Author: Okay, let's do this! I've spent a long time thinking about it, and
I oughta do a Lord o the Rings fic. This one'll be all humor, and though I
have read the books, this one's based on the movie. Any inaccuracies are
the result of my being dropped on the head too much and thinking things are
funny.
Disclaimer: Hey, don't look at me, I just say I don't own anything!
Long ago, as in really long ago, as in before anyone you know was born (elves and ents not included), there was a dark lord named Sauron. He was a very dark, very evil lord, and he got an idea one day to deceive all of Middle-Earth into slavery and destruction. When his minions asked him why, he would simply shrug, smile, and kill them.
Anyway, he created these rings one day in his metalworking/jewelery class and decided to pour into them his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. Since it was the Christmas season, he gave three to the elves, seven to the dwarves, and nine to the men. But he kept the ring he messed up on and decided it would be the master ring, since his mom always referred to messed up people as being "special."
One by one, the free lands fell. And got up again. And were shot in the back by rival gang leaders. When most of the free lands became enslaved lands, there were some who resisted. They thought Sauron was being a big meanie. So they stormed up to the fortress of Mordor and teased him until he sent out his orc minions to kill them. They fought and fought and fought. And breaked for cookies. And fought some more.
But then, just when the free land army was winning, Sauron pulled out his secret weapon. He walked up with his big black cloak until everyone could see him. Then he threw back his cloak to reveal the pink tutu underneath. Many warriors simply fell down dead out of shock. "My God, make it stop!" they cried out.
Then the King of Gondor ran up and tried to close the cloak again. Sauron saw this and whacked the king over the head with a big mace. The price got pretty angry and grabbed his dad's sword. He ran up and hacked off Sauron's ring. Sauron unfortunately imploded of shock.
Now, little Isildur could have thrown that nasty, bloody, mean ring away, but he thought he'd keep it as a momento. He always did have a thing for gold. Unfortunately, so did the little orcs who shot him in the back during a gang war. The ring fell to the bottom of a river, and oddly enough, nobody went to look for it.
A couple thousand years later, the ring wound up with a little midget (who called himself a hobbit so he wouldn't get teased) named Smeagol, but everybody called him Gollum because of his hairball problem. Nobody noticed when he didn't die after 500 years or so, but then, they didn't notice when he ran around the house half-naked, naming inanimate objects things like cupcake or sugar pie. He called the ring precious, and had lovely little tea parties with it while it calmly poisoned his mind behind his back.
But then the ring heard rumors that his old buddy Sauron was back in town. Ashamed of his affair, he left Gollum. But rings can't get very far on their own, so a hobbit named Bilbo picked it up and took it home (after running a few little errands). But now it was Bilbo's 111th birthday, and the ring was never too fond of old geezers. It waited for the right moment to return to its lover.
Disclaimer: Hey, don't look at me, I just say I don't own anything!
Long ago, as in really long ago, as in before anyone you know was born (elves and ents not included), there was a dark lord named Sauron. He was a very dark, very evil lord, and he got an idea one day to deceive all of Middle-Earth into slavery and destruction. When his minions asked him why, he would simply shrug, smile, and kill them.
Anyway, he created these rings one day in his metalworking/jewelery class and decided to pour into them his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. Since it was the Christmas season, he gave three to the elves, seven to the dwarves, and nine to the men. But he kept the ring he messed up on and decided it would be the master ring, since his mom always referred to messed up people as being "special."
One by one, the free lands fell. And got up again. And were shot in the back by rival gang leaders. When most of the free lands became enslaved lands, there were some who resisted. They thought Sauron was being a big meanie. So they stormed up to the fortress of Mordor and teased him until he sent out his orc minions to kill them. They fought and fought and fought. And breaked for cookies. And fought some more.
But then, just when the free land army was winning, Sauron pulled out his secret weapon. He walked up with his big black cloak until everyone could see him. Then he threw back his cloak to reveal the pink tutu underneath. Many warriors simply fell down dead out of shock. "My God, make it stop!" they cried out.
Then the King of Gondor ran up and tried to close the cloak again. Sauron saw this and whacked the king over the head with a big mace. The price got pretty angry and grabbed his dad's sword. He ran up and hacked off Sauron's ring. Sauron unfortunately imploded of shock.
Now, little Isildur could have thrown that nasty, bloody, mean ring away, but he thought he'd keep it as a momento. He always did have a thing for gold. Unfortunately, so did the little orcs who shot him in the back during a gang war. The ring fell to the bottom of a river, and oddly enough, nobody went to look for it.
A couple thousand years later, the ring wound up with a little midget (who called himself a hobbit so he wouldn't get teased) named Smeagol, but everybody called him Gollum because of his hairball problem. Nobody noticed when he didn't die after 500 years or so, but then, they didn't notice when he ran around the house half-naked, naming inanimate objects things like cupcake or sugar pie. He called the ring precious, and had lovely little tea parties with it while it calmly poisoned his mind behind his back.
But then the ring heard rumors that his old buddy Sauron was back in town. Ashamed of his affair, he left Gollum. But rings can't get very far on their own, so a hobbit named Bilbo picked it up and took it home (after running a few little errands). But now it was Bilbo's 111th birthday, and the ring was never too fond of old geezers. It waited for the right moment to return to its lover.