Chapter 4: Beer, Pectorals, Randy Trees, and solid blocks of Monty Python jokes Disclaimer: LotR is not mine. *sobs* We might need to rate this R methinks. Let me know. Warning: BLATANT MONTY PYTHON REFERENCES AHEAD!

In the Green Dragon, it was fairly peaceful. There were about a hundred more of these 'Mary-sue' creatures lounging about, so Sam left his hood up, while he sat in the corner. He was smoking his pipe and trying to look mysterious, just like Strider. He was failing miserably at this, but he had several new pipe-burns to add to his growing collection.
There was a clamor as the door swung violently open; throwing what looked like Rosie Cotton a meter back. Sam looked over at the bar to reassure himself that his secondary love (just in case Frodo died) hadn't been beaten with a heavy oaken door. No, she was fending off advances from what looked like a masculine version of the Mary-sues.
The Mary-sue got to her feet uneasily. Her nose was smashed into a bloody pulp, and her forehead had a goose-egg larger than Aragorn's swollen head. Sam barely resisted the urge to cheer. The hobbit girl screamed shrilly,
"Watch where you're going asshole!"
"Piss off."
It was Tom Cotton. Behind him were Fatty Bolger, Folco Boffin, and, wonders never cease, Ted Sandyman. Sam stood up and waved. Tom smiled, pushed the Mary-sue over, and walked towards Sam. Fatty and Folco followed him, but Ted Sandyman spat on the Mary-sue, and was about to urinate on her, but Tom called him over.
The miller spat again, farted in her face, flipped off her friends, and came over to where the other four hobbits were sitting. Once he had sat down, Rosie pranced over, glad to get away from her stalker.
"What'll you have lads?"
"BEER!"
"BEER!"
"BEER!"
Fatty Bolger frowned, "I don't know. . . I'm on a diet. . ."

"Sissy," muttered Folco under his breath.
Fatty drew himself up indignantly, "BEER!"
They all turned to Ted. The nasty-ass hobbit sneered, "I'll have a beer and a little boob-show if ye don't mind."
Sam snarled in rage. He reached over to Sandyman and slammed the miller's head into the table multiple times.
Folco stared at the normally sedate hobbit in shock. Fatty leaned over and whispered, "He doesn't like having his lust objects mistreated or hit on."
Folco nodded, "Still a bit scary though."
"Yeah."
Meanwhile, Sam was still pounding Ted's head into the table. The unfortunate hobbit was shouting something like 'Feckin' hell he broke my feckin nose the feckin barstard!' Tom reached over and touched Sam's arm.
"Sam, you've proven your point."
Sam nodded and dropped the miller onto the table. Rosie had scampered off to go get their beer. Sam leaned into the center of the round table, and everyone immediately backed away, except for Ted, seeing as he was hovering on the verge of unconsciousness.
"My friends," Sam began, "And my new worst enemy, I bring tidings of the elves."
"Oh feckin' lovely," Ted muttered, "It's always the elves with you Sam. It's the elves did this, and the elves screwed with that, it's all useless garbage and you can blow it out yer arse. Either that or you're ranting about that useless pretty boy 'Mr.' Frodo Baggins that you're always humping. You queer barstard."
Sam drew his sword, intending to cut off Ted Sandyman's vulgar head, but Tom held him back. Rosie came back with their beers. All five hobbits chugged the glass and handed it back to her.
"How 'bout another round dear sister?" Tom said cheerfully.
"Of course Tom!" Rosie said as she walked away, moving her hips back and forth in a titillating way at Sam. Ted pinched her bum in a playful manner, causing her to squeal.
Sam reached over and bashed Ted's head into the table again. This time Ted helped him. Folco and Fatty dragged them off, gave Tom some cocaine so he would calm down, and turned to Sam.
"Tell us your news Sam." said Folco.
Sam sat down, his face still flushed with anger (at Ted knowing that he was shagging Mr. Frodo and pinching Rosie's bum), "The elves are all overrun with the same creatures that plague us now. I am recruiting hobbits to go and destroy the menace, so we can destroy another menace that another menace wants so he can be a really big menace and destroy Middle- Earth," Sam took a deep breath.
They all stared at him like he was an idiot who claimed he could fly to the moon just by drinking a glass of carbonated piss.
"Start over again from 'the elves are all overrun'," Tom said slowly.
"Menace? What menace? I don't see no menace."
"And why should we bother with the elves? What have they ever done for us?"
"Fuck off Sandyman. But I have to admit that I'm still confused."
"Will there be food?" Fatty Bolger asked.
Folco dealt him a hefty smack across the base of his skull, "Fatty."
"That's my name. Don't wear it out."
"You little shit! Don't sass me!"
"Bring it on Fucko!"
"WHY YOU!"

As a fistfight broke out, Tom tapped Sam on the shoulder,
"What's a menace?"
Sam put his head in his hands and sobbed. He hoped the others were having more luck than him.

Gimli certainly wasn't. For one thing, he didn't have any beer. For another, Mirkwood was completely under the Shadow. Of the Mary-sues that is. Dol Guldur had been pillaged and burned, and all the orcs slain.
Being a dwarf or an orc was not a good idea if one wanted to traverse Mirkwood these days. Seeing as all the Mary-sues were a bunch of fluffy shallow bitches with the combined IQ of a relatively dumb buttered scone, if you were ugly, you were dead.
Gimli was lost in trees. He hated trees. He hated elves, mostly. That Legolas chap had been pretty damn sexy (definitely not my opinion, I can't stand the bugger). But, back to his rant, he hated everything. This was not improved by a dozen Mary-sues on his tail.
They had been following him for two days now. Five wraiths were behind him, where the other four were, he did not know. Sorry, couldn't resist a dig at Arwen.
Not that the statement was entirely inaccurate. The Mary-sues followed him without rest. He had only survived by hiding under clumps of bush. The Mary-sues were too stupid to look under anything.
He grumbled as he took off his boots to cross a random river that had appeared as a plot device. He was in the middle of the ford when the Mary- sues burst out of the trees.
'Shit,' he thought, 'I'm fucked.'
The head Mary-sue turned at him and shrieked, "THERE HE IS!!! KILL THE UGLY!!!"
As one, the scum loaded their bows. Twelve shafts were aimed directly at Gimli's chest. As they drew back their arrows, he got an idea. He quickly tore the ties on his tunic, ripping it open down the center.
"FEAST YOUR EYES!" he shouted at the shell-shocked Mary-sues. His entire chest was covered in tangled red-orange hair.
Most of the Mary-sues fled in terror or fell to the ground screaming and sobbing. One, Liz, was screaming 'OMG WTF OMG WTF OMG WTF OMG WTF' at the top of her lungs in between her bouts of vomiting.
However, the two lead Sues were still on their feet, and just as they were ready to release their arrows, Gimli grabbed his hairy, breast-like pectoral muscle and licked it, just like Fat Bastard in Austin Powers. Yes, be disgusted.
The leader Sue's head exploded into tiny particles. The other Sue screamed as the brain bits fell all over her. She fell to the ground and hyperventilated until she died of asphyxiation. The rest crawled away, except for Liz, because she was a.) still puking, b.) winded from screaming OMG WTF over and over again, and c.) she was just as retarded as every other Mary-sue that ever existed.
Gimli calmly walked over to the Mary-sue. Slowly, carefully, he raised his axe, and then brought it down on her neck. At the very last second, the Sue jumped forward, but it wasn't enough. The axe severed her body at the waist. She screamed in pain.
Gimli laughed hysterically. This worked out so much better than he planned it. Two Mary-sues dead, one dying in an extremely funny way, and the rest terrified. He sat back smoked some ganja while the Mary-sue slowly and painfully bled to death, all the while professing that she had a secret love for Legolas. When he heard that, he cut off her foot, but then realized that the foot was already detached from the main body.
After a few moments, her whimpers grew so heart-wrenching that even Gimli felt vaguely sorry for her. Gimli hefted one of his many axes, judging where it would cause the most pain if he threw it. Finally, he settled on the Sue's cerebrum.
"Rest in pieces foul creature," Gimli said gruffly as he threw the axe at her head. She died instantly, and that was still far to good for her.
Gimli buttoned up his shirt, made a mental note about tearing open his shirt in front of Mary-sues, and retrieved his axe. After wiping it on the Mary-sue's clothing, he stored in his belt. He whistled as he smoked his ganja and left the forest of Mirkwood.

Radagast sighed. He wasn't having any more luck that Sam either. In fact, he was worse off than the other two put together. Sam had his beer, and Gimli had some cannabis. Being a fool, he had smoked all of his within the first fifteen minutes of riding. True, they were both surrounded by Mary-sues, but at least they weren't surrounded by soporific, celibate, and lethargic creatures. That's right, he was in Fangorn Forest.
Treebeard leaned forward, "Young. . . hoom. . . Master Radagast. . . we have always. . . trusted your judgment. . . but what you are suggesting is. . . madness."
"Listen to me slowpoke," said Radagast hotly, "We don't have time to bicker on about whether this is a silly idea. The lives of the elves are at stake!"
"But. . ." Treebeard's eyes misted over a bit, "I thought you. . . hoom. . . said. . . that they were. . . just having. . ." a wistful sigh, "sex."
"Nonstop."
Treebeard and the other Ent beside him, Quickbeam, stared dreamily off into space.
Radagast sighed. "Randy trees," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" asked Treebeard with none of his usual slothfulness.
"Nothing, nothing!" Radagast said quickly. There was nothing in the world worst than pissing off an Ent. They would fuck you in the ass. Sorry, Big Lambowski reference.
"Hoom."
Quickbeam's amber eye twitched as he turned to Treebeard, "Will you. . . fucking stop. . . saying. . . 'hoom'? It's really. . . fucking annoying. And. . . no other Ent speaks like that you. . . branchsuck."
"Watch. . . it sonny. I may. . . be. . . twenty thousand years. . . your senior. . . but I can still whoop. . . your punk trunk."
"Bring. . . it. . .on old. . . tree."
"Right! I'll. . .do you for that!"
Radagast sighed at the thoroughly ridiculous fight that was done in thoroughly ridiculously slow slow motion. After about an hour, Treebeard's fist finally connected with Quickbeam's chest, and Radagast had fallen asleep.

Gondorians could be irritating little dick-heads Oliver the Vaguely Polka-dotted decided. After Ingold had checked his I.D, declared it invalid, and demanded another proof that he existed, Oliver had hit him in the face, screaming 'Is this proof enough ass-hole?' repeatedly. The legal bother had lasted for several hours, and Oliver had only gotten off by using a Maia Mind Trick (which is in no way affiliated with a Jedi Mind Trick ).
The same process was repeated at every single gate, except that he actually had to commit sodomy to get off with a few. Now he finally was standing before the White Tower, and Denethor was being a fucking pisshead. The Steward was ranting about how he missed his sons (both having fallen to the plague of the Mary-sues).
Oliver sat waiting. He got bored quickly, seeing as he was twitching from all the speed he had consumed on the way down from Rivendell (or Rivenhell, considering its current occupants) He stood up, nanced around a bit, pushed a few guards of the embankment, then went off to find a two coin whore.
By the time he got back, Denethor was done pissing and moaning about nothing. He was dressed in his favorite pink robes, and was, wonders never cease, hanging from the ceiling on a wire.
Oliver shook his head and walked solemnly into the hall. Denethor started twirling around on his wire like a total moron.
"WHEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Multiple punctuation marks are the sign of a diseased mind Denethor."
Denethor gave the Istari the finger, "Piss off. I HAVE a diseased mind you know, it all came from the pretty little ball. Pretty ball, me likey. . ."
He stopped moving. As he stared into space and drooled, Oliver spoke up.
"My lord Denethor. . ."
Beregond came out of the shadows between the pillars. He leaned in close to Oliver, "M'lud, he will noht h'answer to h'anything other than. . ."
Oliver interrupted him, "What's with the overly clichéd British accent?"
"Oh! Sorry, been talking like that so long, I forgot there was another way to talk. Denethor demands it you see. You see, he's. . ."
"I heard the name of my old life spoken." Denethor frowned down on them, looking over the cup of herbal tea that had appeared from nowhere.
Beregond sighed, "Right then," the guard took a deep breath, "Excuse me Lord Fim Bim Wim Tim Sim Kim Yim Chim F'tang F'tang Alfred Brian Pennysworth Longfellow 'If I could walk that way. . .' Alice Q. Pinkleburg 'Raindrops keep falling on my head'," Beregond paused to slam his spear on the ground three times, make a clucking noise and imitate a snake, "Billy Snaklederm 'Don't sleep in the subway' Ole! Biscuitbarrel Walrustitty," Beregond took a deep breath.
"The abbreviated name will do for now Beregond."
The guard collapsed on the ground, "Oh thank Eru."
"Now what is it that you want, Oliver the Vaguely Polka-dotted? Always you arrive on the eve of the storm."
Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Erm, no. You're thinking of Gandalf. It has nothing to do with me. I'm not in this one. This is book 1, I'm not in till book. . .never."
Lord Fim Bim Wim Tim. . . okay, I'll stop. Denethor shrugged, "It doesn't matter. Are you here about the flying lessons?"
"Erm," Oliver looked over at Beregond, who merely indicated that Denethor was off his rocker. Oliver turned back to Denethor, "I suppose. . ."
"Well up on the dais! Arms out, fingers together, knees bent!"
Oliver held up his hands, "No, no, no. I came to get an army really."
Denethor turned up his nose at Oliver and said in a very highbrow voice, "Oh, an army eh? Oh oh, no more buttered scones for me mater, I'm off. . . to play the grand piano. Pardon me while I command my army, now get on the dais!"
"Look you old ponce! I want a fecking army, and I want it now! And people can't fly you tard!"
"Well, if you want an army, you can piss off. We don't do wars here man. Make love, not war! Stick it to the man!"
Beregond piped up meekly, "Um m'lud, you ARE the man."
"Well piss. That sort of takes away my credibility don't it?" He laughed heartily.
Nervously playing along, Oliver and Beregond laughed heartily as well. The echoes filled the halls until they drove small animals mad. A large line of rats did a can-can across the hall, causing a guard at the door to throw out a bottle of Dorwinion's best.
Denethor abruptly stopped laughing, and Beregond and Oliver stopped as quickly as they could after him. The unhinged old man stared at them,
"Well, Mr. Vaguely Polka-dotted, if people can't fly, what am I doing up here?"
Oliver snorted derisively, "You're on a wire!"
Beregond slammed his palm into his temple, "You went and did it now Oliver."
Denethor drew himself up as best he could in mid-air, "Oh, I'm on a wire am I?"
Beregond waved his hands at Oliver in distress, but the Istari ignored him and sneered, "Of course you're on a bloody wire."
"I am not on a wire, I am flyin'."
"You're on a wire!"
"I am flyin'!"
"You're on a wire!"
"I'll show you whether I'm on a wire or not! Give me the oop!"
Oliver raised an eyebrow, "What?"
Denethor sniffed, "Oh, I don't suppose we know what an oop is. I suppose Pater thought they were a bit common, except on the bleeding croquet lawn!"
Oliver brightened, "Oh, a hoop!"
Denethor rolled his eyes, "OH! An Hoop!"
Oliver passed up a wooden hoop (with a barely noticeable gap in the ring) to Denethor. The Steward promptly put it over his head, and it passed over him. Denethor looked smug, "There, now where's the bleedin' wire?"
Oliver snorted, "That hoop's got a hole in!"
"OH! Eru and Manwë, the oop's got a hole in! OF COURSE IT'S GOT A HOLE IN, IT WOULDN'T BE A BLOODY OOP OTHERWISE WOULD IT MUSH?"
"No there's a gap in the middle there!"
Beregond put his head in his hands and wept. The guards at the door did the same, and so did all the rats in the can-can line. This was going to be painful.
"Oh," said Denethor, "A GAP, a gap in one's oop. Pardon me, but I'm off to play the grand piano."
"Oh shut up you pissant! You're on a fucking wire!"
"Look you bastard, I've already told you, I'm not on a wire, I AM FLYIN'!"
And with that, Denethor lunged forward. Oliver would have been killed, if not for Imrahil's timely arrival. The doors burst open, and there stood Imrahil, the helm of Dol Amroth gone. In its place sat a British Constable's hat. One of the door guards started beating himself with the blunt end of his spear.
"Here now, here now! What's all this then?" shouted Imrahil in an annoyingly high-pitched Welsh accent.
Oliver sank to the floor, head in his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Meanwhile, in a random dark creepy tower somewhere. . .

"So you'll help us?" Gandalf asked.
"Of course," the low female voice replied, "How could we ignore Middle-Earth being overrun by these. . . creatures."
From underneath her dark robes, the hitherto unnamed female character pulled a smoking package. She handed it to Gandalf, who accepted it with shaking hands. After a moment of it smoking in his lap, Gandalf looked over at the hitherto unnamed female character.
"Can I open it?"
"Of course."
"Do you ever say anything different?"
"I suppose not. . ."
Gandalf tore open the packaging to reveal dozens of clear glass vials, filled to the bursting with different colored flame. He looked up at the hitherto unnamed female character,
"What kind of ponce d'you take me for? What is this going to do besides make me look like a fairy?"
She shook her head, "You still don't understand Gandalf. You must trust the power of the flames," she drew him close and whispered in his ear what the flames were capable of.

The laughter reverberated throughout the random creepy dark tower.

A/N: Whoa, that had to be the most Monty Python references in one page EVER. Kudos to A Thousand Paper Cranes for suggesting flaming as a tool. Also kudos to Bane of the Mary-sues and the aforementioned author for flaming so many stories into oblivion. Kudos to Annagorn for being. . .erm. . .Annagorn. Check out Slightly Insane Greenleaf and Other Stories if you're in the mood to go 'What the hell?" I now must go and rally against the man! Oh, wait, I am the man, at least in this house. Silly me.