Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to update, guys... Finals sent me into a spiraling mess of stress and anxiety that I'm still trying to get over. I've discovered that it's kinda hard to write funny stuff when you're miserable. :P That and I still have to figure out what Eomer's gonna be like in here... Anyways, here's The Burning of the Westfold! Enjoy! :D

The Burning of the Westfold

(Saruman is standing in his tower, one hand hovering over the Palantir as he speaks)

Saruman: The world is changing. Who now has the strength to stand against- (winces as a horrible squelching sound interrupts him. He turns to see an orc pulling another Uruk out of a sack of yuck)

Saruman: What do you think you're doing?

Orc: (looks around, wondering if this is a trick question) Uh… pullin' 'im out?

Saruman: And why are you doing it right here?

Orc: Because… um… uh… (stands there blinking for a moment)… can oi have a hint?

Saruman: (facepalm) I swear, getting on my nerves must be some sort of coming of age ceremony for you guys…

Orc: (fidgets nervously)

Saruman: You're kidding me…

Orc: Well… it's more of a hazing really…

Saruman: OUT. Just get out and take that with you. (gestures to the still slimy Uruk who has been watching the exchange with interest.)

(The orc leaves, looking a bit sheepish but the uruk raises its hand)

Saruman: (sighs) Yes?

Uruk: Oi was jus' wonderin'… ow does mixin' a goblin an' a man get this? (gestures to self)

Saruman: (muttering to himself) Oh… great. Now they get intelligent… (to Uruk) With magic, okay? Now run along and get some armor.

Uruk: (shrugs) A'right. (he heads out)

Saruman: Sheesh… Now where was I… (checks watch) Hmm… I'll have to summarize. (he returns to the "one hand over the Palantir" pose) Sauron and I are pals and no one can beat us. I tore up my fancy forest for fuel and am now right on schedule with the armor and weapon making… things. On a side note, orcs are getting less intelligent by the day… yet the Uruks seem to be improving… I'll have to look into that later. For now, I've got a meeting with several hundred angry nut farm escapees.

(He heads out of his tower into a huge crowd of rather dirty old men. Several are sporting canes or walkers and quite a few have hearing aids. All of them have longish scraggly hair and none too clean raggy clothes.)

Saruman: What the heck is all this?

Oldman1: Eh? You'll have to speak up there, sonny!

Old man2: (holding a hand up to his ear) What'd he say?

Old man3: (shouting at 2) He said "Where's my peccary named Chris?"!

Old man2: (giving 3 a shove) How should I know where your Pekinese flips?

Old man1: No! It's Tuesday!

Old man4: Doomsday!

Old man2: WHAT?

Saruman: Oh fer… what have I gotten myself into this time…? Okay, folks, listen up.

(Old men continue to fight.)

Saruman: (rolls eyes and shouts as loudly as he can) HEY! OLD GUYS!

OldMen: (silence)

Saruman: Thank you… now I know you won't remember this for long due to your… advanced… minds….

Oldmen: (listen silently)

Saruman: But there are some hip young folk off in Rohan who think it's "cool" and "in style" (using finger quotes) to let their pants hang down low enough for a passing horse to step on them and pull 'em off.

Old Men: (Stare)

Saruman: … well? What are you gonna do about it?

Old Men: GET 'EM!

(The old men rush off in a frenzied mob, canes waving as Saruman turns and heads back to his tower)

Saruman: (muttering to himself) It's nearly impossible to find good help these days…

(Elsewhere… in a small Rohan village, a family is rushing to escape the mob of dirty old men approaching)

Mother: Okay, kids, remember what I told you?

Boy: Don't mock the soldiers?

Girl: Don't poke leeches?

Boy: Don't eat things off the ground?

Girl: Don't-

Mother: No… I mean about what you're supposed to do.

Boy: Oh! Yeah! We're supposed to ride to King Theoden and ask him for help fighting these dirty old guys, right?

Mother: That's better.

Girl: Why do we have to fight them, mommy?

Mother: Because they're unhygienic, sweetie.

Girl: Oh.

Mother: I'll meet you at Helm's Deep.

Boy: Helm's Deep? Why are you going there?

Mother: Trust me, the King always sends people there when there's trouble. It's like a tradition or something.

Boy: Okay…

Mother: Off you go then. I think the "wild men" are reaching the first huts back there.

(They turn and see a crowd of dirty old men tottering down the street at a snail's pace, some waving their canes, some pausing to catch their breath and many shouting about "hip youngsters and their outrageous fashions")

Boy: Right… see ya later, ma!

(They ride off)