, who normally would have fried him, was asleep, his blue hat pulled over his face, oblivious to the anarchy about him.
Merry and Pippin had taken the liberty of extracting a pair of briefs from Boromirs back-pack. They provided a merry chase for the future stewart of Gondor, as they spun his cotton underwear above their heads. They were quite aerodynamic, noted Frodo.
Aragorn, on the other hand, was lying on his stomach, feet vertical and toes pointed, picking lithely at a daisy. "She loves me, she loves me lots, she loves me so much she'll give up her immortality, she loves me..." It really was a pitiful thing to see such a rugged, brave ranger such as Aragorn fall to the baser indignities of love.
Even Legolas was weary of waiting on Frodo. He was lecturing a despondant birch on the joys of lembas and elven males. On second assessment, Frodo wasn't sure if this was actually a sign of boredom, since the elf could so often be found on an intimate level with nature. Sometimes in the most disturbing of ways...
Frodo gave one last grunt before departing the underbrush. Those poor campunelas. Frodo doubted very much they would ever flower again. He'd better not let Legolas discover that.
"Pardon the delay, friends," apologized the hobbit on returning. So after Boromir had retrieved his underpants from the giddy halflings, they continued their trek.
It had been a generous ten minutes perhaps, when events took a devastating turn. The wandering group had been trotting lazily through the forest, subject to the inceaseant ramblings of their resident dwarf, Gimli. As usual, his topic was Moria.
"...in which Morrrria was errrrrected by Durrrin, and so stands it prrresently." Thus ended a two hour tirade on the vast Mines of Moria. "A fascinating study, don't you agrrree?"
"A re-telling at bedtime might aid us all in a more expedient slumber.." murmured Gandalf, still begrudging his freshly trim beard.
"Personally, I think a good spot of romance would up the ratings," added the lovesick Aragorn. "Why, I'd even allow you to name your lovers after darling Evenstar and I..."
"I'm hungry," complained Pippin.
"There is a foul smell on the air," Legolas said in sudden recognition.
"Oh, that's Boromir," yawned Merry, "he forgot his pit-stick this morning."
The future stewart of Gondor reeled on the hobbit, "as I recall, certain Shire personell used it as a volleyball!"
Merry hid behind Gandalf, "you'd not begrudge a hobbit a bit of fun now, would you!"
"No," interupted Legolas, indifferent to the mindless banter about him, "it is not of man. It is a scent of such vile aura, it is unthinkable!"
Gimli was the next to detect the odor, "WhhhOOooaA! What a rrrrant!" he roared.
Like plague, each and every member of the fellowship fell under the abominable scent, each gasping in turn for breath or at least a good gas mask. They were spared however, the tedius guessing game to the origin, when Frodo rent the air with an explosive escape of gas.
"HOLY VALAR!" squealed Merry and Pippin, and took off running in search of some clean air.
"I'm sorry!" gasped Frodo, his cheeks turning red, (and not just the ones on his face, either.)
Aragorn, who had attempted at holding his breath, was now blue. He collapsed in an undignified heap by lack of air. Boromir and Legolas ran to their comrad, but only to nick a few of the scented papers Lady Arwen had expelled her love to the ranger upon. They apparently served as a good freshener, even if they had entertained Aragorns sweaty vest for a few weeks.
Gimli nudged the embarassed Frodo, "ahem, you might want to give those brrreeches a hearrty scrrrape, Frrrodo, lad." Graciously he lent the hobbit his sharpened axe.
Frodo was about to turn an even darker shade of red, when the cries of his hobbits friends arose. "Orcs! Orcs! bloody, there are at least one hundred Orcs!" squealed Pippin.
"Every man to their swords," voiced Aragorn.
"--and his pots and pans!" added Sam.
Frodo felt strangly secure with his mithril coat on, but his hope dwindled upon realizing his last expression of flatulence had deteriorated the back of the armour.
Over the hill, a troop of scowling Orcs charged. They were met with the arrows of archers Aragorn and Legolas, but more came forward. A bloody brawl broke forth, in which Frodo did nothing but uselessly drop his sword and moan over.
"Frodo!" called Sam, after knocking an Orc senseless with his best tefflon pan, "use the--" he was cut short by a Goblin club.
"--the force!" finished Pippin, "use the force!"
"This isn't Star Wars, nitwit," snapped Frodo over the war cries.
"And it's not Sesame Street, either, so either let some of that mustard gas free, or start using that sword!" retorted the hobbit.
"But it was Bilbos! It might get dented! I would feel simply awful should it ever lose it's bluish radiance!"
"Good Vala, Frodo, get off your arse and do some bloody work!" screamed Merry, "these wooden spoons won't hold them off for long!"
Frodo sighed. Why were these big tasks always saddled on him? It wasn't fair. On top of that, he still hadn't purged those god-awful beans from his system.
"Alright, but just this once!" Frodo called over the roaring Orcs. "Plug your noses!"
Bilbos heir then lit one so powerful, that every plant in a twenty mile radius wilted, and everyone was thrown and tossed about the air in acrobatic indecency. A storm on the Great Sea could not have had such effect.
Merry was the first to recover from the toss. "That's a mighty wicked ass you've got on ye, matey!" he called to Frodo, "flew twenty straight miles, I did!"
While they had been spared in an undignified manner, each and every one of the fellowship was glad of it. Not a single Orc was left standing, and the only apparent damage was a nasty dent in Sam's best pan. At least at the time there seemed to be no other damage. "Where has Boromir gotten to?" asked Pippin.
It was a sad truth to find their comrade fallen amongst the Orcs. Too brave to take a hanky to his nose, he had inhaled the deathly air and took the full toll of his mistake. There was no warriors peace settled on his face, but a horrified distortion instead. His eyes had near popped and the mans' mouth had stretched into a petrified grimace. Even Gandalfs magic couldn't have him look respectable for a decent burial.
Being too lazy and inconsidarate to construct a proper grave, the fellowship jammed their departed friend into a hollow log. (It was meant to be a boat, but no one was in the mood) With him, the swords of the fallen Orcs were placed. Unfortunatly, they had underestimated the weight of an Uruk-hai blade, and Boromirs short procession sank halfway across the river.
"We can only hope his father doesn't hear of this act," winced Gandalf.
"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON!?" Boromir popped out of the log.
"Why, he's not dead Gandalf!" squealed Pippin, "Isn't it wonderful!?"
"HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M GOING OVER THE WATERFALL!"
"Gandalf! Hadn't we better get him?" asked a concerned Aragorn.
"Er..no..it's only rigor mortis, friends, it will pass," said the knowing wizard.
Frodo stared in horror as Boromir fell screaming over the falls. Was that a smirk on Gandalfs face?
"Grrreat Firrres, Gandalf! You killed the poorrr fellerrr!" roared Gimli.
"My dear dwarf, I merely aided him in acheiving a heros end and nothing more. Really, I resent the implication--even if I did rather dispise the man."
"Hadn't we better be going?" asked Sam, "the sooner we discover what a hole those Mines of Moria are, the sooner Gimli will shut up."
"Good point." murmured Gandalf. "Onward!"
And so, the eight remaining members of the fellowship took their march to Moria.
"MoOOooRRRrrIIIiiiaAAaaAa!" squealed Gimli.
"We've reached the mines, I gather," moaned Legolas.
"Ooooh! Look Merry! An ominous pit of black water! shall we toss rocks into it?" exclaimed Pippin.
"Most certainly!" replied the hobbit.
Gandalf crossed the rocks to come to face a moonlit wall. It read in Elvish tongue; Speak Friend and Enter. After boasting how simple it would be to gain entry to the Mines, Gandalf found himself battering his staff hopelessly against the door, cursing in every language he knew.
"Do you admit defeat, sir?" wheedled Frodo. "Why, it would only take a little muscle contraction on my part to get us through." By now, Frodo had become almost cocky with his new found strength.
"Good Vala, Frodo, it is not a difficult thing to do properly. Cease your banter."
"Alright, but I might want to warn you that there is a huge ancestor of Gimlis surfacing out of the water and I think he wants to eat me."
"You say it like it's a bad thing, melaninn.."
And the door cracked open!