Lord of Dumb Things: The Fellowship of Dumb People

Calypsan

Disclaimer: Note that I do not own anything remotely Middle Earth. I do own the author/narrator though, but she is not anything remotely Middle Earth.

Of Toast and Low Hanging Branches

It was just another normal sunny day in the Shire. Little children played blissfully, farmers tended to their crops, and there was undoubtedly much eating. Amidst all the other normality, a hobbit boy with curly brown hair sat under a tree, happily reading a book. A song wafted through the trees, distracting him from his reading. 'Stupid singing people.' He thought, 'Always annoying and singing with their beards and hats and things... wait... beards and hats?' Perhaps today was not so normal. The hobbit ran along through the grove of trees… unfortunately, he did not look out for low hanging branches.

Eventually, he ended up by a cart that was seemingly waiting for him, clutching his head and babbling to himself.

"You're late," he mumbled to the driver of the cart.

"And so are you. Besides, an author is never late Frodo Baggins, nor is she early, she arrives precisely when she means to." The cloaked figure inside the cart answered, and where one would expect to see a grizzled old wizard, a young girl was in his place.

Now, it seemed the head wound was throwing off Frodo's judgment, or he didn't see it unnatural for Gandalf to look like a teenage girl and refer to himself as, 'she.' Instead, the hobbit jumped into the cart, attempting to hug the figure inside of it.

"Eep!" she cried in surprise, promptly pushing the hobbit from the cart to land on his head, probably not helping the hobbit's mentality at all. "I am NOT Gandalf you clingy little hobbit, there will be no hugging in this cart!"

With a shrug, Frodo clambered back into the cart, exclaiming happily, "You're so silly Gandalf!"

The author mumbled something to the effect of, 'Poor crazy little bugger,' and started the cart along its way once again. A short way down the path, a yelling group of young hobbit children approached the cart.

"Fireworks! Fireworks, Gandalf!"

With a smirk from the author, one of the fireworks sitting in the back of the cart took off, impaling one of the children. The rest backed away slowly in wide-eyed horror, before running away screaming. Farther yet down the seemingly endless dirt road, Frodo got a thoughtful look on his face.

"I think Bilbo is up to something. He has all his maps out and keeps muttering about Rivendell."

"Oh, for the love of-," the author trailed off in annoyance, "are you really that stupid?"

Fed up, she threw the idjit from her cart, and pulled up to Bilbo's house. Frodo dusted himself off after landing with a thump. He was certainly falling a great deal today. The hobbit began to think aloud, or rather the closest thing he could do to thinking in his dull state.

"Gandalf was certainly acting weird," he began, walking back up the dirt road, "usually he seems far more cheery and pleasant to be around. And maybe he has a cold or something, his voice was a little weird. Something must be making him sick!"

Frodo stopped his meandering to ponder what could possibly be making Gandalf sick. Aha! To Frodo the answer was obvious.

"Mushrooms," he said confidently, "it must be those evil mushrooms."

In the meantime, the author made her way to the front gate of Bag End. She tapped on the door a few times.

"We don't want any visitors, well wishers, distant relations, or very old friends!" came the voice from inside.

"And what about ver-" the author began, before realizing what Bilbo had said, "Oh, just let me in!"

"No!" the voice from inside said again, like a stubborn child, "I don't want to!"

"Open the door," yelled the author, "Or I'll huff! And I'll puff! And I'll blow your house down! Besides," she added, "we need to move the plot along."

"Alright, alright." The hobbit answered as he reluctantly opened the door to let Gandalf in, unfortunately, Gandalf was no where to be seen.

"What?" asked the author in response Bilbo's odd looks.

"Who are you?" Bilbo questioned in return.

"Why, I am the author of course!" she replied, striking a pose and trying to sound as important as she could.

"Right," Bilbo responded, still watching the queer girl, "and where is Gandalf?"

The author looked at her shoes, seeming embarrassed. "Well... He sort of… refused to do the story along with Galadriel, so I had to replace him."

"So, we're all stuck with you?" Bilbo inquired, though he already knew the answer before he received the small, 'Mhm,' as a response. He paused a moment before asking, "Is it to late for me to quit?"

Bilbo simply received a cold glare as an answer to this one, and figured it was time to not tick the author off. He took her hat and staff for her.

"So Author! Could I get you something to eat?" Bilbo asked, realizing that he seemed to be doing much inquiring at the moment. He scampered off somewhere into his house, rambling incoherently about food and such as the author made her way inside and began inspecting some of the documents laying on Bilbo's desk.

"Bilbo!" she gasped in shock as she picked up one of them, "You read Martha Stuart Living?"

Bilbo's eyes grew wide. "They're Frodo's! I swear!" he replied frantically as he popped into the room. "Er… anyways. I'm going to go through with my plan."

"And what is that? To make 'delicious pumpkin cookies that the whole family will enjoy?" she asked as she read a random page she had thumbed to in the magazine.

A furious Bilbo grabbed that magazine out of the author's hands as he began to push her to the doorway.

"I have had about enough of this mindless screwing around!" he yelled in anger as he shooed her away, "We'll just skip the toast conversation and all that foreshadowing stuff! I've had enough of you!"

With an, 'Aw', the author collected her things and exited Bilbo's house. She liked toast.

Okay, so I make my appearance. Yes I am in the story, but most definitely NOT a Mary Sue in any way shape or form. My beta would kill me otherwise. Hope I get some more readers. Reviews are much appreciated.