Disclaimer: How could I possibly own the Hobbit if I'm not Tolkien? I'm not! Or am I…? The mind boggles.

Anyway, it has taken me a bajillion trillion years to finally get this started. Okay, maybe that's an itsy bitsy exaggeration, but, close enough.

The hobbit awoke to find a tape recorder plastered to his forehead. He shrugged drowsily and got out of bed and dressed. He ripped away the recorder, as it interfered with his "Save the Pink Ponies" cap. His curiosity was stirred, and he pressed the play button.

"Hello, Mr. Baggins. This is Gandolfski. You are to embark on a great and terrible mission. Meet us at the Fat Mule at ten o' clock sharp. This tape will now self-destruct."

Bilbo did not understand the big words at the end, so he stood with the box out held, blinking stupidly. The recorder promptly exploded in his face.

"Ouch," squeaked Bilbo. He trotted out the door in an animal-too-fat-for-it's-own-good fashion, and headed for the Fat Mule.

The majority of the dwarves were either unconsciously drunk or asleep at the time Bilbo arrived. Gandolfski glared down at him from under unusually bushy eyebrows. Bilbo cowered.

"You're eyebrows are very, uh, fluffy, Mister Gandolfski," said Bilbo, shrinking away with every word. For a moment, Gandolfski beamed, looking very vain.

"Why, thank you…. That's not the point! You're late, and we have business to do. Rouse the others. We're off." Bilbo nodded and received an electric cattle prod from Gandolfski, and in turn, all of the dwarves received a sharp shock to their lardy buttocks.

They woke with yelps, and with help from a few more prods, were out the door.

For a long while they plodded over hills. They were ponyless, and Bilbo's feet were beginning to tire.

"Gandolfski, may we rest?" The hobbit paused for a moment, and the grey wizard glared down at him.

"Your lazyass needs exercise. Move." They continued until darkness had fallen upon the land, and at this point, they stopped under a tree. Fili and Kili played a little tune, and although famished, Bilbo laid back into the harsh, spiky, painful grasses of the hills, relaxed.

"What a lovely night," he said, gazing up into the stars. Immediately, it began to pour rain, and everyone was drenched. A rock fell on Bilbo's head. He shuddered and cuddled into a blanket. The blanket spontaneously combusted, as did a bird sitting over his head. Again a rock fell on Bilbo's head, near knocking him senseless. Singed and aching, he sniffled and proceeded to stoke the fire, which, miraculously, was still ablaze. The fire died, and a third rock fell to Bilbo's head, stunning him. The dwarves were miserable, and decided to play a little prank on the inert Bilbo. Floin poked the hobbit awake.

"There's a fire over yonder, and you should go investigate. Bring back something."

Bilbo gazed dazedly about, then rose and trudged away. He at last reached the distant light. Three forms were sitting around the fire, and an animal was on the spit. A lump writhed under the shadow of an oak. He heard deep, rumbling voices.

"This sucks. Fifi was the last piece of meat we had. Maybe we can go into a town and steal something."

Another figure sobbed heavily.

"Bastard," it choked.

"You ate her too!"

"The collar would have made fine stew!"

"That was pleather, and you know it!"

"I don't mind plastic!"

Yet another voice entered the conversation.

"Now now. We don't need arguments. We've enough trouble selling number fifty-two. It's a hideous little hovel."

"True, but he still ate my dog!"

"You did too!"

"Easy, now. What do you suggest?"

"It needs to be more advertised. And some paint work."

"You ate my dog!"

"Shut up!"

"A picket fence would do nicely."

"Where's the paperwork?"

Bilbo inched forward, and found that around the fire were three trolls, all dressed in business suits. Three briefcases lay in the dust under a tree next to a large bag. Wine was at the troll's hands. Bilbo's eyes widened and he crept forward, ready to steal something. An enormous hand picked him up by his shirt collar, choking him.

"What's this?" Troll 1 said.

"Dunno," said Troll 2.

"Put it on the fire," said Troll 3.

"Meep!" said Bilbo. Meanwhile the dwarves were watching, stifling laughs. Realtor trolls were the worst. But, knowing the immense lawsuit that would probably ensue if they didn't save Bilbo's skin, they attempted to rescue him.

Every dwarf was caught. Bilbo wrung his hands nervously.

"I… I have a suggestion." The trolls looked down at him.

"A wreath on the d-door?" He said softly. Troll 1 and 3 gasped.

"Of course!" Troll 2 looked uneasy.

"Well…"

"You know it would be great!"

"It's just a bit tacky…"

"You ate my dog!"

"Wreaths are gorgeous!"

"But… on that house?"

"You ate my dog!"

Troll 3 smacked Troll 1. What they didn't notice was Bilbo fumbling in his pocket. Quietly, he blew a small horn. A thunder sounded in the distance, and dust rose on the horizon. A herd of moose came to the call, and the trolls shrank away, because, as everyone knows, realtor trolls hate moose. The herd arrived, and all the trolls turned to dust, which the moose ate and died. The sun was rising, and the dwarves magically burst from their bonds and cheered Bilbo. They had food. Curious, Bilbo crept towards the lump under the oak. When he finally saw it, he gasped. It was a giant star-nosed mole.

"Hello," it squeaked. "I'm Murray. I'm very good at killing health department workers and cooking delicious egg breakfasts." The two were immediately in love. Bilbo climbed onto its back, accompanied by all the dwarves, and rode into the… sunset?

Ok. Random. I know. But I'm not feeling terribly creative. Not really.