Yay, long periods of time with no updates at all! Platy, once again you are an inspiration for our writing style.

Here it is a month after writing that above paragraph. Huzzah! Spoofmaster's been very busy and MysticButtCrystal has trouble paying attention to anything that isn't Halo. His gamer tag is The Atreides, by the way, and he wishes you a merry wort wort wort.

And here it is a month or two after writing that above paragraph and this chapter. It's been sitting on the computer 95 complete since before Christmas. Sorry about all this. We got kind of burnt out, what with all the stuff people were always making us do.

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MASTER LIFE CLOCK: 1:03

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Papa Smurf, and Gandalf arrived at Edoras in their customary forms. Except for Papa Smurf, because he was never there in the first place.

"I'm sure glad I was able to get back to my proper form!" exclaimed Legolas.

"Me too," agreed Gimli. "It was really lucky that we found that magic pie!"

"Yeah, lucky," muttered Aragorn sarcastically.

A sentry saw them coming, and whisked the welcome mat off of the ground. He sniffed at them derisively and hid it under his flouncy coat before leaving.

"I don't think we can expect a warm welcome here," mused Gandalf.

"We needed a wizard to tell us that, too," grumbled Gimli unappreciatively.

"Yes," replied Gandalf sternly. "Yes you did."

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"Uncle, Theodred died!" wailed Eowyn to Theoden. "Don't you even care?"

"Mbleggghhhhhhhhh," replied Theoden thoughtfully.

"Won't you even go see him?" she cried. Theoden stared blankly off into space, a glob of drool inching its way through his facial hair. Eowyn sobbed and ran back to Theodred's room.

"Hey there, sexy lady," grated Grima, trying to sound masculine. The effect was more reminiscent of a rat standing on its hind legs. This was probably at least partially due to the way he was clutching at a large graham cracker and nibbling at it rapidly on and off.

"What do you want, pervert?!" snapped Eowyn.

"Why, you of course!" beamed Grima greasily. "I just got this signed by Theoden King. It says that this afternoon, you have to marry either me or a raccoon!"

"Fine!" shouted Eowyn, still very much in grief about her cousin dying and everything.

Grima grinned. He was finally going to get some! After twenty-five years of trying, this was his lucky day!

"Bring on the raccoon!" commanded Eowyn.

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Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas, Papa Smurf and Gimli dismounted from their horses and strode up to the entrance of Meduseld. Except for Papa Smurf, because he was never really there.

"Stop right there," commanded Stinky the Stinky Stink Stink. Readers across the globe groaned inwardly at the pathetic attempt at creating a character name. "You must relinquish your weapons before you can go in there," whined Stinky, posing dramatically.

"Hmmph," grumbled Aragorn, but he, Legolas, Gandalf, Papa Smurf, and Gimli all moved to comply. Except for Papa Smurf, who was never really there and was such a pinko commie that he probably wouldn't carry a weapon if he was.

However, as Aragorn brought his sword up to hand it to Stinky, he suddenly thrust his hand out, smacking Stinky in the temple with the hilt and knocking him out cold.

"Wow!" said Gimli. "Are you sure that didn't kill him?"

"No," admitted Aragorn. The rest of the group shrugged indifferently, and they all headed in.

Gandalf was driving Legolas nuts. He kept linking and unlinking arms with him rapidly as they walked up the hall next to each other. It was all making Legolas feel very jumpy and upset.

"Theoden, your hospitality sucks!" insulted Gandalf, before farting derisively.

Theoden, cowed by Gandalf's attack, slumped his head over in a new direction and mumbled incoherently anew.

"Holy crap!" exclaimed Gimli, looking at Theoden. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. What's even going on here?" wondered Legolas. Up in front of the throne, Eowyn was standing in a wedding dress next to a raccoon in a tuxedo. Her hands were tied, her feet were hobbled, and she was chained to a pile of cinderblocks.

"Nothing!" yelled Grima. "Nothing's wrong with him, and nothing's going on here except for a plain old-fashioned wedding!"

He prodded Eowyn with a large club when she had showed signs of trying to escape.

"Hey guys," whispered the raccoon over his little communicator. "Have you got a plan to get me out of this yet?"

"Not yet, Sly," sighed Bentley nasally on the other end.

"What is it now, Gandalf Stormcrow?" demanded Grima. "More bad news? You only ever come here when you have a problem!"

"Shut up, Grima!" snapped Gandalf. He smacked Grima upside the head with his staff, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and shoved him over to Aragorn, Gimli, Papa Smurf, and Legolas. Except for Papa Smurf, because he was never really there. They then proceeded to give him noogies, Indian burns, wet willies, and the occasional punch in the face as they pushed him back and forth.

"He must be under the control of Saruman!" proclaimed Gandalf, facing Theoden.

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Far away in his tower, Saruman watched the scene through his Palantir.

"Nuh-uh!" he corrected. "Not for a while now! I don't want any part in this stupid thing!"

And with that, he firmly crossed his arms. Outside, a large crash and numerous orcish screams were heard. He groaned and stuffed another toffee in his mouth.

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"Oh, wait!" realized Gandalf. 'No one's controlling him…he's just hopped up on some sort of drugs! Here," he said, untying Eowyn. "Go make us a pot of coffee. This is going to take a while."

Sly, noticing that he seemed to be totally in the clear, bolted over to a tapestry, climbed a tassel, and jumped out the window.

"Guards!" whined Grima, as he was knocked down and his pants stolen by Aragorn. "Can't you see that I need your help?"

"Did you just hear something?" asked the sergeant present.

"Nope," smiled a lance corporal. "It's been a really quiet day today." The two went back to their cards, as did all their fellows.

"Aww, come on!" complained Grima, as he tried and failed to retrieve his pants. Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were now tossing them back and forth and laughing as Grima chased them around. "This isn't because I cut your dental plan, is it?"

The guards steadfastly ignored him. In actuality, it had much more to do with the long hours of watching him screw up their country.

Then again, dental care was expensive.

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SOME HOURS LATER

"Augh, my head hurts!" groaned Theoden. "I feel like I'm waking up from a nightmare and a bad night out."

"Grima Wormtongue has been dosing you with horse tranquilizers," said Gandalf. "Over the past few months, he's destroyed your country and gotten your son killed."

"It's true!" sniffed Eowyn, before recounting all the shit that had happened.

"What?!" shouted Theoden, hopping up angrily. He strode to where Grima now lay on the floor curled up into a ball. The three heroes were kicking him and laughing, but backed off when they saw Theoden's face.

"Hello there, Grima," hissed Theoden through his teeth. "Let me help you up!" He grabbed Grima's arm and twisted it violently. A loud popping sound was heard, and Grima cried out in pain. "Oh, I'm sorry!" shouted Theoden, trodding on the broken arm, eliciting another yelp of pain. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to have a discussion!"

He grabbed Grima by the throat and pulled him up onto his feet. He paused for a second, and then punched Grima in the face, knocking him down again. "You sure are clumsy, Grima!" Theoden grumbled, before grabbing him by the throat once more and hauling him up into the air.

"It's come to my attention," ground out the king, "that you have been managing my country in certain ways that I do not necessarily approve. I am displeased, Grima, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to fire you. Eowyn, would you like a word with him before he leaves?"

Eowyn calmly walked up and kicked Grima, who at this point was turning blue from the choking, squarely in the nuts.

"Aww, she's such an elegant young lady, is she not?" mused Theoden happily. "Oh dear, Grima, you're beginning to look a bit sickly. You need some fresh air!"

With that, he threw Grima out the door and down the stairs, after which he turned around and addressed the sergeant present.

"Tie him to the back of a horse," Theoden instructed in low tones. "Drag him for ten miles out in the wilderness, and then leave him there. Make sure to cover him in honey and leave him somewhere near an ant mound."

"Gladly, sir!" grinned the sergeant, snapping a salute and then running off to obey. "Hey, Grima! I'm going to give you a ride! Isn't that nice?"

"Holy crap!" exclaimed Gimli. "These people are scary!"

"And don't you forget it!" stated Theoden, before collapsing back into his throne and into a pretty damned nasty depression. He brushed at his face absently, and his hand came away with a big mass of cobwebs that had previously appeared to be a long gray beard.

"Perhaps you'd feel a bit better if you had your old sword," soothed Gandalf, handing Theoden's sword to him.

"A bit," admitted Theoden.

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Sorry it's short, but it's a better stopping point than it would be otherwise, and we're tired. At least it's a chapter, right?

Sorry about the weeks (change to: months) of nothingness. We've just been kind of burnt out. Sorry also about the lack of review responses. has made threats about them.

Speaking of ….

Once upon a time, there were two hobbits named MagicFootEmerald and Humorlord. They liked to write stories about their various hobbity hobbies, such as the books they read and the plays they saw. One thing that had started them on this with such zeal was that a certain publisher had promised to print the things they wrote for all to read and enjoy in a non-profit manner that was beneficial to both of them.

So they wrote, and wrote with great glee, and while a lot of it was crap, they did occasionally come up with something half-decent. And so, the day came when it was time for the hobbits to turn in the result of their long hours of work to be published. They turned it in promptly, all typed up very neatly and ready to just be copied off without any trouble to anyone at all.

Unfortunately, the publishing company had bought an evil robot from Sauron. Its name was Quickedit, and it ran on steam and broken dreams.

Quickedit chewed up the little hobbits' charming little stories and spat them back out as illegible bastard versions of their former selves. These prints were then pasted sloppily into books that were more advertisements than not. When the hobbits complained, they were met with threats, and when they tried to have civil conversations with their fans, they were met with passive-aggressive attacks.

The hobbits had great perseverance, though, and kept on at their writing, only now adopting a love of bad metaphor and snappy passive-aggressive attacks of their own. With each day, though, the evil Quickedit and his like-minded evil robots came up with new ways to hurt them, and were supported by the publishers, who made a sick little power trip out of it. The hobbits hoped and hoped that things would get better someday, so that they could write with glee once more.

That day has not yet come, and will not come until a certain publisher stops abusing all its friendly hobbit writers and lets them return to how things were before their evil robots and abusive ways. By then, though, our little hobbit writers will probably have left or given up.

The end.

Oh wait…that didn't have ANYTHING to do with Sorry.

Note: Since we originally wrote this little story, Quickedit has gotten better and is no longer the bane of the hobbits' existence. However, it is still inconvenient and redundant, and hobbits everywhere still live in the shadows of threats, and Quickedit still has an insatiable appetite for devouring scene dividers of any kind.