"Hey, how about we write?" asked Spoofmaster.

"Not now," replied MysticButtCrystal. "Watching Star Trek."

On the screen, Captain Kirk and Bones could be seen being in peril that Spock would undoubtedly have to save them from.

"Okay," sighed Spoofmaster. "After Star Trek."

ONE HOUR LATER

"Can we write now?" inquired Spoofmaster.

"Not now," grumbled MysticButtCrystal, flipping to another channel. "Watching Star Trek."

The crew of Deep Space Nine were coming to some sort of political or ethical dilemma that they would have to sort through. It was probably something about Cardassians being assholes and Bejorans being whiny little bitches.

Spoofmaster grumbled a bit and hoped that maybe one of the Cardassians might bite someone.

ONE HOUR LATER

"How about now?" tried Spoofmaster.

"Huh?" grunted MysticButtCrystal the way he always did when his brain was on vacation.

"Can we write now?" asked his sister.

"Not now," responded MysticButtCrystal. "Watching Star Trek."

Indeed, Picard was faced with an anomaly in the space-time continuum that was having interesting and ironic effects on various members of his crew.

"Arg!" screamed Spoofmaster. "No more Star Trek!"

"Look, I can't help it if the Sci Fi channel and Spike TV accidentally create a three hour block of Star Trek!" protested MysticButtCrystal.

"Well, just come write before the episode gets interesting!" demanded Spoofmaster.

"I want to play Halo now," stated MysticButtCrystal. Spoofmaster slapped him upside the head and went off to go on the internet.

And that is why this takes us so long.

They sat down and wrote later that night, but by the time they had gone through theire-mail, they only had thirty minutes left before they wanted to go watch Detective Conan. By the time they had finished this long and idiotic introduction, they had less than ten.

Bugger.

Spoofmaster began to think that their time at Mort's cabin was being wasted.

It took a week to get back down to writing the actual chapter, and then they had a fight involving a binder and a used milk cap. It included such inspired phrases as "It's your fault, with your stupid feet," and "Your binder can't hold a milk cap."

Stupid writers.

Merry and Pippin were not happy. They were being carried on the backs of some very large and offensively smelly orcs.

Merry was even more unhappy about this than Pippin, since he viewed the whole thing as being Pippin's fault, and he had sustained an injury to his head.

This had not occurred, as one might have assumed, during their capture. An orc had simply decided the night before that it would be amusing to punch him in the head. The other orcs were actually quite amused by this, and had declared the orc who had done this to be "a genius, a true legend of comedy in the making."

The orcs, now running through the wilderness (in other words, grass, small hills, and rocks), were having to find other ways to amuse themselves, since hobbits could only be punched so many times before their leader started bitching about it.

"I spy, with my large grotesque eye, something that begins with...R," commented Ashnak, the orc carrying Pippin.

"Is it..." Slakkaar, the orc carrying Merry, looked around thoughtfully. "A rock?"

"How'd you guess?" wondered Ashnak. Slakkaar shrugged, and looked around.

"I spy, with my large grotesque eye, something that begins with R," pronounced Slakkaar confidently. Ashnak peered around himself, scratched his head, and answered.

"Is it a rock?"

Merry groaned.

"Yes, it is," replied Slakkaar, purposefully jabbing Merry with his elbow and grinning at the oofing sound he got in response. "How did you guess?"

"I spy, with my large grotesque eye, something that begins with..." Ashnak thought it over for a moment, and picked something he was sure would not be guessed. "R."

Seventy-five rocks later, Ashnak and Slakkaar were interrupted when their leader smelled something and brought the column to a halt.

Soon all of the orcs smelled it. And well...there's only one thing that fifty orcs clustered together can smell over themselves.

Aragorn.

Their leader roared for them to continue moving, but faster. He didn't want to have to vaguely do battle with the Fellowship again, since the Fellowship always seemed to vaguely kick their asses.

And so the orcs began to run instead of jog.

"Damnit," grumbled Aragorn, one ear pressed to the ground. "The orcs are running faster now. They've picked up our scent."

"More like your scent," accused Legolas, perched on top of a rock for to try to look cool. "We elves are a cleanly folk."

"I've been meaning to ask," puzzled Gimli. "How is it you keep so clean? We've been running around in the wilderness for weeks and you're still spotless. Even when you do get dirty, you're mysteriously clean a short while later."

"Elves lick themselves," explained Aragorn, getting up. "You know, like cats."

"We do not!" protested Legolas loudly, but then he went into a fit of coughing, and Gimli could have sworn he saw him spit a wad of soggy elf hair into his hand and shove it into his pocket.

"We should start chasing those orcs now," suggested Aragorn. "If we don't, we'll never catch them before they reach Mordor."

"I don't think they're headed for Mordor," replied Legolas. "They're heading almost directly south, toward Isengard.'

"You know, I would think that was impressive, that you could tell that," commented Gimli. "But I'm still too creeped out by that hairball thing."

Legolas gave him a dirty look.

They chased the orcs for days, but never seemed to gain any ground. In fact, the orcs were getting farther away every hour, and they began to lose hope.

"I've never heard of anyone running this fast and this long," grumbled Gimli. "How can they do it?!"

Unknown to them, the orc leader had distributed Red Bull energy drink, causing all the orcs to grow wings and fly for long distances.

So there.

Meanwhile, in Isengard, Saruman was quite upset. Not only were his orcs incompetent, production down from the previous month, and his robe stupid-looking, but he had just realized that the authors had completely forgotten to put him in the first installment of the trilogy.

"Lousy bastards," he growled to himself. "I don't know how they even passed off Gandalf's disappearance without me. I'll show them. They can't do this to me. I'm Saruman the Many-Colored, and I kick so much ass that...uhmm...I've got an ass permanently stuck to my shoe? Yeah, that's it."

"We're still running out of fuel," the orc who had been standing in the middle of the room reminded him. Saruman had been spouting his fury at this orc for ten minutes now, and showed no signs of letting up. The orc really needed advice on where to get more fuel. Every old couch and soiled mattress for miles around had already been burned.

"What do I care?" grumbled Saruman. "I mean, I obviously don't matter to them, if they're just going to leave me out of an entire third of the story! Why should it matter if I just lock myself in my study and eat toffee for the rest of the war?"

"Err," the orc shifted uncomfortably, since he was beginning to need to pee.

"In fact, that's what I'll do!" Saruman went on. "That'll show them!"

And so, he grabbed a large bag of toffee and locked himself in his study.

The orc, who didn't want to go back to his supervisor without some kind of result, simply thought it over to himself, and then told the others that Saruman had said to just go chop down that big spooky forest that was on their borders. This orc, whose sole job was supposed to be that of a messenger, had actually been running the entire kingdom for two months now in this manner.

Another orc came running in, andknocked on Saruman's study door.

"There's some barbarians and pirates here to see you!" announced the orc.

"Tell them to fuck off," replied Saruman, eating a toffee.

"But lord! They have an appointment!" protested the orc.

"Oh, fine!" pouted Saruman. "But I'm not coming out. They'll just have to talk through the door."

The orc scurried off, and returned a few moments later with ahoard of barbarian chiefs and pirate captains.

"We came to swear our loyalty to you, as you requested last month," said one pirate captain, looking concerned about the fact that Saruman had locked himself in his own study.

"Yeah?" asked Saruman from within. "Well, you can just kiss my ass."

"I guess we'll just go ravage some villages instead then," replied the pirate. "As long as it's all right with you."

"You can all go sodomize some dwarves, for all I care!" came Saruman's voice.

"Really?" asked a particularly effeminate barbarian, poking his head up out of the crowd.

Down in the big hole in Isengard, the orcs were working hard, forging crappy new orc swords, growing crappy new orcs, and having devastating industrial accidents due to the dangers of performing these activities in a big hole in the ground using the intelligence of an average orc. Eyes were gouged out by sword-carriers turning unexpectedly, large open flames were used to light work areas with flammable materials present in abundance, poorly-made ladders fell over or collapsed most times they were used, and the fences on the warg pens were routinely built out of old cardboard boxes and chicken wire. When the wargs escaped, they had a nasty habit of attacking random orcs and falling into massive pots of molten iron. Then the orcs would generally kill the warg master in retaliation. As a result, no warg master got more than a week or two of experience, and the wargs escaped even more.

Saruman might have done something about all this, but he was far too busy eating his toffee.

The luckier orcs worked outside, and suffered a few less casualties. They felled trees and hauled them to the pit, where they hurled them over the edge. Numerous orcs were taken out by falling trees, but they did not devise a better system, and Saruman was still too busy eating his toffee.

The barbarians were ravaging a small village in Rohan.

This mostly seemed to involve the barbarians and the villagers running around and screaming at each other, with a barbarian stabbing a villager to death every now and then.

Then the barbarians started torching the villagers' homes, and the villagers started leaving. The barbarians then chased most of them down and killed them. The ones that escaped went off to warn the king.

After destroying the village, the barbarians amused themselves by force-feeding Rohan's horses beans and then lighting their farts, which they used to cook the horses they had killed and intended to eat.

After that, they went off in search of the nearest place with dwarves.

Yuck.

"Ridin' on mah hooorse," sang Eomer to himself, riding along on his horse, followed by his cavalry. "Gunna find some orcs...then I'm gunna stab 'em...ridin' on my hooooorse. Horse horse horse horse horse horse—"

He was cut off in the chorus by a horrible sight before him.

"Oh, crap!" exclaimed Eomer. "Look at all those dead people that were my buddies! This sucks!"

Indeed, he had come across what appeared to be an abandoned battlefield, and it was full of his dead buddies. Many of them seemed to have been nibbled on.

Eomer dismounted and walked among the corpses, looking for one that was alive and not a corpse. He soon came across his cousin, Theodred.

"Oh, crap, it's Theodred!" cried Eomer. He stooped down and checked his pulse. "Yay, he's not dead!" exclaimed Eomer, but then he remembered all the other dead people. "This still sucks."

"Hey, boss!" interrupted one of his men. "These orcs are wearing Saruman's colors!"

"Bastards!" replied Eomer. "But at least now we know who's doing this. That's one step closer to killing him! To Edoras!"

He picked up Theodred and put him on his horse in front of him. The man who had spoken out took along the helmet he had found, the rest of his men gathered up the few survivors and the many corpses, and they all set off.

Edoras is sure a cool-looking place. It's built on that hill, and it's all windy, and it just looks really cool.

Can you guess where this next bit takes place? I'll give you a hint: It starts with an "E", and therefore it's definitely not a rock.

Did you guess?

Did you?

It's Edoras!

Eomer carried Theodred up into the castle and gave him to some guards, who put him in a bed and called for some doctors and for his sister,Eowyn. Then he went to go tell Theoden about all the things that had happened.

"Theoden King," greeted Eomer. "We found Theodred, and he had been stabbed by orcs. And the orcs were wearing Saruman's colors! Saruman must be breeding orcs and attacking us with them!"

"Emblehblehblehbleh," replied Theoden.

"Why do you bother him like this?" inquired Wormtongue. "Nothing is really happening. Saruman is our ally."

"No he's not! He's our enemy, and he's obviously attacking us! We should go kill him!" argued Eomer.

"That was obviously swamp gas," observed Wormtongue.

"You know, I think you're working for him! You are, aren't you?!" demanded Eomer.

"No, it's simply a weather balloon," replied Wormtongue.

"And you've been hitting on my sister, you sick little monkey!" cried Eomer.

"That was ball lightning," replied Wormtongue once more.

"I'll bet you're drugging Theoden, too! That would explain all the drooling..." Eomer finished.

"He's simply been affected by magnetic changes in Middle Earth," proclaimed Wormtongue.

"I've decided that you're a very bad man and I don't like you very much," concluded Eomer. "I think I'll disembowel you now, and then everyone will like me because you're a jerk."

"Guards!" shouted Wormtongue. "Come kick his ass."

To Eomer's surprise, the guards did come and kick his ass.

"Why are you on his side?" yelled Eomer. The guards shrugged.

"You're banished, buttmunch!" announced Wormtongue, holding up an official-looking document. "Theoden signed it and everything!"

"But that's your handwriting!" objected Eomer. "And you were obviously in the middle of writing Wormtongue and crossed it out and wrote Theoden King instead!"

The guards dragged Eomer outside and threw him down the stairs.

"Hey!" protested Eomer. "That was painful!"

Back inside, Eowyn was sitting beside Theodred's bed. Wormtongue entered the room.

"Hey bebeh," said Wormtongue in what he must have thought was a sexy voice. "Come here often?"

"Get the hell away from me!" growled Eowyn.

"I just had your brother banished," crooned Wormtongue. "Don't you just love men with authority?"

"You did what?!" snapped Eowyn.

Wormtongue was too busy licking his finger and rubbing his nipple to answer her. Maybe he thought it would turn her on.

"Ew!" shrieked Eowyn, and she threw Theodred's bedpan at Wormtongue.

"That's no way to treat your future husband, baby," protested Wormtongue.

"If you were the last man in Middle Earth I'd marry a raccoon," replied Eowyn.

"We'll just have to see about that!" frowned Wormtongue.

Eowyn shuddered.

"That chapter was better than the first one," commented MysticButtCrystal.

"Yeah, but Mort's still gone," frowned Spoofmaster.

"So?" asked MysticButtCrystal, biting into a juicy corncob.

"I'm worried about him," replied his sister. Then she looked over and saw what he was eating. "Ew! How can you eat that?!"

"Fertilizer is fertilizer, and good corn is good corn," grinned MysticButtCrystal, with little bits of corn stuck in his teeth.

"Yuck," Spoofmaster shuddered. "And I still want Mort back."

"Fine, I'll get him back," grumbled MysticButtCrystal. "I've got just the guy for the job."

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