Ever notice how in the first story, there were commercials at the beginning, and then they just stopped and never started again? Strange, huh? By the way, we invented Toaster Strudel, so bow before us and give us all your base! We set you up the bomb!
MASTER LIFE CLOCK: 8:42
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Aragorn rode up to a huge smoking pile of orc corpses on his new horse, Probably Arod. Legolas and Gimli followed on Probably Hasufel. It was hard to say which of the two horses were more uncomfortable—Probably Hasufel was carrying the weight of two bickering morons, and Probably Arod was carrying a man with such a powerful stench that tears streamed from the horse's eyes and snot ran out his nose.
Aragorn dismounted at the foot of the pile. Actually, Probably Arod bucked him off, but Aragorn tried to pass it off as purposeful.
Aragorn threw pieces of orc every which way as he dug into the pile in search of pieces of hobbit.
"Hey, I think I found one of them!" cried Legolas, a charred, hairy foot clasped in his hand. Aragorn took it and peered closely at the hair.
"Nope," sighed Aragorn. "You see, this is not a hobbit foot. What happened here was that someone scalped an orc, and then his scalp fell onto his foot. Then when his corpse was burned, the fat melted and fused the two together."
"Eurgh!" exclaimed Legolas. "Eeeew, I touched it! It's on my hand!
"Guess you'd better clean yourself, then," smirked Gimli. Legolas glared at him.
"Wait a minute..." Aragorn stooped and looked at the ground. "Because I'm such a badass, I can tell that there was a hobbit here despite this ground having been trampled by multiple groups at multiple times."
"That's pretty cool," commented Gimli, standing next to a piked orc head at the edge of the pile.
"Oh look," muttered the Comical Donkey, stepping out of the shadows of Fangorn.. "They're going to recycle that stupid Lord of the Flies joke."
"Lord of the What?" asked Gimli. "I'm sorry, but I didn't hear you, as I was too busy admiring this skull. My gosh, it's skullicity is far beyond expectations, and it is much more skulltacular than any I have seen thus far."
"Hey, aren't you that stupid donkey who keeps bothering us?" demanded Aragorn, looking up from the hobbit tracks he'd been following around in a duck walk. "And since when can you talk?"
"It pleases my master for me to speak now," replied the Comical Donkey, stepping to the side to hide a jar of peanut butter. Then he stepped in the jar with a hind hoof quite comically, and staggered around with it plastered to his foot. He winced with each step, since his ass still hurt. A lot.
And it was comical that an ass had a sore ass.
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"I hate that donkey," muttered MysticButtCrystal. "Why does he keep showing up?"
"I thought we were rid of him after the flying monkeys had their way with him all those times," murmured Spoofmaster.
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The Donkey and Aragorn stared at each other for a moment, and then the Donkey left. He was the Comical Donkey, not the Awkward Donkey.
So Aragorn got back down to the business of looking for hobbit tracks.
He soon discovered that the hobbits had cut the ropes they were tied with, scurried around the battle field in a manner that endangered them greatly, and then run off into the woods.
"They've gone into Fangorn," sighed Aragorn, his happiness at having discovered that they had survived the battle quickly evaporating. "This is the last time I agree to baby-sit hobbits. They're more trouble than they're worth."
"Damn straight," grumbled Gimli, gripping his axe. "These trees have an ominous look about them,"
"Hmm, tastes like barbeque," commented Legolas softly to himself.
"What tastes like barbeque?" asked Aragorn sharply.
"N-nothing!" stammered Legolas, shoving his hand behind his back to conceal the elf saliva that was now glistening on his fingers.
Aragorn gave him a look that clearly said he knew exactly what tasted like barbeque, but then a thought hit him. Why would an orc foot covered in hair taste like barbeque?
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THE NIGHT BEFORE-POST BATTLE
"Mm mm!" exclaimed one of the Rohirrim, smacking his lips. "Good cooking!" He sank his teeth into the barbequed orc leg he was holding with both hands, and orc juice dribbled down his chin.
Eomer and Steve stood a few yards away having a drinking contest, and half the Rohirrim were already too drunk to stand, and instead just kind of stumbled around propositioning bushes and making weird bets about who could blink the most times in a minute. Many soldiers gathered around bonfires lit from the one the orcs had made before their demise, enjoying a meal made of their enemies.
"Hey, we need some more wood!" yelled one, as the fire he was at died down.
"I'll do it," mumbled Eomer. "I alwaysh end up doing it."
He took an axe and went down to the trees, which immediately began to writhe.
"Yeah, writhe!" shouted Eomer, swaying drunkenly. "Ooo, I'm so scared! Come on then, writhe me to death! I'm waiting!"
He chuckled and he took a leak on the nearest tree and then chopped off some of its lower branches. He had to stand up on tiptoe, as what had used to be its lower branches had been whopped off by an orc earlier.
"Hey, guys!" yelled Eomer. "Let's show these trees who's boss!"
All the Rohirrim then came down to the forest and pissed on the trees. Then they, unlike the orcs, lost interest and departed back to their juicy orc meats and their kegs. They never went on a quest without at least twelve.
"Hey, look what we can do!" shouted Tom and Chuck, the owners of Hasufel and Arod. They were standing in the upper branches of some of the trees, clearly intending to jump down and land on their horses. Unfortunately for them, the trees turned out to be very adept at writhing, and they turned out to be very drunk. Both of them tumbled to the ground far form their targets, broke their necks, and died instantly.
"Hey, that's pretty cool!" grinned Eomer. "But...you died. And I liked you. This sucks."
After that their party took on more of a morose atmosphere, and they passed the night mourning their friends and torturing the trees that had killed them.
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MID-BATTLE, RIGHT WHEN PIPPIN WAS BEING STUPID
"Doom!" cried Pippin, staring up at the horse, which was pawing the air above him. "There is no way for me to escape from this! Any moment now, this beast of burden's weight will come crashing down on my face, and the end of me!"
The horse was no longer even trying to make it all look realistic. Its front legs moved in a circular pattern, the only sounds that came from its mouth were snorts and the occasional sighs and it looked very bored with the whole thing. On its back, Steve calmly leafed through a magazine he had pulled out of a saddlebag. He hoped that this thing would move out of the way soon. Whatever force ruled his universe clearly did not want the thing under his horse to die here, and therefore made it impossible to force his horse to crush it. Something similar had happened one night when he had tried to sneak in and kill Wormtongue in his sleep. For some reason, every time he brought his sword down at the sleeping figure, it would stop in midair, and nothing he could do would coax it to go down any farther.
"I wish that I had had more time," sniffed Pippin. "I am to die so very young! I wanted to do something with my life, but now I never will! My dreams of becoming a dirty old man, dashed across some rocks as gooey chunks of my brain!"
"Oh, shut up already!" snapped Steve, his patience wearing thin.
"Pippin, if you don't move we'll just replace you!" threatened MysticButtCrystal. "Here's a vision, jerk!"
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PIPPIN'S VISION FROM MYSTICBUTTCRYSTAL
MysticButtCrystal walked out the front door of Mort's cabin and to the mouth of a large nearby cave, where he opened a secret door disguised as a bear. He walked past shelves and shelves of dusty crates of varying sizes, and stopped at one simply labeled "hobbits."
He searched along the shelf until he came to one particular box, and pulled it off the shelf. He pried it open with a crowbar, and pulled out a new Pippin, which he tucked under his arm. Styrofoam packing peanuts were still stuck in its hair when he sent it to Middle Earth.
The new Pippin looked down at the old Pippin for a moment before the horse's front legs finally came down, smashing the original Pippin to bits. He then went off with Merry and cooperated with the rest of the authors' intentions.
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"While creepy, that seems like an empty threat," commented Pippin, unimpressed. "It's already been established that you get your characters from a processing center."
"Shut up!" yelled MysticButtCrystal, miffed.
By this time, Steve had had enough. He jumped down from his horse, and kicked Pippin out from under it.
"Oof!" replied Pippin. The horse's front end suddenly slammed down where he had been, and it tore off into the distance.
"Damnit!" yelled Steve, who then ran off after his horse. A moment later, he realized that he was wearing very nice clothes and had sacks of gold in his pockets and his hands. Extremely attractive naked women were chasing after him, and after a moment, his horse came back peacefully. He had obviously pleased the powers that ruled his universe.
Merry, who had been looking around for Pippin, grabbed his friend, and they ran off into the woods.
They had hardly gone ten steps before they heard the spitting orc coming after them. They knew it was him from his bad lisp as he yelled, "Get back here! I need to eat your kidneys to absorb your kidney power!"
Merry and Pippin quickly climbed a tree to avoid him.
Treebeard opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Apparently he had fallen asleep while standing in the middle of the forest again. Too much ent moonshine, probably.
He looked down and realized that he was being climbed on. He snatched both of the little beings and tossed them to the side. Damn circus, letting their midgets run wild again.
An orc stared up at him from the ground in horror. Treebeard grabbed it in one hand. He realized that he was feeling fairly hungry, so he bit its entire upper torso off. The legs twitched a bit as Treebeard chawed on the orc half like a piece of jerky.
"Holy crap!" commented Merry, staring at the spectacle before him. "That tree's eating the orc!"
Pippin stared in shock as Treebeard swallowed the orc half, smacked his lips, and addressed the orc's legs.
"Consume my brethren, will you?!" demanded Treebeard. "Well, I'd say I've consumed you pretty damn well. What do you say to that?!"
He shook the legs, which flopped around in a manner that he apparently found offensive. He growled to himself and shoved them in his mouth. After more chewing, he picked one of the orc's boots out of his teeth and flicked it into the dirt.
Merry and Pippin tried to run, but Treebeard caught them easily and picked them up.
"Oh well," he muttered to himself. "At least I can sell them back to the circus and make a little cash."
"What are you talking about?" asked Merry.
"Be quiet, midget," commanded Treebeard. He suddenly recalled that the White Wizard had told him to keep an eye out for midgets with hairy feet. He dutifully lifted Pippin up and examined his feet.
Well, he would just have to take them to the White Wizard then. And here he had gotten all happy about the chance to get a little spending money. Oh well. He could probably get something out of the White Wizard for this.
"Shut up and sit still or I'll eat you," said Treebeard to the hobbits, whom he placed on his head. They clung on to his upper branches in uncomfortable positions because there was no convenient place to sit. "I'm taking you to the White Wizard."
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MASTER LIFE CLOCK: 7:57