A/N: Due to the threat of taking away Faramir, I am compelled to write the next chapter. This will have no singing, so prepare yourself for some overused, dry humor and some other stuff that makes no sense.

"I feel pretty, oh so pretty!" Denethor sings to himself as he waltzes into the throne room. He is wearing a pink robe, complete with purple flowers. Uh, sure.

"Hallo, father. How are------WHAT THE HELL?" Boromir says, stopping dead (heh, pun intended) in his tracks.

"Hallo, son. What's new?" Denethor asks.

"Why are you wearing a pink robe with purple flowers?" Boromir asks, stepping backward slowly.

"What?" Denethor says, looking at himself. "Why, so I am!"

"Father, what's wrong with you?" Boromir says.

"Legolas has allowed me to use one of his robes, seeing as how all of mine are in the wash." Denethor says, skipping around or whatever.

"We have washing machines?" Boromir asked, his eyebrow raising so high it was in danger of flying off his head.

"No, silly, we have tiny midgets that run down to the Anduin and wash our clothes." Denethor says, jumping around.

"Hobbits, you mean?" Boromir asks.

"No, they're called House Elves, and for some odd reason I think I read it in a book somewhere...." Denethor says, as one of the aforementioned house elves runs in front of him in a pillowcase.

Somewhere in London, a very angry J.K. Rowling sends a lighting bolt towards Denethor for plagiarism....

"That's slave labor, that is!" Boromir says angrilly.

"No it ain't! What are you talking about?" Denethor says, twirling around.

"Why do they wear pillowcases?" Boromir asks.

"Because they want to!" Denethor yells, getting angry. His face soon matched the color of the robe.

"I don't think so...." Boromir starts.

"ALRIGHT!! It is slave labor! We capture them when they are young and force them to wear filthy clothes and don't pay them!" Denethor says, breaking down.

Suddenly, Hermoine from Harry Potter walks by with a can that says, S.P.E.W. (Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare). "Support S.P.E.W.!" she says.

"Support spew?" Boromir asks quizically.

"S.P.E.W.!! NOT SPEW!!!" Hermoine yells and gets zapped away from Minas Tirith.

"Oh." Boromir says, as he picks up a CD that says, 'Teen Hits of 2004' that he has dropped in the chock of getting yelled at by a little girl.

"'Teen hits of 2004?'" Denethor reads.

"Uh..." Boromir replies, sheepishly.

"What's 2004? What's a Teen?" Denethor asked, walking out of his room in his pink and purple robe and nearly bowling over Faramir, who jumped out of the way.

"Why is Father wearing a pink and purple robe?" Faramir asks.

Suddenly, the scene shifts outside to a parade. Not any parade, mind you, the gay pride parade. Some people who would be Gondorians except for the fact that the authoress loves Gondorians are chanting, "We're here! We're queer! Get used to it! We're here! We're queer! Get used to it!" over and over. Denethor is standing on a podium looking at all the people. They are , uh, people from somewhere in Far Harad. Yeah.

"Citizens of Minas Tirith, let's kick off this years' Gay Pride Parade!!" He says, as everyone screams. There are big floats and the like. Up in the Citadel, Faramir faints from shock. Boromir also faints from the shock.

A/N Ok, there will be more singing soon! Hope you liked the chapter even though it made no sense.