If LotR Had Been Written By Someone Else!?

Cafe Society
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342

Fronan and the ring of power, (with apologies to Robert E. Howard, and JRR…)

“And know O Prince that in the third age of Middle Earth there was a warrior that opposed the most powerful rulers of the lands, his name was Fronan, a barbarian from the Northern Shire…”

Fronan stood quietly in the shadows of the high rock wall. His barbarian senses told him something was out there, stalking him. His companions, three civilized hobbits, knew nothing of what his keen senses told him. Creeping in on them were five of the Nazgul, shadowy wraiths from Mordor. They were the remains of men, neither living, nor dead. Fronan had seen them before, but never fought them. This time would be different. The silent shadows were moving. Or was it the clouds and moon?

Suddenly, with blood curdling shrieks, they were on them! Five pale shadows flickering in the deeper darkness! Fronan, knowing they were outnumbered, reached in his pouch for the ring. It was supposed to be imbued with power, he would try to tap it. Slipping it on he suddenly could see with amazing clarity and he attacked the wraiths in a frenzied burst of swordplay, whirling though the melee, he reeled out of it with his armor in tatters and a wound in his shoulder. His companions were separated from him and he was on his own. Placing his back against a rock wall of granite, he asked through gritted teeth, “who dies first?”

Outlawmws

343

“Lord of the Rings” by Michael Crichton (please forgive me if dates are inaccurate)

“So this is the great Ring of Power?” Frodo said.
“Certainly,” Gandalf said. “Forged by the Dark Lord Levine Sauron, in the land of Mordor.”
“Wow,” Frodo said.
“Indeed,” Gandalf said.
“But how does one make a ring of power?” Frodo said.
Gandalf shrugged. He was a tall, thin man, and he was prone to doing many things that tall, thin men stereotypically do, such as shrugging. “It’s easy,” he said with a thin smile. “Back in about 30s (Shire reckoning), the Necromancer had found an easy source of power: pouring one’s evil will into a gold ring and unleashing his wrath upon his enemies. Only problem is that the elves and men fought back.” Gandalf took a long, heavy drag from his pipe. He blinked, sat up. He coughed, crossed his legs. “Guy by the name if Isildur Barnes got a group of high-ranking Gondor officials and got that ring for his own. Only problem now is that it’s 2 miles below the surface of the Anduin. And we’re sending you down there with a crack team of specialists: an elf, a dwarf, a wizard, 2 men and some hobbits. But what worries me isn’t that it’s the One Ring; what worries me is that it may be 300 years old …”

Only problem is, if Crichton wrote Lord of the Rings, he would have presold the movie rights, and we would have seen a film 2 months after it was published.

344

Novum Organum of the Ring by Francis Bacon

–

If a man were to go to Minas Tirith and look through the history of the world, they would be amazed at how many records would be contained within; however, as they read, they would be disheartened at the lack of progress that has been made over the centuries.

The Ring comes from the ancients, and let us first say that we hold no disrepsect to the actions of the ancients, for they certainly came first in the handling of the darkness of Middle Earth; however, there has arisen idols in the presence of men that keep a proper handling of the Ring from being done. To speak plainly, no correct judgment can be formed either by our method of or its discoveries by those anticipations which are now in common use.

The first idol is the idol of the tribe; these are present in all the races of Middle Earth, elf, human, dwarf, hobbit; they are inherent in the races’ nature; for their senses are are falsely asserted to be the standard of things. The second is the idol of the hole in the ground; this idol is what encourages the races to hide in dens, caves, and trees as the Ring works its evil.

The third idol is the idol of the market, meaning the common misconceptions of each race held by the other as they refuse to cooperate against the Ring and Sauron. The fourth idol is the idol of the eye, with the large flames around the lidless ball that bears reference to man and not the universe.

Some men become attached to certain aspects of the Ring, either from supposing themselves the lords or kings of lands, or from having bestowed the greatest pains upon subjects, and thus becoming habituated to the Ring’s power. If men of this description apply themselves to the Fellowship, they wrest and corrupt the group by their preconceived fancies, of which Sauron affords us a signal instance.

The Ring clouds the understanding; only through applications of the mind and experience can progress by made by the Ring Bearer. Induction is the true way towards Mount Doom!

(Sorry if it reads poorly. I mixed quotes from Bacon with LOTR references and this is the result. Hope you like it.)

345

Forgive the errors. It’s late.

More Prattchet.

The ghost of Boromir made a face as it got up from the ground. Aragon had just left his side and had been a little to emotional for one mad to be toward another. It had put him off a bit.
“He kissed me!” He said, scrubbing the back of his hand against his forhead. “What kind of thing is that for one man to do to another!”
I THINK HE WAS SHOWING HIS AFFECTION IN THE DEEPEST WAY HE KNEW HOW.
The voice was as deep as the dark ocean and had undertones of tombs and long forgotten funeral dirges. Still, Boromir was in no state of mind to realy notice.
“Yeah, but he KISSED me!” He ranted. “there I am, half a dozen arrows the size of oak trees sticking out of me and all he can do is kiss me! Some King of Gondor he’s s’posed to be! What about all that about ‘Healing hands’ they kept on about? Did he think to even try and take an arrow out?”
HEALING HANDS IS ONE THING, Said Death. IN YOUR CASE, I DON’T THINK IT MATTERED MUCH.
Calming down a little, Boromir sighed. “Well, at least I’m out of that. Stupid quest anyway. Elron pro’bly swapped the One Ring for something out of his jewelry box back in Rivendell. I am dead now right?”
VERY. Death said, looking over Boromir corps. I’M REALY SURPRISED YOU LSATED AS LONG AS YOU DID. I COUNT AT LEAST FIVE MORTAL WOUNDS AND ONE THAT WENT STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR SPLEEN!
“Alright, just to make sure.” Boromir took what would have been a deep breath is he still had lungs to breath, and let loose a torent of curses on Elves, Dwarves, hobbits and Rangers that could have peeled varnish off of a table top.
FEEL BETTER?
“Very.” Boromir smiled, his form starting to fade. “What happens now?”
THAT, Death said, IS UP TO YOU.

346

Fear and Loathing in Gondor

The fiends are nipping at our heels…war, children, is just a shot away…crazed fiends dine on flesh and bone…the trail beats on…

We were somewhere around Emyn Muil at the edge of the mountains when the ring began to take hold.
It crept up my spine like first rising vibes of an acid frenzy.  I saw a vision of one million fat greasebacking black-hooded fiends sucking into a football-shaped eyeball with a retina of pure hellfire.  For some reason or another, it reminded me of C-SPAN.
And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of these cocksuckers, all swooping and screeching and diving around me.  And a voice was screaming: "Good Eru!  What are these goddamn pigfuckers!"
"As your guardian, I advise you to walk at top speed.  It'll be a goddamn miracle if we can get to Mordor before you turn into a wild animal."
My 'guardian', Sam, was revealing himself to be the purple-blooded blowhard fatbody I had always suspected him of being.  I decided internally to piss in his water bottle after he falls asleep.  One more crazed, cynical comment like that and I'll sic the leeches on him.
Christ, did I say that?  Or just think it?  Was I talking? Did he hear me?
"Jesus, look at your face," Sam said, "you're about to explode."
"Fuck you, you devious fat bastard!" I responded.
In an instant, I felt a giant brown turd fall out of the sky.  The turd proceeded to attack me, reaching for the ring in an insistant rage.  There is nothing so crazed and irresponsible as a man in the depths of a Ring binge.  
I decided it was time for a reassessment of the entire situation.  I pushed the manturd into my guardian and hid behind some rocks.
There was something utterly pathetic in the sight of that fat hobbit grappling with a manturd.  For a moment, I felt I had done an awful thing; the experience must have been negative for Sam.  Better not tell him about those goddamn wraiths, I thought.  I stepped out from behind the rock.  Perhaps some reason would stop this foul beast from his dirty work.
"Uh...look, we're trying to find Gondor...and maybe the American Dream.  Would you like to travel with us?"
"Hot damn!  I never traveled with a fatso before!" he responded.
I suddenly liked our new found companion.
"Is that right?" I said.  "Well, I guess you're about ready, eh?"
The manturd nodded eagerly.
"We're your friends," said the fatbody.  "We're not like the others."
And that settled the matter about the ring.  The manturd, as I later learned, was named Golum.  He was a swinish pervert with a knack for sadomasochism and a foot fetish.  Either way, the three of us beat on the unkept path.  I felt like a monster reincarnation of Bilbo Baggins .... a Man on the Move, and just sick enough to be totally confident.
347

I haven’t read the whole thread yet, but could someone PLEASE do a Conan Doyle/Sherlock Holmes version??? OR a Marx and Engels one, a la The Capital???

348

(Based mainly on the movies, alas… Works better this way)

As the remains of the fellowship stands in front of Gandalf, after the ring was destroyed…

Gimli: “I want a sense of humor!”

Gangalf: “You can’t “have” a sense of humor! There is only one sure way to make the audience laugh- Slapstick!”

By that, Gangalf rasies Gimli and toses him back to Moria. The audience is LOLing.

Legolas: “I want love!”

Gandalf: “Love will come by itself. For the time being, you’ll have the next best thing.”

Gandalf is raising his hand, and suddenly Legolas is clad in leather clothes. Another raise of Gandalf’s hand, and Legolas disspapears… Only to reapear in a gay bar in happy hour.

Aragorn: “I want a brain!”

Gandalf: “It is not the brain that makes you smart. It is your look that makes people THINK you’re smart”

Gandalf gives Aragorn a shaving machine. Aragorn gets rid of the stubble that was on his face for the last two years. Arwen leaves him immidietly. Aragorn is now scheduled to present the head actor award in the Oscar ceremony.

Frodo: “I want acting skills!”

Gandalf: “Wait a second! I may be a wizard, but there are things that even I can’t do!”

“The Wizard of Middle Earth”, written by L. Frank Baum and adapted to movies by Victor Fleming

349

I did a quick search (mid morning UK time!) and it looks like this thread is second only to “Funny things said during sex” in MPSIMS which is sitting at 38800 views. With it being up on ToRN I’m sure we’ll have a new leader pretty soon.

350

This is a call for:

Red Dwarf,
Livejournal,
and Jack Kerouac

parodies.

351

Legolas and Boromir Are Dead

B: Is that you?
L: Here?
B: Where else?
L: What’s the matter with you?

L: We’ve been following him around since Elrond, and what have we learned? He has the One Ring of Power, thrust upon him by family and friends, along with the rest of us called upon to put his life before ours, including a wizard to deal with the occasional Balrog. An opportunity to get out of Hobbiton, see a bit of the Middle World, and the ability to become invisible when necessary, and how is he? Depressed.
B: When the wind is southerly.

352

I’m afraid someone already beat us to the LiveJournal version: The Secret Diaires

I don’t think that can be topped.

Still not King. Heh.

353

There’s a new Secret Diary out- it’s Aragorn’s Diary, part 2.

-Mel

354

If LotR had been written by Kipling:

You may talk o’ ale and lembas
And the nine Fellowship members
When you’re sittin’ in the Prancing Pony’s wing
But if it comes to questin’
The story that goes best in
Is of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring!

For it’s Ring! Ring! Ring!
He’s packed his bags and buckled on his Sting
He’s gone to Orodruin
And cast the Ring to ruin
Thus helping in the Return of the King.

Now in the sweet Shire land
In his hole beneath the sand
A wizard came to pay Frodo a call
He said, “Beware of Sauron
And his One Ring that you’ve got on,
If he gets it, then all Middle-Earth will fall.”
Frodo said, “I’m just a hobbit!
Why pick on me to lob it
Into the Cracks of Doom ‘way down in Mordor?
The Nazgul’ll be pursuin’
As that Gollum will be doin’
Before I can even sneak across the border!”

Said Gandalf, “Ring! Ring! Ring!
You must go forth and get rid of this thing!”
Frodo said, “Oh, what the Hell?”
And set off for Rivendell
With Sam, Merry, and Pippin in his string.

Hmmm…what rhymes with “Precious”? Anybody care to take it from here?

lastin

355

Once upon a time, in a hole in the ground, on the other side of the Hundred-Acre Mirkwood, there lived a hobbit of very little brain.

And so it was that Christopher Gandalf came to Frodo’s door and lightly dinged the brass bell with his staff.

“Bother,” said Frodo, whose hands were covered in sticky honey. “Come in,” he called to the door.

Christopher Gandalf did as he was bidden and when he saw the sight that was Frodo, his arms and face covered in sticky, gooey, honey, he could hardly hold back a laugh. “Oh, Frodo, you silly old hobbit.”

The Lord of the Rings
by A. A. Milne

356

Confessions of a Hooker: My Lifelong Love Affair With Golf
by Meriadoc (Merry) Brandybuck (not Bob Hope at all)

…so we found ourselves, with the light fading, at Weathertop, one honey of a course, but a tough one for a guy who favors his driver. The Ranger was all in and went for a snooze, so the four of us decided to go Best Ball while we could still see, when suddenly…

357

It was quite a battle. The balrog was big, and it was nasty. It reminded me of Dad’s old friend Sigmund, who used to tell me that if I didn’t deal with my family issues, some big nasty monster would come up and bite me on the ass. Which it was presently doing.
On this particular shadow, they call me Gandalf, or sometimes Mithrandir, or sometimes Olorin. Which is close enough to the truth, anyway. This isn’t my favorite place to be, it’s no club med, but Random needed help, something about a ring that one of my uncles made. Once again, I should have paid attention to all those things that Dworkin used to talk about.

So now I’m here, falling and slashing at a fire monster. I’ve caught up with Greyswandir, which has another name on this shadow. Why Dad’s sword happened to appear in this shadow, I’m not sure. It’s been a long time since he’s made a showing…I can only wonder if he’s going to appear, sometime soon. The sword has a habit of glowing when the minions of chaos are around. I suppose that if I wanted to make it glow, I could change into Chaos form myself, but somehow it would lessen the dramatic tension.

I keep falling, and wondering just how far this shaft goes. The endless drop is giving me time to ponder about about the other Sorcerers who happen to be in this shadow.

Saruman, I trust you like a brother, which is to say, not at all. You’d fit right in with the Amberites, right down to locking your friends and associates in towers. You need to work on controlling that crystal ball of yours…someone fromDad’s family has been leaving trinkets behind. Must have been Brand. He’s the kind of guy that would dig this shadow.
Radagast, your too good for all these people. Glad you got away…

Alatar and Pallando, I don’t know you but good luck anyway…

With a clang, Greyswandir scores on the monster, but it doesn’t appear to be phased, although it does appear to have a skin condition that would make dollar signs flash in the eyes of a Mary Kay cosmetician. I think Fido here needs more than a little moisturizer.
Right about now, I’m wishing I had some trumps. I could sure use a back door right about now, and Fido is trying to gouge my eyes out, only his hands are way too big, so it’s more like he’s trying to squeeze my head in one of those toy soldier nutcrackers they like so much in Europe on that shadow Earth we spend so much time on.
I try to work shadow as I fall.

visions of sugar plum faries dance through my head…

a glint of silver beyond that crag coming up…

a cave beyond that band of minerals…

My head hurt, and to no avail. Someone wants me to stay here, some one with great power, and the question is, who.

The other question still banging around my head is, who sent the Fire Demon. I’m guessing it must be someone from Mom’s side. I’m guessing the same person, but I could be wrong.

The demon disengages as we fall…

There’s a big pool of water coming up…crap. Just what I need, roasted like a pig by someone’s - I shall call him X - by X’shormonally challenged thug, and now I’m going to be drowned, if I survive the impact. Hitting water at terminal velocity is pretty much the same thing as hitting concrete. I use the Logrus now to try and pull something useful out of the air. I call for a parachute, and get a large patchwork of skins, about parachute size. It’ll have to do.

I slow down enough to enter the water at a speed that won’t reduce my to hamburger. Only it’s not really water, because I seem to be able to breathe, and there’s a stairway, going down. It goes up too, but given that X’s lapdog is trying to keep my from going down any further, my curiosity is getting the better of me. I continue on down, Fido in hot pursuit.

We reach a chamber, and strangely Fido rushes past me into the chamber. He is standing between me and what appears to be the Pattern of Amber…Only not the pattern of Amber. It’s incomplete, it has holes. Greyswandir drags me closer to the starting point, as if of its own accord, and now I notice that Fido is desperately trying to stop me from going anywhere near the broken pattern.

It’s now that I realize that Fido and I are not alone. In the center of the pattern, prostrate on her back as if asleep, lies Galadriel.

And would you guess what the Pattern wants me to do?

358

Here’s another one:

If LotR had been written by Samuel Beckett

A Shire road.

A tree.

Evening.

MERIADOC: Charming spot. Inspiring prospects. (He turns to Peregrin.) Let’s go.

PEREGRIN: We can’t.

MERIADOC: Why not?

PEREGRIN: We’re waiting for Frodo.

MERIADOC: (despairingly). Ah! (Pause.) You’re sure it was here?

PEREGRIN: What?

MERIADOC: That we were to wait.

PEREGRIN: He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Do you see any others?

MERIADOC: What is it?

PEREGRIN: I don’t know. Old Man Willow?

MERIADOC: Where are the leaves?

PEREGRIN: It must be dead.

MERIADOC: No more weeping.

PEREGRIN: Or perhaps it’s not the season.

MERIADOC: Looks to me more like an Ent.

PEREGRIN: A Huorn.

MERIADOC: An Ent.

PEREGRIN: A-. What are you insinuating? That we’ve come to the wrong place?

MERIADOC: He should be here.

PEREGRIN: He didn’t say for sure he’d come.

MERIADOC: And if he doesn’t come?

PEREGRIN: We’ll come back tomorrow.

MERIADOC: And then the day after tomorrow.

PEREGRIN: Possibly.

MERIADOC: And so on.

359

well, he did sometimes. The particular copy of “all in green went my love riding” I was working with had those letters capitalized… but it may have been a warped copy?

360

lol! oh wow, you’re my HERO. r+g are dead is the most rockin play ever. awesome job! “when the wind is southerly.” XD!!!

361

Hi! I did a Hamlet version–it’s on page 6 if you want to read it! i loved yours though XD! mine’s rather different though–Piplet, Price of Tookmark if you will. (;
-epigramcracker