Concerning Coolness

When Haldir woke up in the morning he thought that having Legolas spend the night was the end of his problems (aside from Legolas eating all the Lembas Puffs and using his favorite shampoo), but he was apparently mistaken. After waking up with a headache, drinking down three cups of coffee, and yelling at Rumil for playing his guitar too loudly, he was interrupted from his morning stress exercises by a knock on the door. "Legolas, you better not have invited one of your tree-hugging freaks over," he said loudly, since Haldir was too cool and sophisticated to yell.

Legolas was deep in discussion with Orophin about the best brands of hair dye and therefore didn't hear him.

Haldir rubbed his aching head and yanked open the door. "No thank you," he stated coldly. "We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations."

"What about under-appreciated second sons?" said Faramir. He was dressed in one of his brother's oversized college sweaters with the hood pulled over his head, which was a sure sign that he wanted to avoid his father's notice. "Can I come in please?"

Haldir looked at Faramir's pitiful face and sighed. "Please don't tell me you want to sleep over. I've already got Legolas invading my living room."

"Actually, uh… I'm here to see your brothers."

Rumil and Orophin immediately showed up with their uncanny habit of popping out of nowhere. Rumil was wearing an obscene amount of eyeliner and had on a ripped pair of jeans that made Haldir shudder, while Orophin had used way too much floral scented bubble bath (which was perfectly manly, of course) and had plucked his eyebrows to perfection. "Dude, Fara-buddy!" said Rumil, giving Faramir an eager clap on the shoulder. "Thanks for calling us up about the coolness advice, man. Me and Orophin are totally the coolest elves around."

"Hmph. I see how it is," muttered Haldir, feeling left out.

"Oh my Valar! You're here, Faramir!" Legolas came bursting into the room and threw his arms around Faramir, sobbing into his shoulder. "You won't believe what my dad has done lately. We need to call Pippin and schedule a Daddy Issues Meeting as soon as possible! After I hand out my pamphlets about unfair park conditions, of course. Can you believe that those poor trees down at the park are constantly getting hit with Frisbees, and getting initials carved into their sensitive bark, and getting inadequate nutrition?"

"Um, no. I didn't know that," said Faramir. "How fascinating."

"It's downright ridiculous!" Legolas cried. "You really should join the Treehugger's Club and make a difference, Faramir. Maybe it will make your dad love you."

Faramir shook his head sadly. "No, nothing can possibly work such a miracle."

"Well, since I'm apparently the only one in this room who doesn't have a social life, I will be off to work now," said Haldir, giving everyone a Condescending Glare. "Good day to you all."

Nobody said goodbye to him as he strode haughtily out the door.

"Mr. Frodo, you're not lookin' too good, if you don't mind me saying so," said Sam. He was getting ready to go to Wal-Mart, but he was distracted by the sight of Frodo sitting at the kitchen table, looking pale and tired. "That book of yours is sucking the life out of you. You barely slept last night and you've hardly touched your breakfast!"

"It's such a great weight, Sam," said Frodo, looking at him with haunted eyes. "Such a heavy burden. I'm afraid the task of finishing this novel is too big for me."

"I could help, Mr. Frodo. I don't know nothing about book writing or telling great tales, but I could try."

"No, Sam!" Frodo snapped. Suddenly his face changed and he looked rather demented instead of pitiful. "It's my book. Mine alone! You can't touch it!" He then put his face in his hands and began to sob over his uneaten breakfast. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I wish this plot had never come to me."

"I don't like what it's doin' to you, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I oughtta stay home from work to make sure you eat and sleep proper. I'll make you some tea and cook up some fresh taters!"

"My pen is getting heavier and heavier," Frodo moaned. "Such a great weight, Sam. I'll never be able to make it."

"There, there, Mr. Frodo. You just rest a bit. I can't write your book for you, but I can… well, I'll do something or other."

Sam bustled about and made some tea, while Frodo continued to wallow in angsty self-pity. Suddenly his cell phone vibrated and the poor hobbit nearly had a heart attack. "Oh no, it's him. Why does he have to bother me when I'm ill?"

"I oughtta break that mean ol' editor's neck," said Sam. "I swear by my old Gaffer's radishes, it ain't right for him to pester you like that." He took Frodo's phone and promptly tossed it into the garbage, where it wouldn't bother either of them anymore.

When Haldir arrived at work he found that Elf-in-the-Box was even more dysfunctional than usual. It was even worse than the time the soda machine broke down and a horde of angry dwarves hurled rocks at the building because they couldn't have their Diet Coke. Celeborn staggered into the restaurant looking exhausted, though his beard was still stubbornly attached to his face, and he failed to notice that his uniform was put on backwards. "My aching head…" he moaned. "Why are the lights in here so bright?"

"Are you all right, Celeborn?" asked Haldir, raising an eyebrow at him.

"It feels like there's an oliphaunt sitting on my head." There were dark circles under Celeborn's eyes and as soon as he dragged himself to the kitchen, he collapsed on top of a counter and remained there in a heap of elvish patheticness. Haldir shrugged and began counting the money in the cash register. Perhaps he should finally tell Celeborn that Galadriel wasn't cheating on him with Gimli after all, but it was far too amusing to see him fall into decline.

Haldir supposed he had been voted Most Insensitive in high school for a reason.

Five minutes later Galadriel swept coldly into the restaurant and spoke in her deepest, loudest, most frightening Manager Voice. "Haldir, I want you to take over the fry cook duties for today. Celeborn has been temporarily fired because he refuses to show respect to his superior. That is all."

Haldir blinked at her in disbelief, while Celeborn slid off the counter and landed on the floor unconscious. "Now get to work," Galadriel ordered, and then she marched away with her head held high.

"I need a new job," Haldir muttered. Mushroom King wasn't hiring anymore, but maybe he could find a job at McDeagol's.

"Now if you want to be cool, you've got to stop going on about poetry or whatever," Rumil instructed, looking sternly at Faramir. "That's just lame, man. Try watching cool movies and playing cool video games and stuff."

"But I do watch movies," Faramir protested. "I watched a three-hour documentary on classical Greece the other day. And Dad never lets me touch Boromir's video game playing thing and I wouldn't want to play it anyway, since it's just a violent waste of time."

Rumil gazed at Faramir in disbelief. "Dude, you are hopeless. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

"Don't be so harsh, Rumil," said Orophin. "You're starting all wrong, anyway. Faramir can't become cool until he changes that outdated hairstyle and puts on some more stylish clothes. I think I've got some outfits in my closet that will fit you, Faramir."

Faramir looked at the two brothers helplessly. All he wanted to do was improve himself so he could successfully woo Eowyn and get her to stop laughing at him, but taking coolness advice from Rumil and Orophin was almost as bad as spending "quality time" with his father (which usually consisted of sitting awkwardly on the living room couch while Denethor gazed at Palantir News Network on television). He suffered in horrified silence as Orophin shampooed his hair with some sort of flowery scented shampoo that nearly gagged him, and he was too weary to argue when Rumil picked out a pair of black skinny jeans and matching black sneakers for him to wear.

"Much better," said Orophin. "Now that you look cooler, you'll be ready to act cooler."

"All right," said Faramir.

"Bro," Rumil corrected. "You should say 'All right, bro' instead. It sounds a lot cooler."

"No, that just makes you sound like an idiot," said Orophin. "Don't listen to him, Faramir."

"Dude, Orophin, you wouldn't be cool at all if it wasn't for me," said Rumil.

"Excuse me? I am older than you."

"Yeah, by only fifty years, man. That's nothing."

Faramir realized that seeking advice from elves, no matter how cool they were, probably wasn't the best idea. "Um, I'm going to go now… bros. Legolas wants me to meet with him and Pippin in a little while."

"See ya, man," said Rumil. "Good luck on scorin' with the ladies!"

Faramir couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Frodo coughed weakly into his handkerchief and tried to lift his pen so he could finish the paragraph he was working on. "Oh, it's such a burden," he muttered to himself as he struggled to wield his pen. "Such a heavy, heavy burden. And yet I chose this task, so I must see it through to the end." He wrote feverishly for a few minutes, then set down his pen in exhaustion and finished off the fresh cup of tea Sam had brought him before leaving for his meeting with Pippin and Legolas. Perhaps he should check his e-mail, though the thought of doing so made one of his eyes twitch with anxiety.

He had a feeling he was going to spend the rest of his life in therapy.

Frodo's e-mail inbox consisted of the usual fan letters and reviews and spam telling him about naked dwarf websites, all of which he skipped over. However, he was unable to ignore the message bearing the subject line CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE WON A FREE BASKET OF MUSHROOMS. Frodo's eyes lit up at the word "mushrooms" and he eagerly clicked on the e-mail.

Dear Mr. Baggins,

How many times must I threaten you? Give me that manuscript or I will be forced to take drastic action. This is your last warning.

—Your editor.

P.S. I fooled you good with that subject line, didn't I?

Poor Frodo's nerves were quite shaken up, but fortunately his mind was still in working order. He immediately hit the "reply" button and began typing out a response in imitation of Sam, complete with childish spelling and grammar since dear Sam never made it through high school.

dear mr editer sir,

pore mr frodo has gone on a trip, sir, cuz of his bad helth and all. he dont mean to keep you waitin and all but the pore feller is such a sick hobit, you know. i hope you dont mind me writin this letterr to such a smart ol editer man like yerself, sir. lets both hope our pore mr frodo gets beter so he can finish them fancie books of his.

—samwise gamgee

"That ought to show him," Frodo said as he clicked the "send" button.

"You know why my dad named me Legolas?" Legolas asked as he opened up a can of beer. "He really liked playing with Legos. Can you believe it? He named me after a bunch of plastic toy blocks!"

"My old dad's always callin' me names," said Sam. "Like ninnyhammer. I don't even know what a ninnyhammer is!"

"I always have trouble spelling Peregrin," said Pippin, opening his second beer. "I think my dad named me that on purpose just to frustrate me when I did my school assignments. No wonder I had to repeat the second grade."

The three of them were gathered in the living room of Merry's apartment, since Pippin refused to go home and decided that sleeping on his cousin's couch was a million times better than being under the roof of his overbearing parents. True, he probably should have asked Merry if it was okay to invite some friends over and drink up all his beer, but Pippin's philosophy in life was to have fun now and deal with consequences later.

They were in the middle of a deep discussion on what a ninnyhammer could possibly be when Faramir arrived, feeling awkward in his black skinny jeans and sneakers. "Um, hi… dudes," he said as he entered the living room. "Wh-what's up?"

"What happened to you?" said Legolas, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"Heh. I'm uh, cool now," Faramir replied, forcing out a laugh. "I— I mean, bro. Man. Homie."

"I must be drunker than I thought," said Pippin. He shrugged and tossed Faramir a beer. "Sit down, my brother from another mother. And another race. And another height. And another… yeah." He started on his third beer as Faramir seated himself on the living room floor, since Pippin and Sam were both on the couch.

Sam had been quiet for several minutes, but now he broke his bout of silence. "This is it."

"This is what?" asked Legolas.

"If I take one more step… I'll be a little closer to the TV. They're playin' my commercial-whatsit for Wal-Mart tonight and I do hope it will cheer up poor Mr. Frodo.. He gets weaker by the day and it just ain't right. It ain't right, I tell you."

"S-s-sucks to be him, man," Faramir stammered awkwardly.

"I think I liked you better when you were always going on about Kleats or whatever," Legolas muttered.

"It's Keats," Faramir corrected. "John Keats was a great but rather tragic poet and—I… I mean, uh… dude. He is, uh, so lame, man. And I… I can't do this!" He finally broke down and pulled off the sneakers and jeans, so that he was left in just his socks, boxer shorts, and stylish shirt that Orophin lent him. "If I want to successfully woo my fair lady, I will have to be myself."

Legolas blinked. "While we're on the subject of self-improvement, can I get you all to sign my petition concerning park conditions? You'll become better people if you do!"

"Begging your pardon, but you already made me sign," said Sam, blushing uncomfortably. "Three times, in fact. Using a different name each time."

Legolas promptly shut up about the petition and Pippin disappeared into the kitchen real quick, then returned with another six-pack. True, it wasn't his beer and he probably had no right to it, but he would pay Merry back. Somehow. Just as he was about to start passing out cans, the front door opened and Merry himself arrived, armed with both his taser gun and his real gun, just in case somebody broke into his apartment and he finally, finally got to make an arrest. He took in the sight of Pippin and Sam sitting on the couch with one of his six-packs, Legolas sorting through some Treehugger's pamphlets he had brought with him, and Faramir sitting around without any pants on.

"Pip, why are all these people here?" he asked slowly, trying to avoid looking at Faramir.

Pippin thought fast and grinned at his cousin. "Um, hi Merry. Want a beer?"

"Sure. Hand it over."

Naturally beer solved everything, as it always did in the life of Peregrin Took.

At eight o'clock in the evening televisions in every human, elf, hobbit, dwarf, and perhaps even orc household were interrupted by a commercial break. Samwise Gamgee smiled nervously on the television screens, standing in the middle of a Wal-Mart aisle with a coil of rope in his hands.

"Have you been searchin' your whole life for the perfect rope?" Sam asked. "Well search no more! My old Gaffer always said there's a lot of use to be had in a bit of rope."

He held out the coil of rope in his hands, displaying how shiny and well crafted it was. "Real Elvish Rope! Only at Wal-Mart!"