We're Rick James, bitch, and you aren't.
2 YEARS LATER:
Gandalf lay back, satisfied with his night's activity. The hooker beside him looked over, pulled out a bottle of gin, and commenced to chugging. Gandalf wondered about her, wondered who she was, where she had come from, and why she was a hooker. He felt a sudden urge to tell her about the Bra of Power, but—
"No no no," said Mort, frowning at the screen. "That's just bad writing."
"Shut up, corn face!" replied MysticButtCrystal. "Go enjoy your damn steamin' bowl and leave us the hell alone."
Mort simply grinned and rubbed his little corn prongs together creepily.
"Seriously, dude, get the hell away from us."
Mort looked dejected and crawled back onto his couch, leaving the authors to go on by themselves.
"Hey, yeah, hooker lady," said Gandalf, "I have this short friend with poor foot hygiene, and he has a bra, and if he wears it, no one can stand to look at him, so he's, like, invisible and stuff."
"Oh, you must mean the One Bra," said the hooker. "It was made by Sauron, and it's all evil. You should go do something about that."
Gandalf turned to look at her, startled, but his time had run out and she left.
"I should go to some mysterious place full of scrolls and research this," he said to himself. "But first, acid. Mmmmmmm, psychotropic...."
5 YEARS LATER:
Frodo sat in the corner of his living room, rocking back and forth. He stared with wide eyes at the world around him. In the last few weeks, his house had been conquered, room by room, by a regiment of donut men. Donut men were, of course, donuts with arms and legs, and horrible bottomless mouths, into which they fed packing peanuts, most of Frodo's worldly possessions, and the souls of the damned. They came from an extremely stupid dimension, even more so than the one in which they were now terrorizing the young hobbit. He had survived only by hiding from them with the power of his Bra and subsiding on their recon patrols.
"What's all this then?!" demanded Gandalf, bursting in the door. He was immediately set upon by a company of donut men, who devoured every last bit of him in a matter of seconds.
Just then, the donut men all suffered massive heart attacks from their high cholesterol levels. They were, after all, donuts.
"Is it just me, or is this place getting even worse?" asked Gandalf, walking in the door.
"Please Gandalf, take me away from here!" moaned Frodo, unstrapping the Bra and stepping forward.
"Give me that!" cried Gandalf, snatching the Bra and throwing it into the fire.
"Nooooooo!" wailed Frodo.
Gandalf fished the glowing bra out with a fire poker, and held it out to Frodo, who stepped back, wary.
"Take it," said Gandalf. "It's quite cool."
"If you say so," sighed Frodo, and he held out his hand. Gandalf dropped it into his hands.
"AAHH ERU, MY HANDS!" screamed Frodo, as the glowing red Bra caused the skin on his hands to bubble and blister.
"Oh, quit your whining, you baby," scolded Gandalf. "Do you see anything?"
"My red hot blistering hands, maybe."
"I mean on the Bra."
"Oh," Frodo squinted at it. "It says 'Property of Sauron.'"
Gandalf closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh of resignation. "Then it is the One Bra, and it must be destroyed with the Cigarettes of Doom. You must go on a quest to Mordor and burn holes through the cups with one of Sauron's cigarettes."
"What if I don't?"
"Then Sauron will send his winged monkeys to rape you up the butt," growled Gandalf grumpily. Just then, a hobbit fell through the sunroof Frodo's house suddenly had. His neck snapped on impact, and he moved no more. Frodo turned him over with his foot, and looked at his face.
"I think it's Sam, my gardener," said Frodo. And indeed, it was the countenance of his longtime servant.
"You know how this house works," said Gandalf dismissively. "In a few minutes, he'll come back to life, or another one will walk in the door. Just wait."
And so they waited, staring at the body.
Nothing happened.
A demonic sprite climbed up through the floor, jammed a fire poker up the corpse's ass so it stuck straight up in the air, raised a banner that said 'Come see scenic Demon Land' on it, and melted into a puddle of cheese.
Gandalf and Frodo continued to wait, but nothing more happened.
"I guess that was the real Sam, then," said Frodo. "Damn."
"Well," said Gandalf, "You need to get going on your quest. Take Sam with you. He may be useful on the road ahead."
"He's dead, Gandalf," said Frodo.
"Yes, yes, I know," said the wizard. "Here, so he doesn't run off."
Gandalf placed a manacle on Frodo's left ankle, which was attached to a chain, which was attached to another manacle, which he attached to Sam's arm.
"And he can carry your stuff,' said Gandalf, strapping huge heavy packs onto Sam.
Frodo looked on in dismay.
"And here, take some of these, too," said Gandalf, wrapping up a platoon of donut men and jamming them into one of the bags on the late Sam. "They look...nutritious."
Frodo opened his mouth to complain, but was herded out the door.
"Oh, and remember," smiled Gandalf, "You can't wear the Bra normally anymore, because Sauron will know and send his flying monkeys to do you-know-what. You should wear it on your head from now on."
Frodo pulled out a piece of paper, and scrawled a quick letter to the Sackville-Bagginses, telling them they could take Bag End. He smirked to himself as he placed it in the mailbox to be sent out the next day.
He shuffled through Hobbiton on his way to Eru-knows-where, since Gandalf hadn't even pointed out a direction for him. He obediently wore the Bra strapped onto his head like a bad hat, and dragged the considerable combined weight of Sam and all his supplies by his left foot.
"I always knew them Baggins folk was strange," commented Odo Proudfoot.
Gandalf arrived at Bag End, weary from his long travels. Gandalf met him at the door.
"What's this?" asked Real Gandalf. "Where's Frodo?"
"Oh, he left a while ago," said Crazy Fake Gandalf. "He took his gardener with him, to go on a quest."
"Where did you send him, you freak?" demanded Real Gandalf. Crazy Fake Gandalf cackled and turned into a guinea pig, which levitated off the floor, spun in circles, and became smaller and smaller until it could no longer be seen.
"I hate this house," grumbled Gandalf.
Frodo walked through a wheat field, depressed. Sam continually wore him down, and made nasty little noises whenever pieces of him got caught on things or bent in bad ways. His rear continued to sport the jaunty advertisement, and it waved back and forth in the air as Sam bumped and grated along the ground.
A figure approached him.
"Hey, what are you doing?" asked Sam. Frodo whirled to look at the corpse he was burdened with, but it had not spoken.
"I'm over here, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, stepping closer. Frodo looked back and forth between the corpse and Sam in confusion.
"But this isn't Bag End," complained Frodo.
"Of course it's not," said Sam. "It's a wheat field."
"Then who is this?" asked Frodo, gesturing to his "helper."
Sam tipped the body over and scrutinized the face.
"Oh, well, that's my evil twin who's out to ruin my reputation, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "See, you can tell by his black clothes, dark cloak, thin curly mustache, and top hat. The fire poker up his ass is new, but knowing him...."
He stooped and pulled one of the corpse's eyelids open.
"See, he even has shifty eyes."
And indeed, the eye was shifting back and forth rapidly in a most suspicious way.
"Oh," said Frodo. And they continued on together, still dragging the evil body, since Sam had nothing to cut the chain with. He did, however, carry all the packs except the two "Gandalf" had stuffed with bricks. These they left behind. Since there were only three packs, this meant that he just carried one, and all it had were a few random articles of clothing and a lot of donut men.
Before long, they came upon Merry and Pippin, who promptly cut the chain with their lock cutter.
"Why do you even have that?" inquired Frodo.
"Oh, we were just going to break into Farmer Maggot's 'secret garden' and steal all his special plants," explained Merry.
"Oh, yes," added Pippin, "and then we would go and watch A Clockwork Orange at my house."
"Oh," said Frodo, accepting this explanation without missing a beat. "Want to come on a horrific quest of death to Mordor to burn some holes in a Bra with me?"
"That's what we're doing?" asked Sam.
Just then, one of the Nazgul showed up on the path.
"NEEEEEEEEEEERCH!!" commented the Nazgul as it dismounted and walked toward them, sword drawn. Sam promptly kicked it in the nuts, and it went down hard, clutching its undead wedding tackle, bulldog-themed boxers doing absolutely nothing. Maybe the elven smiths should have made him a cup instead.
"What the hell was that?" asked Pippin, after they had departed in disgust.
"I dunno, but it was pretty stupid," replied Frodo. "So, are you coming?"
"Eh, why not," acquiesced Merry. Pippin just nodded, distracted by the mushrooms he had eaten.
"I've heard this Mordor place is somewhere east of here," offered Sam.
"We should just head that way then," said Frodo.
"Oh, and we can stop at Bree and get stinko drunk!" said Merry. "Money's not even an issue, since we held up that convenience store this morning."
"You know, you two have really changed since we were kids," accused Frodo. "Whatever, though, as long as you buy me some drinks."
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