Note: I can't believe it's been about three years since I updated this. I started this chapter a long time ago, but then I got stuck and didn't think I would ever finish it. But I was suddenly inspired to continue! So here we go.

Chapter 3: Three is More than Enough Company

The clock in Frodo's kitchen ticked away. Gandalf sat near the hearth with a pipe in his hand, blowing smoke rings while Sam bustled around the hobbit hole packing up all the medicines and band-aids Frodo would need on his journey.

"You must move quickly," Gandalf urged Frodo. "The powers of the evil Dark Lord grow more dangerous by the day. You must leave the name of Baggins behind you."

"You could go by Sexybuns instead," Sam suggested, gathering up Frodo's favorite Dora the Explorer band-aids. He blushed and dropped the whole box, realizing his slip-up. "In case we meet any girls on the journey, of course. I just lovegirls! Don't you, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo had been engaged in a violent fit of coughing and hadn't heard a single word Sam had said. "I suppose I'll go by Underhill," he gasped weakly, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

"It's safe enough," Gandalf agreed, glancing suspiciously at Sam. "But be very careful, Frodo, on deciding who else will join you on this perilous quest! You can't invite just anyone or the whole thing will be doomed from the start."

"Relax, Gandalf," said Frodo, mopping his feverish forehead with the handkerchief. "I already invited Merry and Pippin to come along. They think we're on a quest for beer and pipe-weed. Bless their little one-track minds!"

Gandalf immediately choked on his pipe.

"Are you all right, Gandalf?"

"No, I'm NOT all right," thundered the wizard, rising up to tower over Frodo. "This is a highly sensitive journey and you've invited two drunken imbeciles along for the ride!"

"They're not always drunken imbeciles," said Frodo. "Sometimes they're just imbeciles."

"Who serve absolutely no purpose," Gandalf added gruffly, "outside of comic relief. I can't even tell the two of them apart half the time!"

Frodo shrugged. "Neither can I."

"Well, why, in the name of all that is gold and shiny, would you invite those two idiots along, Frodo? Have you lost your mind along with your health? You might as well hand that ring straight to the Dark Lord himself!"

Gandalf shouldn't have raised his voice. It made Frodo's blood pressure go up at an alarming rate. The poor distressed hobbit sank into a chair, clutching his heart, which was beating perilously fast.

(It also turned out Sam wasn't the only eavesdropper that night. The Sackville-Bagginses were huddled under the window, eagerly peeking at Frodo's latest ailment.

"I think he's having a heart attack," murmured Lotho.

"Oh, goody!" whispered Lobelia. "At last!")

Sam quickly rushed to Frodo's aid. He took Frodo by the hand, fighting the blush that crept across his face, and peered into Frodo's wide, troubled eyes that carried so much pain and heartbreak, like a shimmering cerulean lake composed entirely of tears and sorrows.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo! Are you all right? Have you taken your blood pressure medication?"

Frodo continued to clutch his chest. He had grown deathly pale. "Yes, I took it an hour ago. I think I'll be all right, Sam. It's just my nerves."

Sam whirled on Gandalf, who was puffing on his pipe rather guiltily. "You had no right to shout at him like that, Mr. Gandalf! You know how easy his nerves get rattled!"

"Very, well," Gandalf said in a much gentler tone. "I meant you no distress, Frodo. I merely wanted to know why on earth you would invite two of the most badly behaved, irresponsible, completely useless—"

BOOM!

Gandalf's words were immediately swallowed in a massive explosion. It shook Bag End and blew the Sackville-Bagginses sky high.

The explosion, of course, was none other than fireworks.

"We should lock the door," Sam suggested, but it was too late.

Pippin—or was it Merry? Sam wasn't sure which—came riding into Bag End on a unicycle, because that was far funnier than simply walking into the place. He had somehow acquired a pet monkey, which wore a little red vest and sat perched on his shoulder. The monkey's name was Bubba. Why Bubba? Because it's a funny name, that's why.

Merry (or was it Pippin?) soon followed on a skateboard, which was even funnier because skateboards definitely did not exist in Middle-earth.

"So," said Pippin or Merry, lighting up his fourteenth marijuana cigarette of the day, "when are we going on that quest?"

Bubba the monkey leaped off Mippin's shoulder and snatched Gandalf's pipe, then stuck it in his tiny little monkey mouth and started puffing away.

"Aww, look at Bubba!" said Perry. "He likes to get high too!"

Frodo whipped out his trusty handkerchief and spent a good five minutes coughing violently into it, thanks to all the smoke in the air. He put away the handkerchief, wiped his watering eyes, then turned to Muppet/Piglet/Whatever His Name Is.

"We leave—" cough cough, "—tonight," said Frodo. He gratefully accepted a bag of cherry-flavored cough drops Sam set in his lap. "Thanks, Sam. We must leave soon, and quietly."

"And the monkey stays behind," said Gandalf, glaring at Bubba. "This journey is no place for such a creature."

Bubba made a rude gesture with both his teeny little monkey hands.

Parakeet took a swig from the flask of ale he always kept in his pocket. "Come on, Gandy! We have to take Bubba!"

"Absolutely not. He's even more annoying than you are, and probably twice as useless!"

"Besides, I think Mr. Frodo might be allergic to monkeys," Sam pointed out. "Look at him scratching away! The poor fellow might have a rash!"

"Your mom has a rash," said Marty.

"You take that back!" cried Sam. "And get that awful monkey away from Mr. Frodo!"

Pinwheel refilled his flask and gave some of the ale to Bubba, because the only thing funnier than a monkey is a drunken monkey.

Meanwhile, Frodo continued to sit in his armchair, sucking a cough drop and scratching his arms. Angry red welts had erupted all over the smooth alabaster landscape of his tortured skin. Sam wept a glittering waterfall of tears at the sight of it, until he realized that Frodo's latest predicament could work to his advantage.

"Here, Mr. Frodo, l-let me help you itch some of those sc-scratches," he stammered, sweating profusely as he placed his soft, trembling hands upon Frodo's tormented flesh. "There, is that better? Lordy, Mr. Frodo, you might have welts all over your poor body! You'd better loosen up that shirt so ol' Sam can see how bad it is."

Frodo, suspecting no ulterior motives, was perfectly willing to unbutton his shirt. This revealed the shiny gold ring hanging from its chain around his neck, but Sam had no interest in jewelry. He was salivating like a starving man faced with a five-course meal.

"My, Mr. Frodo, that rash is all over your chest! You'd better let me rub some lotion into it, to stop the itching."

"I'll rub some lotion into your mom," said Mitten, puffing on his twenty-third marijuana cigarette of the day.

"Make it quick, Sam," said Gandalf, who was sick and tired of this whole ordeal. "We're running out of time! The longer you linger here, the more you risk being found by the enemy. His servants are always watching!"

"So is your mom," said Minestrone.

"You know what?" cried Gandalf. "I'm starting to think that you and Partridge—or whatever his name is—should go on this highly dangerous quest! If we're lucky, both of you might fall into Mount Doom!"

"Shh!" hissed Sam, who was in the middle of lotioning Frodo's chest in a very ordinary, completely heterosexual way. "Remember Mr. Frodo's nerves!"

Bubba was now so drunk, he passed out in a tiny, furry heap on the floor. Pepperoni scooped up the little monkey and hastily tucked him into the bag he had packed specifically for the quest. The bag was chock full of all the essentials that were needed for an important journey: weed, beer, and copies of PlayElf magazine.

"Oh no, I think Bubba ran away!" Pinhead declared. He then sent a wink at Muffler.

"Good riddance!" thundered Gandalf. He glanced guiltily at Frodo and whispered, "I mean, good riddance. Maybe we can finally get this circus on the road.

"Maybe we can finally get your—"

"Don't you dare say my mom!" said Gandalf, interrupting Mushroom. He glanced again at Frodo, who continued to receive his lotion massage from an enthusiastic Sam. "Sorry, Frodo."

"Don't worry about it," said Frodo. "I think my heart's doing better now."

"I know mine sure is," Sam blurted out. He blushed furiously. "I mean, uh, because I ate a great big bowl of oatmeal today. It's supposed to be good for your heart!"

Gandalf was too weary to question this excuse. Weary and distracted with thoughts of that troublesome ring. He needed answers, which meant he had to take his leave of Frodo, and was grateful for the Ranger security that Bilbo had installed around the premises. The last thing they needed was Frodo getting kidnapped by ruffians or stolen away by fairies. Knowing Frodo, anything was possible.

"I must leave you now, Frodo," Gandalf announced. "Take your vitamins regularly and drink plenty of fluids. I must go visit the head of my order, Saruman the White, so you can expect a long, drawn-out, extremely detailed story as soon as we meet up again. Adios."

He snatched up his pipe, which Bubba had left lying on the floor, and made sure the unicycle and skateboard were safely outside, where Frodo couldn't trip on them. With a heavy heart, he finally departed Bag End, knowing that he was leaving Frodo in the hands of complete lunatics.

"You can stop now, Sam," said Frodo, gently pushing Sam's hands away from his chest. He re-buttoned his shirt, much to Sam's disappointment. "I believe the itchiness has stopped. Though I feel a chill coming on." He shivered. "It must have been all that time I had my shirt open." He coughed weakly into his handkerchief. "Oh, dear. Right when I'm about to embark on a quest."

"Don't you worry, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I'll get you bundled up!"

He fetched every blanket in the house and piled them on top of Frodo, until the shivering hobbit resembled a large fuzzy ball. This turned out to be a bad idea, since Frodo soon broke out into a sweat, and Sam had to bathe his fevered forehead until his temperature returned to normal. While this was going on, Macaroni and Pineapple drank and smoked themselves into a stupor, finally collapsing in a pile of empty beer bottles, half-smoked joints, and scattered copies of PlayElf magazine. Pigeon passed out with his face right in the centerfold of a particularly busty elf lady, who happened to be Arwen's evil twin Sunfire. The elves of Rivendell rarely spoke about Sunfire, especially in Lord Elrond's presence. She had disgraced herself, Elrond declared, and was not welcome near Rivendell's doors until she cleaned up her act and tucked her bosoms back in her dress, where they belonged.

Sam was grateful that the two unruly hobbits were now unconscious. It gave him the opportunity to compose a new poem about Frodo:

L is for the lotion I rubbed on your chest
O is for the oranges you couldn't digest
V is for your Viagra; Frodo, don't be ashamed!
E is for explosive diarrhea every day

Not his best, but it would have to do in a pinch, as Sam's old Gaffer always said.

Note: I feel like this chapter isn't up to the standard of the previous two, but I guess that's what happens when I take three years to update. Hopefully this is satisfactory!