To start off today, we would like to offer an apology, both for the extreme lengths between updates and for what we are about to tell you. This parody will no longer be updated by either of us. Neither of us really holds any interest for writing it anymore, and even if we did, things have just changed too much. In three weeks, Spoofmaster will be moving to college, and there just won't be enough time with the both of us together. We are deeply sorry that this is how it is going to end. The last thing we ever wanted to do was to leave an incomplete fic, but the real mistake was posting chapters before we had it finished. Spoofmaster is considering someday continuing by herself, but do not count on that, as this story will probably be set aside in favor of projects with more enthusiasm behind them. No longer having the pressure to write this will hopefully free her up for other things.

In parting, we leave you with the unfinished chapter ten.

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Saruman was sitting in his recliner by the fire, enjoying a cup of cocoa. He had long since discarded the toffees, which now lay scattered about on the table next to him. His peace was suddenly disrupted when the fire turned green and a disreputable looking wizard wearing bike shorts and a parka stepped out of it, getting ash all over the rug. Saruman choked and spilled his cocoa all down his front.

"Oh, dear," sighed the wizard, looking around. "This isn't where I meant to go at all."

"Get out of my giant tower of doom, you stupid bastard!" screamed Saruman, throwing toffees at him. The other wizard held his hands over his head in defense and seemed to prepare to throw something into the fire from whence he came.

"What are you trying to put in my fireplace?" demanded Saruman angrily. "It had better not be fireworks!"

The poorly dressed wizard succeeded in tossing a handful of powder into the fireplace. The fire turned green once more and began to emit sparks.

"It was fireworks!" screeched Saruman. "I'm going to kill you, you psycho!"

"Diag—" started the other wizard. Just then, though, the small table that had been beside Saruman's chair collided with his head, and both he and the table disappeared into the flames. Most of the toffees, however, remained in the room, scattered in the ashes on the floor.

It was just then that Wormtai—Wormtongue (same difference) walked in on his master. Actually, he was wheeled in by a bored-looking orc with a wheelbarrow. Grima was covered in bandages, and smelled, among other things, of horses and honey.

"What happened to you?" asked Saruman, getting up and waving his staff over his servant to heal the worst of his wounds. "And why do you smell so bad?"

"They caught on to me," whined Wormtongue. He took a quick glance around at the mess of toffee, ashes, and overturned furniture, then asked, "what happened here?"

"You know the fireplace?" asked Saruman.

"…yes…"

"It's doing that thing again."

"I found out something I think is important," reported Grima. "There's a Numenorean in Rohan. He had that ring with the ugly little snakes on it and everything."

"You mean that Aragorn person?" snorted Saruman. "From what I've heard, he's just an inbred hick. I've heard a lot of stories about him, but most of them seem to be about him wandering around making an ass out of himself and acting all nympho. He's nothing to worry about—that line died out generations ago. Besides, this war isn't my problem anymore."

"What do you mean?" wondered Grima. "Aren't you still going to try to get the Bra?"

"Think about it, Grima," sighed Saruman. "Is conquering the world really such a good idea? Besides, those stupid authors left me out of the first installment. I refuse to play my designated part in their stupid little games."

"But Sauron will be real mad," protested Grima.

"Sauron is a giant eyeball made of fire," replied Saruman. "Oh no, he's going to blink at me! Except, no, I forgot, he can't even blink. Ooo, so scary, a big, dry, itchy eyeball."

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Goodbye, and don't hate us too much.