Sorry we're late, but this chapter is probably much better than it would have been if we had posted it on time. It was plagued with pacing issues, and it needed a good solid rewrite, which it didn't get until today.

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In the year 1998, the people of Colorado decided to stop all those out-of-staters from moving in and mucking the place up any more. They dug a five-foot-deep and ten-foot-wide trench around the entire state and filled it with delicious cream corn. They also put up a living wall of cornstalks as high as an elephant's eye to block prying eyes. While this may not have been the most effective barrier ever built, people got the point.

Either that or they didn't feel like wading through cream corn that had been sitting in a dirty trench for months.

In the year 2004, Mort Rainey ran off after two psychos kept invading his home and holding him hostage there.

He fled to Colorado after stealing the rough drafts of the first part of LotU, which detailed the treatment he had received at the hands of its writers.

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Snake Plissken was escorted out of the back of a truck and through a door into an ominous-looking hallway by some big burly guys in black. Despite the fact that he was probably in great peril, he looked supremely unconcerned as he gazed around at stuff. A tinny voice played over speakers set into the walls.

"You are now entering the processing center for Spoofmaster's fanfics. All characters must be processed before entering a fanfic. Follow the yellow line on the floor. If you wish, you may choose termination. If so, please speak with one of the guards and he will assist you."

Over to his right, Snake could see Count Chocula being shot by a firing squad.Apparently he preferred the sweet embrace of death over the slow agony of appearing in a meandering parody.

Suddenly, a creepy guy in a lab coat jumped out and injected Snake with a mysterious substance (oooooo!). Snake promptly broke his neck, which caused the guards to stick a taser in the small of his back, like all henchmen tend to do to loveable antiheroes.

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"Why Snake Plissken?" asked Spoofmaster, looking at the unconscious man stretched out on the floor of Mort's living room.

"Because he's cool," chuckled MysticButtCrystal. "And this is the kind of shit people have him do in his movies, so it just kind of makes sense."

"I see," Spoofmaster looked thoughtful for a moment. "Should we wake him up now and tell him?"

"Yes."

The two authors commenced poking Snake with sticks until he started moving, and then hid behind the couch, on which were two poorly made effigies of themselves. They had found them in Mort's closet with pins stuck in them.

"Who are you?" asked Snake, using his "scary" voice.

"That's not important, Plissken," commanded Spoofmaster.

"Call me Snake," sneered Snake.

"Oh, shut up!" objected Spoofmaster.

"Anyways, we're going to, like...send you to go find Mort Rainey. He ran off to Colorado with the rough drafts of our story because he's a total git," replied MysticButtCrystal, pulling a rope attached to a pulley attached to his effigy, causing it to wiggle slightly and then slump over to one side. "And if you don't, you'll die, because we, like, injected you with bad stuff that'll kill you! Hell, you should know the drill by now."

"Yeah, but you've severely screwed up the timeline," growled Snake.

"Never mind that!" yelled Spoofmaster.

"Hey, this must be quite a shock," said MysticButtCrystal, sounding sympathetic. "Have a cheeseburger. There's one on the coffee table for you."

Snake ate the cheeseburger.

"Hahaha, I can't believe you ate that!" laughed MysticButtCrystal. "For a super special ops soldier of the recent past/near future, you sure are a dumbass!"

"What?!" Snake sprayed the last crumbs of the cheeseburger across the coffee table.

"I'm not cleaning that up," offered Spoofmaster.

"That cheeseburger had the slow-acting poison in it!" explained MysticButtCrystal. "Now you have to do what we say!"

"I thought that was in the injection!" objected Snake.

"No, that was just hallucinogens," corrected MysticButtCrystal.

"That would explain all the colors...." hissed Snake, his head bobbing slightly as he examined his own hands.

"So here's the clock that tells you how long you have to live, and here's your transportation," MysticButtCrystal used the ropes to make his effigy gesture clumsily to a bulky old-fashioned alarm clock and what appeared to be a wheel-less motorcycle. "It's called a hovercycle. It hovers, like a harrier."

"It uses a gallon of gas every two feet!" chirped Spoofmaster.

"That's why I just installed a very primitive and unsafe nuclear generator!" enthused MysticButtCrystal. "Just be sure not to ride it for more than a few hours."

"At a time?" asked Snake.

"No, ever. You wouldn't believe how much radiation this thing puts out," advised MysticButtCrystal. "Oh yeah, and you'll want to wear this lead codpiece, too."

"What advantages are there to a hovercycle?" wondered Snake.

"Advantages?" MysticButtCrystal asked, confused. "None. It just looks cool. Oh, and one last thing: Colorado's a long ways away, and you'll need to teleport to get there fast enough. Here's 343 Guilty Spark. I've tied him to a cinderblock so he can't fly away. Just hit him with a blunt object until he teleports you to where you want to go."

"This behavior is most objectionable, Reclaimer!" sputtered 343 Guilty Spark.

"Quiet, you," grumbled MysticButtCrystal. "Get going, Snake."

"The only reason 343 Guilty Spark was able to teleport was because there was a teleportation grid through Halo 04," sneered Snake. "Is there just supposed to miraculously be a grid across the country?"

"As the authors, we say there is," snapped Spoofmaster. "And as the authors, we alos say you should get going or else."

Snake leapt forward and started to strangle MysticButtCrystal's effigy.

"If you'll look closely, Snake, you'll realize that what you are strangling is just a really poor effigy of me," said MysticButtCrystal smugly.

"I'll come back with Mort," grated Snake. "Then I'll kill you."

"Oh, you always say that," said Spoofmaster, dismissing his threat.

Snake kicked the hovercycle over on its side, grabbed the life clock and insane robot, strode outside, and stole the warthog.

"...how did he know we had a warthog?" wondered Spoofmaster.

"It's a karma thing, only with plotholes," reasoned MysticButtCrystal. "You know, like how we just decided there was a teleportation grid running across the entire U.S. Now let's write that stupid story, even though we've probably already lost most of our audience."

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It had been several more days of riding on the backs of smelly orcs for Merry and Pippin.

Days of chafing.

Days of bruising.

Days of just wishing that all of Middle Earth would explode in a Technicolor fireball and end their misery.

The orcs stopped for the night once again, and, after making sure the hobbits were securely tied, threw Merry and Pippin on the ground.

No, not dropped. Threw. The orcs were still highly amused by the sounds that come out of hobbits when they are abused.

"When are we going to have some meat?" grumbled an orc. "All we've had is maggoty bread for three stinking days!"

"But you like maggots!" objected another orc. "Maggots are meat."

"Yeah, but there's bread involved," complained the first orc again.

"Why can't we have some meat?" whined a small orc with overactive saliva glands and a bad lisp.

"Because you're a dumbass," replied the orcs' leader.

"What does that have to do with it?" wheezed the little orc, spraying his superior with spittle.

"Just shut up," growled the leader. "No one likes you, and if you don't shut up, I'll keep you on point until you buy it."

"Hey, why don't we eat them?" continued the whiny little orc, who obviously didn't know what was good for him as he gestured to Merry and Pippin. "They're fresh!"

"Because bringing them back alive is the point of the entire mission, idiot," explained the leader.

"Well, they don't need their legs," interjected another orc helpfully.

"Are you stupid?!" roared the leader. "Even if we managed to stop the massive bleeding that would result from chopping their legs off, they'd get huge infections, go into fevers, and die anyways!"

"Screw you, I say we should eat their legs anyway!" yelled the orc in favor of leg eating.

"I say you just pissed me off," commented the leader before chopping the head off the orc who had been in favor of leg eating, but who was now dead since his head had been chopped off, so his opinions didn't really matter anymore anyway. You know, because he was dead?

Hell, did they ever matter? I mean, we didn't even give him a name!

"Meat!" grinned the little orc. The other orcs took the corpse and put it on a spit, then went to go get firewood for to roast it.

I mean, who the hell wants to eat raw orc? You'd get diseases like with raw pork because it rhymes.

As the orcs chopped branches from the edge of Fangorn to make the fire, the trees began to moan and writhe.

"Yeah, yeah, writhe writhe writhe," snapped the orc leader. "What are you gunna do, writhe us to death?"

He chuckled and chopped some more firewood. Then he beat the trees with some of the branches he had taken from them. Then he commanded all of his orcs to line up and "mark their territory" on the trees. Then he used his knife to carve crude and disturbing sexual images into the bark of several of the trees. Then he picked his nose and wiped the snot on the trees. Then he shat on them.

That's just stupid, even for an orc.

Having enough firewood, they went back and began to roast the corpse of that orc who had so dearly loved to eat legs, but who was dead now. While they were waiting for it to be done, most of them sat down around the campfire to sing songs, although a few pairs of orcs were sent off to be sentries and watch for attack. One of the orcs had even brought his acoustic guitar, and they had a grand old time singing their various kumbayas and whatnot.

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Ashnak and Slakkaar had been assigned to watch the land to the East of the camp. After a while, they became bored of watching the empty plains, and turned to a round of their favorite game.

"I spy, with my large grotesque eye, something that begins with R," began Ashnak.

Slakkaar thought really hard, and then replied, "Is it a rock?"

"It is!" Ashnak beamed. "You're really good at this!"

"I spy, with my large grotesque eye, something that begins with R," continued Slakkaar.

"Is it a rock?" asked Ashnak, after about forty seconds of contemplation.

"No," replied Slakkaar.

Ashnak stared at him, his jaw hanging open in confusion. "This is a hard one," he observed. "I'm stumped."

"It's a..." Slakkaar scratched his chin for a moment, having forgotten what it even was. "Oh yeah! Rohirrim!"

"Rohirrim?" wondered Ashnak.

That was just about the last wondering he ever did, since Eomer rode up on his horse the next second and killed them both.

"I'm such a badass!" celebrated Eomer, riding on. "But...I'm banished. Man, this sucks."

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As the orcs and Rohirrim did battle, Merry and Pippin used the opportunity to try and crawl away. Unfortunately, as they reached the edge of Fangorn, they were spotted by the whiny spitting orc, who grabbed their cloaks.

"Ah, now I have you to myself!" sprayed the orc. Luckily for the hobbits, one of the Rohirrim rode by just then and stabbed the orc in the kidney.

"AAAHH, MY KIDNEY!" screeched the orc, rolling around on the ground and watering the grass with his screams.

The hobbits once again headed for the forest, pausing to cut their ropes on the sword of a fallen orc.

Just then, one of the Rohirrim suddenly wanted to be riding where Pippin was standing. The sight of the small person in front of it spooked the horse, much like mice do for elephants in cartoons. This caused it to rear up, which caused Pippin to fall over backwards in fear. The horse's hooves pawed the air in slow motion, and Pippin stared up at it.

"Aaaaahhh, no, I'll be stepped on!" wailed Pippin. "My hobbit brains will be splashed across the rocks. Oh, what horrible way to die! I had hoped to live a long and prosperous life, but now my hope is extinguished by this, my certain death!

"Shut up and roll out of the way, Pippin!" yelled Spoofmaster, knowing he could hear her.

"Maybe, just maybe, I could roll out of the way," continued Pippin. "Could there be a chance? No, I don't think so, for I am not quick enough to dodge away from the feet of this, the great animal that shall trample me to death in but a moment! All my accomplishments have been in vain!"

"We get it, we went on too long about the damn orc and those skulls!" admitted MysticButtCrystal. "But this is lame! That horse has been pawing the air above your head for a good thirty seconds now!"

"Woe is me!" blathered on Pippin. "Doomed to walk forever in a parody written by a pair of incompetent morons who steal their best material from television shows and their own earlier parodies! But alas, not even that for me now, as I shall die in but a moment! Remember me, fair readers!"

"That's it, we're just time-lapsing," grumbled Spoofmaster. "Nobody honestly believes you're going to die anyway."

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"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night," statedLegolas, looking at the sunrise, which was...red, currently.

"Isn't the sunrise always red?" asked Gimli. "At least for a while?"

"Er..." said Legolas.

"Actually," explained Aragorn, "Chances are someone, somewhere in the world, is killed every night, but that's not what causes a red sunrise. It's simply the added distortion of all the additional atmosphere we're looking through when the sun is still close to the horizon making the sun appear to be red. It's really just kind of yellowish-orange all the time."

"Gee, you're just full of fun little facts these days, aren't you?" muttered Legolas darkly.

"Yeah," smiled Gimli. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"Ranger school," replied Aragorn. "When you're a rough outdoorsy warrior type, it really helps to know a lot about the physical world and the things that live in it."

"Ranger school?" smirked Legolas. "Come on, there aintno ranger school!"

"Oh, so you think we just spontaneously pop into existence, then?" snapped Aragorn.

"Er..."said Legolas again.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," stated Aragorn matter-of-factly. "We'd better get back to chasing those orcs."

Aragorn began trotting off after the orcs again, Gimli following, but Legolas hung back a little ways, since he didn't really want to talk to them any more. Every time he tried to say or do something that would be cool, they just made fun of him. Why had these people asked for an elf if they didn't want someone there to act cool and mysterious?

"I'm going to freaking kill Duranor when I get back," grumbled Legolas.

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Eomer and the Rohirrim were riding around looking for more orcs to kill.

"Ridin' on mah hoooorse, I have killed some ooooorcs, gunna kill some more, gunna stab that Saruman guy, ridin' on mah hoooorse," sang Eomer. "Horse horse horse horse horse...."

The Rohirrim immediately behind him did their best not to grimace. Eomer was a great commander and fighter, but his horse song left something to be desired, and he sang it almost constantly. The only thing that ever stayed the same was the chorus—the rest he seemed to just pull out of his ass as he went along.

Luckily for them, Eomer was interrupted when Aragorn stepped out from behind some convenient rocks.

"Hey, stupid!" shouted Aragorn, waving his hand above his head.

Eomer turned his horse to face Aragorn, and his men encircled the trio. Their horses shied away from Aragorn's stench, and they had trouble keeping them in check.

"What the hell did you do that for?" asked Legolas. "They were just going to go on by and leave us alone!"

"Who the hell are you?" inquired Eomer.

"I am Aragorn, son of—"

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Eomer. "So you're that nutcase Numenorean freak who's been running around the countryside making trouble with just about everybody. What's with the elf and the dwarf?"

"Well-" started Aragorn, but he was cut off again.

"And that's not even a good elf!" continued Eomer. "He looks all shrimpy and inbred. I think you got ripped off."

Gimli snickered.

"And ooo, a dwarf," jeered Eomer. "What are you going to do, chop off my knee caps?"

This time, Legolas snickered.

"We're following some orcs," said Aragorn as soon as he was fairly sure Eomer was done making fun of his companions (not that he really cared—he just didn't want to be interrupted). "They stole some hobbits I was supposed to be protecting."

"Well, we killed those orcs," replied Eomer. "It was dark, so we probably killed those stupid hobbit things too. If you go off over there," he gestured back in the direction he had come from, "you'll find a big pile of burned orc corpses. The hobbits are probably in there somewhere."

"I doubt you would have mistaken them for orcs," objected Legolas. "They're a lot shorter and less ugly."

"Anybody see something like that?" asked Eomer of his men.

"I did," replied a man named Steve."I think my horse stepped on it. It kept yammering on and on about how it was going to get stepped on, after all. Anyone remember shoveling it up afterwards?"

There were a few murmurs, but no one seemed to remember any specifics about the corpses they had piled up.

"It was pretty dark and we were pretty drunk," explained Eomer. "Here, since we killed your friends, we'll give you some horses. Their names are Hasufel and Arod. Sorry. About killing your friends and all. That sucks."

Two horses were brought to the heroes and the Rohirrim left. Aragorn managed to convince Legolas and Gimli to ride together on the horse he guessed was Hasufel, since Eomer hadn't really specified which was which. He then climbed onto the other horse, which danced around and generally objected to his smell.

"This guy really stihihihihihinks!"complained the horse that was probably Arod. Actually, he didn't really say that because...well, you know why, damnit.

So off they rode, Gimli and Legolas complaining about each other, and Aragorn's horse still moving sideways every few steps.

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