Sorry we're updating a day late, but we were up watching 28 Days Later last night and forgot.
Speaking of zombies, Tolkien rose from his grave a few days ago. He told us that we might as well hook him up to a power generator, so his constant spinning in his grave could light the world.
We blew his zombie head off with a boom stick. If you listen, you can still hear the whirring sound...
Elladan looked out the window towards the gates of Rivendell, and saw the five travelers come in.
"Hey, Dad," he said to Elrond, "It's Aragorn!"
Elrond started in dismay, shattering the model ship he had been building in a bottle. As for the bottle, it collapsed.
"That's the last thing I need, is another one of my mooching Numenorean great-whatever nephews coming back here," grumbled Elrond. "How many of those have I even had? It seems like they all just hang out here and do something tabloid-worthy every few weeks. Then I look bad."
"I think it's been something like thirty-five or forty now, Dad."
"I remember when his father, Arathorn, was always hanging around here and eating my food. Damn that was annoying, but at least he didn't smell so bad as this new one," growled Elrond. "And didn't I tell you to make him take a bath last time he was here?"
"Yeah, Dad, and I did it," sighed Elladan. "The bath water turned to mud and he was still dirty!"
"Well, we can't have him coming here and soiling our new couch," decided Elrond. "It's bad enough with those smelly dwarves hanging around."
"Why are there dwarves here, Dad?"
"I'm sure I'll remember sometime, son," said Elrond. "But in the meantime, we need to get rid of that idiot. Send out one of the border patrols to rough him up and chase him off. Tell them to pretend they don't know who he is."
"But Dad!" whined Elladan, "That's a horrible thing to do!"
"Fine then," growled Elrond. "Just tell the border patrol to grab him and wash him off in the river before he comes up here. Also, tell them to do it downriver of Rivendell."
Glorfindel rode ahead of the rest of the group with Frodo. The hobbits followed behind on their misappropriated horny horse, and Aragorn and Arwen came last on foot, Arwen leading her horse. They were a good five hundred yards back, and had chosen to walk so they could talk.
Actually, Aragorn had decided they would walk so he could flirt with her longer, and she just kind of went along with it.
Sildor and Mirtun the border guards stood to either side of the path. Glorfindel came to them first, since he was in the lead and in a hurry. Sildor motioned him over, and he parallel parked his horse to talk to them.
"What's all this aboot?" asked Sildor in a Canadian accent. Don't ask how he got it, it involves him, Mirtun (who also had the accent), and a back story longer and more convoluted than a Final Fantasy game. And no, we will not be writing it in the foreseeable future. You're just not worthy.
"I must deliver this hobbit before he spoils or all his fluids leak out this hole," said Glorfindel importantly. "If I don't complete this part of the trading game, I'll never get the Biggoron!"
Mirtun gave him a weird look, and waved him on. Frodo gasped and rolled his eyes dramatically. Little bitch.
"Ooo, look at me, I'm Frodo, I'm stab-bed! Everyone payattention to me!" mocked MysticButtCrystal as he pinched his shirt to make little nipples.
"Oh, shut up," snapped Spoofmaster.
"Could someone watch Celestina for me?" asked Mort. "I need to go out and pick some more cooooorn."
"You've had me here for a while," whined Celestina. "I need to go powder my nose!"
"Are you requesting to make a head call?" demanded MysticButtCrystal.
"...What?" asked Celestina.
"If you want to make a head call, you have to say 'Recruit Windbreaker requests to make a head call, sir!'" informed MysticButtCrystal.
Celestina sniffled, but complied. "I want to make a head call."
"SAY IT RIGHT!" screamed MysticButtCrystal, getting in her face.
"Recruit Windbreaker sniffle whine requests to make a head call, sir."
"DENIED!"
"But I need to pee!" moaned Celestina.
"You better not pee on my couch," growled Mort, shaking one of the cobs of corn he had just come in the door with at her.
"Do we get to be in the story anymore?" asked Sam.
MysticButtCrystal, Spoofmaster, Celestina, and Mort turned to the computer, from which the characters were staring at them angrily.
"Ohhhh..." said Spoofmaster. "We were writing a parody, weren't we?"
Merry, Pippin, and Sam arrived at where the guards were standing in a bit of a foul mood regarding the authors, their horse, and all having to ride in one saddle.
"I swear to Eru, Pippin, if that isn't a roll of quarters in your pocket, I'm going to be really pissed!" said Sam. Mirtun and Sildor exchanged glances.
"What's all this there, then?" asked Mirtun.
"We're friends of the rapidly spoiling hobbit," said Merry.
"You didn't hear that conversation, there," said Sildor. "How the heck did you know aboot that?"
"We heard the conversation," said Sam. "If we could hear that dumbass tangent the authors went on, we can have heard that conversation."
"Ahh, that's a lot more comfortable," said Pippin, pulling the roll of quarters out of his pocket.
Fooled you! You thought Pippin had a hard-on for Sam, didn't you? Ha-ha, you're stupid!
"Anyway, can we just go through?" asked Merry.
"Ah, sure, you betcha," said Sildor, waving them through.
The Comical Donkey stepped onto the path, weary from his wanderings after the travelers in the woods. He came to the elves, and sat down in a cute and comical way.
"I don't think we can let you in, there," said Mirtun. The Donkey looked upset for a moment, but then his resolve hardened.
The elves gazed deeply into the animal's eyes as they became hypnotic yet decidedly comical-looking spinning swirlies.
"How may we serve you, your evilness?" intoned both elves, powerless to resist the spell. The donkey made a funny braying noise at them.
"Yes, master," they replied, letting him past before snapping back to normal and forgetting the incident entirely.
"Damn you, Comical Donkey!" yelled MysticButtCrystal, as Spoofmaster hit the delete button repeatedly.
"He won't erase!" cried Spoofmaster.
"His power must be greater than our own," rumbled MysticButtCrystal. "Don't worry. We'll get him...someday."
Arwen and Aragorn came last, Arwen riding on her horse again since she had begun to feel ill.
"You can go ahead, there, Lady Arwen," said Mirtun, and she passed by them. Aragorn strode confidently alongside her steed, but was unexpectedly stopped by Sildor's arm when it barred his way.
"Eh what?" said Aragorn. "Elrond didn't tell you to pretend I was some stranger again, did he?"
"No," said Sildor. "But we have our orders."
A few short and miserable minutes of resistance later, Aragorn found himself in the river with two elves viciously cleansing him with coarse sponges and monstrous bars of soap.
"AHH, ERU, LET ME GO!" screamed Aragorn.
'No way in Hell,' thought Eru, holding his nose. 'His stench has been bothering me, and I'm not even in the same plane of existence!'
"Eru, you have forsaken me!" cried Aragorn as the sophisticated louse metropolis in his hair was wiped out.
'Forsaken you? Whenever anything goes wrong, you stupid people are all like, 'Help me Eru, help me! I can't do anything for myself!'' grumbled Eru mentally. 'And then when everything's all right, it's never like, 'Hey Eru, can I fluff your pillow? Hey Eru, can I fetch your slippers? Hey Eru, thanks for creating the world and all!' Hmph! Fuck you people!'
At last the deed was done. Aragorn stood at the bank of the befouled river, putting on the clothes they had brought for him and listening in dismay to the merry crackling of all his old clothes being burned.
"I'm a white guy?" wondered Aragorn, examining his hands. "Huh. Who knew? I guess now I can't listen to rap music or say 'nigga' anymore."
"You can go on to Rivendell now," said Mirtun, scrubbing the residue off his own hands.
Elrond, Elladan, Sam, Merry, and Pippin stood in the room with the wounded Frodo as Arwen patched him up.
"Here, take this, it will make you feel better," said Arwen, giving Frodo some Flintstones chewable morphine.
"There's no such thing!" objected Marge before barreling out the door.
Frodo let out a soft dramatic moan, feebly lifting his finger in yet another plea for attention.
"Can we please write an alligator into the bed with him?" asked MysticButtCrystal. "I'm so sick of his bullshit!"
"But if we kill him, who will be the Bra bearer?" asked Spoofmaster.
"Maybe when the alligator eats him, it would be possessed by him," suggested MysticButtCrystal. "Then, since it swallowed the One Bra, it would become, like, a super transvestite alligator Frodo of doom, destroyer of worlds!"
"Yes, and then we'd have a giant lizard that moaned all the time," complained Spoofmaster. "And then you'd want it to be eaten by a squid or something. And then it would be an oliphaunt, and then it would be an emu. Honestly, you have no taste."
"I need to pee!" cried Celestina.
"Mort, go get her a coffee can and a funnel," said MysticButtCrystal.
"What the hell happened to this hobbit?" demanded Elrond as soon as Aragorn entered the room. "He looks like he was run over by an oliphaunt! And then another oliphaunt! And then some trolls! And then one more oliphaunt!"
"Yeah," sighed Aragorn, running his fingers through his now-clean hair, and shuddering at the sensation. "That Nazgul sure had his way with him. It was all I could do to save him before he was dead."
"Hey," started Sam. Aragorn quickly covered Sam's mouth.
"Hey what's that?" cried Aragorn, pointing out the window. "Is that Luthien streaking?"
Everyone turned to look. When they turned back, Aragorn was standing just as he had been before, but Sam was out cold on the floor, a large lump forming on his head.
"Wow," said Aragorn. "Talk about delayed reactions to injuries! The Nazgul must've gotten him pretty bad, too!"
"Aragorn, get your hobbit-abusing butt out of here before I have my guards give you a manicure!" snapped Elrond.
Commercial Break!
"Tired of all those lovey-dovey candy corn brands?" asked Mort. "Well, I'm here to offer you something better. It's Ku Klux Korn!"
The Ku Klux Klan commenced to ride around in front of the audience and be hateful.
"This is the candy corn that dates back to the birth of a nation!" boasted Mort, unperturbed. "Yes, by buying it, you too can be part of a culture steeped in tradition and history."
The KKK rode around some more, and started terrorizing people and burning things. Mort smiled, showing his white, pure teeth.
"And right now, it's only a dollar a bag!" he cajoled, grinning. "Each piece contains plenty of detail!"
He held up a piece of candy corn, but instead of looking like corn, it was white and had holes so it looked like a KKK mask.
"Order now and receive a trial membership!" enticed Mort. "Unless, of course, you're an immigrant or non-Protestant Anglo-Saxon, in which case we've got a special kind of corn for you!" He held up a bag of cyanide pills, still grinning. "This corn is only twenty-five cents a bag, but it's only for you special people! So call now!"
KKK members circled a giant piece of Ku Klux Korn, which they lit on fire.
"And remember," reminded Mort, "Ku Klux Korn is the only official corn of hate!"
Spoofmaster threw a shoe, which struck Mort on the head.
"You've gone too far this time, Mort!" she shouted.
"I thought it was pretty funny," chuckled MysticButtCrystal.
"Do you remember when we discussed the fact that you have NO TASTE?" inquired his sister.
"I'm not racist, I'm just crazy!" protested Mort.
"You're not that crazy, you're just a sellout!" objected MysticButtCrystal.
What's that? Worst chapter you ever read? Well, our next one will be even better! ...Hello?