Chapter Four: One Tater to Rule Them All

For the next five or ten minutes, Gandalf decided to stare into the fire and mutter to himself like a crazy senile old man.

Frodo suddenly burst into the room, interrupting Gandalf's crazed muttering, and screamed, "BILBO! BILBO!"

"What the heck! I'm Gandalf, not Bilbo!" wheezed Gandalf.

"Oh."

"Bilbo's gone forever and ever and ever and ever and you'll never see him again," Gandalf informed him. "The house is yours, do what you want with it. Blow it up for all I care."

"Okay!"

"Oh, and you also get the bills, and the mortgage, and the insurance, and the income tax, and the housing tax, and the potato tax, and the finances, the pipe-weed tax, and there are a bunch of debts that will have to be paid off," Gandalf added.

Frodo's face fell. "What!"

"Well, that's what happens when you come of age and are on your own, Frodo!" It was at that moment that Gandalf realized Frodo was wearing a flowery vest and he started laughing.

"What are you laughing at!" Frodo asked.

"Um... nothing," Gandalf wheezed. Frodo felt very self-conscious at that moment. "Oh by the way, Frodo, do you see a tater anywhere?"

"A tater? Like this one right here?" Frodo picked something up off of the floor and held it up.

"Yeah, that's the one!" Gandalf said. "The tater is yours now. You must be very careful with it, and you mustn't let it corrupt you!"

"Okay-doke."

"Well, I have to leave now, so I can find out a bunch of stuff about that tater. Bye Frodo!" Gandalf grabbed his staff, got on his horse, and rode to Minas Tirith, the magnificent city in the kingdom of Gone-Door.

When he arrived at the city, various townspeople suddenly dumped buckets of water on him. "What was that for!" Gandalf demanded angrily.

"We don't know," said the townspeople. "The steward told us to dump buckets of water on any wizard that we see come through here."

"Wow, what a warm welcome," Gandalf grumbled. He went up to the citadel, and into the White Tower where Denethor sat in his chair. A couple of people with white coats on hovered anxiously nearby.

"Grr! Go away, you gray fool!" snarled Denethor.

"I need to use your library," Gandalf said.

"No."

"I need to use it!" the wizard begged.

"It is off limits to gray fools," Denethor said, his eyes going strangely cross-eyed.

"You're the one who's a gray fool, you gray fool!"

Denethor gave a furious roar and collapsed in his seat. One of the people in white coats laid a comforting hand on the steward's shoulder. "Too much usage of the phrase "gray fool" distresses him."

"Oh," said Gandalf. "I'll have to keep that in mind." He then went into the library, searched through old deteriorated papers, and spilled wine all over some random valuable document. After seventeen hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty-one and a half seconds, he finally found what he was looking for.

"How Thranduil Got in Touch With His Feminine Side. Wait, that's not it." Gandalf turned the paper over and looked at the back. "My Pretty Tater: A Tale of Friendship and Love Between a Man and His Food, by Isildur." He tucked the paper into his robes (which was stealing), walked out of the library, and rode out of Minas Tirith.

"YEAH, YOU'D BETTER LEAVE, YOU GREY FOOL!" Denethor screamed.

"He didn't take his medication this morning, did he?" Boromir asked.

"Nope," said Faramir.

Meanwhile, in the Pretty Green Secluded Area, a Tater Wraith was passing by Farmer Maggot's house.

"GET AWAY FROM MY MUSHROOMS!" screamed Farmer Maggot, popping a blood vessel in his extreme rage.

"Me evil," said the Tater Wraith stupidly. "I mean, Pretty Green Secluded Area! Baggins!" he hissed, dropping the stupid act.

"Go away," said Farmer Maggot, who was busily chopping up the door to Sam's Hob Hillock.

"Gimme Frodo!" demanded the Tater Wraith.

"Frodo stole my mushrooms, so I will get revenge on him by telling this scary guy where he lives. He's in Hobton! Right over there!" said Farmer Maggot, pointing. He then went back to chopping up Sam's door.

"Thanks, pal!" said the Tater Wraith.

Meanwhile, in the Green Dragon, many Magical Hobs sat around getting drunk. As the night wore on, more and more Hobs passed out in their seats, until there was only a small group left of conscious, semi-sober Hobs.

"Hey, guess what, everyone!" the Gaffer said. "I planted fifteen cabbages today!"

"Nobody cares about your stupid cabbages, old man!" said Ted Sandyman.

"Well Sam does! Don't you, Sam?"

Sam had his head resting on the table, and was snoring softly.

"Sam?"

The sleeping Hob continued to snore. The Gaffer grabbed his empty mug and beat his son on the back with it. "SAM!"

"Huh!" Sam jerked awake and looked wildly around him. "Where am I? What is the time?"

A random Magical Hob spoke up. "It is ten o'clock at night, on October the-"

The Gaffer threw his mug at the Hob. "Hey, no using Gandalf lines! Wait, why did I say that anyway? I don't even know Gandalf's lines!"

Sam rubbed his aching back. "Why did you wake me?"

"I wanted to ask you if you care about my cabbages!" the Gaffer told him.

"Your cabbages!"

"Yes!"

"Personally, I'd rather see the Elves, begging your pardon!" Sam became rather misty-eyed, and he began to stare off into space.

"Who cares about the stupid Elves?" Ted Sandyman yelled. "Let's discuss walking trees and drunken dragons, and various other stupid topics!"

"Why would we talk about stupid stuff like that?" Sam asked.

Ted Sandyman shrugged. "Because we're bored, semi-sober, and idiotic discussions excite us for some strange reason?"

Frodo suddenly popped up from under the table. "Hello!"

"Mr. Frodo, why were you under our table this whole time?" Sam asked.

Frodo got to his feet and unsteadily sat down in a chair. "Hehehe! I was counting how many pieces of gum were stuck under the table!"

"You really don't have much of a life, do you, Mr. Frodo?"

"Well neither do you, Hamwise Samgee! All you ever do is garden, and grow those stupid veggie tales of yours!" Frodo took a deep drink out his mug and clumsily set it down. "I think I'll go back under the table now!"

Sam grabbed Frodo by the arm. "Um, I think you should go home now, Mr. Frodo."

"Nonsense! I'm perfectly sober!" he then tried to get up out of his chair, knocked it over, and spilled the contents of his mug all over the Gaffer's head.

"Come on, Mr. Frodo, let's go now," said Sam calmly. He dragged Frodo over to the door, but Frodo broke free of his grasp. "I can get myself home, you fat Hob!"

"Fine," said Sam. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hit on Rosie!"

"I know an idiot when I see one," Rosie commented. "Hey, I see Sam!"

"Waaah!" cried Sam. "People are cruel!" he left the Green Dragon and ran home to his Hob Hillock. "Hey, where'd my door go! My life sure is unfair!"

Frodo then staggered drunkenly home, kicked down the flimsy gate, and walked into his Hob Hillock, being too drunk and stupid to bother closing the door.

"BOO!" screamed a voice.

Frodo screamed, turned around, screamed some more, wet his pants, continued screaming, and ran around in crazed circles.

"Frodo, it's me!" Gandalf yelled.

Frodo stopped in his tracks and quit screaming. "Gandalf! How did you get in my house!"

"It's kind of easy when you constantly leave the door wide open!" he gestured at the open door. "And look! You've gone and done it again!"

Frodo blushed and hastily shut the door. "Um, yeah. It's a bad habit of mine. Now why are you in my house?"

"Where is that tater?" Gandalf demanded.

"In the kitchen, in a barrel along with all the other taters!"

"WHAT!"

Frodo looked confused. "What's wrong?"

Gandalf grabbed Frodo by the shoulders and shook him. "Get that tater immediately!"

Frodo quickly ran into the kitchen and found the barrel full of taters. "Which tater are you talking about?"

Gandalf surveyed the barrel with dismay. "Frodo, you idiot! Now it's probably lost among all of those others taters!" He reached into the barrel and started scooping out all of the taters, until they were all spread out on the floor. "Can you remember which one it was?"

Frodo looked at the objects on the floor and thought for a moment. "Um...I think it was that one!" He pointed at a particularly old and soggy looking tater.

"Well, only one way to find out." Gandalf picked up the tater and threw it in the kettle, which was boiling above the fireplace.

"Ooh, are we having a snack!" Frodo asked. "I love taters!"

"No! I'm conducting an experiment!" Gandalf took the tater out of the kettle and handed it to Frodo, who started jumping around like an excited little girl. "I just love taters!" the Magical Hob cried.

"We are NOT eating the tater, Frodo!"

Frodo looked sad. "Okay."

"Now, pay close attention to that tater. Is there anything different about it?"

"Yeah," Frodo said. "It smells really weird!"

"That is the stench of pure evil," Gandalf explained. "And there is only one tater in the whole entire universe that would give off such a stench! The One Tater to rule them all!"

Frodo shrugged and poured some tea.

"You've got to be the one of the stupidest people I've ever met!" Gandalf said. He began bashing his head against the wall in irritation.