A/N- School's out for the summer, so I (having no social life to speak of) will probably updating quite a lot. Or starting lots of new fics... Yeah, well, the real insanity begins in this chapter when I come into the story.
Alteng- Hehe... you think I'm close to the end. The fic stretches on and on with random stupidity and nonsense... you'll see.
I'm From Tookland- I wondered if anybody would get that... I wasn't sure if anyone on the forum grew up with Steve and the Blue's Clues gang like I did, but I thought I'd leave it just in case. Glad you got it!
"Leggy? Oh, Leggy!" Thranduil called, strolling into his son's room with Mary Sue in tow.
Legolas lay motionless across the bed.
"Come on, Leggy! It's time to get married!"
Now that he thought about it, Legolas didn't usually sleep with his head hanging over the edge of the bed... and HIS HAIR LOOKED MESSY! Something was wrong!
"Mary Sue! He's... dead!" Thranduil gasped.
Mary Sue stood smiling in the corner.
"Wait a minute! He's an elf! Elves don't die!"
A really, really short guy with a large hat ran in, stood by the bed, and unrolled a scroll. "As coroner I must aver I've thoroughly examined her, and she's not only merely dead. She's really most sincerely dead!" he sang.
"Leggy... was not... a woman!" Thranduil screamed, kicking the Munchkin out the window. "Lord Elrond!"
That afternoon, a widely attended funeral took place. Fangirls moaned, gnashed their teeth, tore their clothing, donned sackcloth, and painted their faces black with soot.
Frodo realized that Gimli didn't know about Legolas's strange death. He approached the nearest elf. "Glorfindel? Can you ride out and tell Gimli that Legolas is dead? They were sort of... buddies."
"You got it, dude!" Glorfindel answered, giving Frodo a thumbs-up sign.
Frodo, having never seen such a gesture, gasped, "How rude!"
Peter Jackson rolled his eyes. "Have mercy! ... Wait... now I'm doing it! NOOOOOOO!"
The Authoress ran out of lines from Full House to assign the characters.
"The Authoress? What Authoress? I do Lord of the Rings stories!" PJ yelled.
"Wanna bet?" boomed a voice from the sky.
"Yeah! Watch this," PJ answered, whispering to Philippa and Fran.
Pippin jumped off a roof and flew around Rivendell in circles, singing Yellow Submarine.
"Now watch," Peter said as Pippin went screaming into a nosedive towards a lake.
"NOOOOO! PIPPIN!" screamed the voice from the sky.
Pippin pulled out of the nosedive just in time and came to a safe, cushioned stop on one of Elrond's eyebrows.
"Hey!" Peter yelled. "I didn't do that!"
"No duh," answered the voice from the sky.
"Curse you, Authoress!" Peter shouted at the ceiling.
He suddenly found himself on a barricade in the middle of a street. French college boys dashed around him with rifles and carbines, shooting men in National Guard uniforms. A handsome blond man stood at the top of the barricade, waving a red flag and shouting, "Vive la république! Vive la revolution! Fraternité, Egalité, et Liberté!"
"D'accord, d'accord! Je suis desolé!" Peter cried frantically. "Quoi? Je ne peux pas parler français!"
A minute later he was back in New Zealand, speaking English and respecting the power of the Authoress.
Alteng- Hehe... you think I'm close to the end. The fic stretches on and on with random stupidity and nonsense... you'll see.
I'm From Tookland- I wondered if anybody would get that... I wasn't sure if anyone on the forum grew up with Steve and the Blue's Clues gang like I did, but I thought I'd leave it just in case. Glad you got it!
"Leggy? Oh, Leggy!" Thranduil called, strolling into his son's room with Mary Sue in tow.
Legolas lay motionless across the bed.
"Come on, Leggy! It's time to get married!"
Now that he thought about it, Legolas didn't usually sleep with his head hanging over the edge of the bed... and HIS HAIR LOOKED MESSY! Something was wrong!
"Mary Sue! He's... dead!" Thranduil gasped.
Mary Sue stood smiling in the corner.
"Wait a minute! He's an elf! Elves don't die!"
A really, really short guy with a large hat ran in, stood by the bed, and unrolled a scroll. "As coroner I must aver I've thoroughly examined her, and she's not only merely dead. She's really most sincerely dead!" he sang.
"Leggy... was not... a woman!" Thranduil screamed, kicking the Munchkin out the window. "Lord Elrond!"
That afternoon, a widely attended funeral took place. Fangirls moaned, gnashed their teeth, tore their clothing, donned sackcloth, and painted their faces black with soot.
Frodo realized that Gimli didn't know about Legolas's strange death. He approached the nearest elf. "Glorfindel? Can you ride out and tell Gimli that Legolas is dead? They were sort of... buddies."
"You got it, dude!" Glorfindel answered, giving Frodo a thumbs-up sign.
Frodo, having never seen such a gesture, gasped, "How rude!"
Peter Jackson rolled his eyes. "Have mercy! ... Wait... now I'm doing it! NOOOOOOO!"
The Authoress ran out of lines from Full House to assign the characters.
"The Authoress? What Authoress? I do Lord of the Rings stories!" PJ yelled.
"Wanna bet?" boomed a voice from the sky.
"Yeah! Watch this," PJ answered, whispering to Philippa and Fran.
Pippin jumped off a roof and flew around Rivendell in circles, singing Yellow Submarine.
"Now watch," Peter said as Pippin went screaming into a nosedive towards a lake.
"NOOOOO! PIPPIN!" screamed the voice from the sky.
Pippin pulled out of the nosedive just in time and came to a safe, cushioned stop on one of Elrond's eyebrows.
"Hey!" Peter yelled. "I didn't do that!"
"No duh," answered the voice from the sky.
"Curse you, Authoress!" Peter shouted at the ceiling.
He suddenly found himself on a barricade in the middle of a street. French college boys dashed around him with rifles and carbines, shooting men in National Guard uniforms. A handsome blond man stood at the top of the barricade, waving a red flag and shouting, "Vive la république! Vive la revolution! Fraternité, Egalité, et Liberté!"
"D'accord, d'accord! Je suis desolé!" Peter cried frantically. "Quoi? Je ne peux pas parler français!"
A minute later he was back in New Zealand, speaking English and respecting the power of the Authoress.