That “old Irish song” was written in the early 60s by Tom Lehrer, a rather brilliant parody master in his own right. 
*Iff’n I don’t get to it, I’d suggest someone try a Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles version of LOTR… 
*
~Dr. Seus, with a bit from The Cat in the Hat Comes Back…~
The water ran out.
And then I saw the Ring!
A ring in the tub!
And, oh boy what a thing!
A shiny, gold one ring!
The letter like orange ink!
And I said, “Will this be
destroyed? I don’t think!”
~And, a section of The Nazgul Before Christmas in light of the holiday season…~
Mount Doom on the crest of the new fallen ash
gave the luster of midday Elbereth hid in her cache.
When what to my wondering eyes appeared on this Yule
but a miniature sleigh and nine horsed Nazgul,
with a dark lord driver so terrible as the dawn
I knew in a moment it must be Sauron.
More rapid than eagles his Nazgul they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitsen!
To the top off Mount Doom! To my home tower tall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”
And how about an effort from Longfellow?
Middle Earth our hero’s birthplace
Little one, endearing hobbit
Living under fertile topsoil
Where the worms and earwigs wander
In a hole of charm and comfort
Happy home of hobbit Bilbo.
Very dear to Bilbo Baggins
Was his nephew, name of Frodo
He the heir to Bilbo’s spirit
He the bearer of the One Ring
For he travelled through the country
Journeyed on with his companions
Met with elves and ents and goblins
From the place from which he started
Down the road of high adventure
Ever onward from his front door
Ever onward into Mordor…
ROTFLMAO!!!
bows low to Ghostwind THANK YOU!!! snort That was hilarious!
Oh and - HI Fishy!!!
Loved your Edward George Bulwer-Lytton version!
Funny, there is a set of apartments locally that are near some powerlines. That is soooo NJ it isn’t funny.
Yes, it is.
That set of apartments is called Rivendell (somehow I’m forbidden from editing my own post!).
…because someone actually requested it…
So, what if J.R.R. had decided to enter the opening sentence of LOtR as part of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest?
:eek:
When Mr. Bilbo Baggins, Esquire, of Bag End, H----, announced that he would shortly be celebrating the eleventh annniversary of his centenary year with an affair of singular magnificence, there was much discourse and ebullition in H----, for Bilbo was very affluent and very eccentric and had been the wonder of the Sh---- for three score years, ever since his remarkable evanescence and reappearance (the opulences he had conveyed back from his Odyssian wanderings had now become local legend) and it was popularly held true, whatever the more venerable citizens might aver, that the Hill at Bag End was replete with tunnels filled with treasures beyond imagining; and if that was not enough to be blessed with Fame’s fickle favour, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at, since, while Time marched on in Her relentless yet awesome majesty, Her ponderous footfalls seemed to have left little imprint on the afformentioned Mr. Baggins.
That’s fandom number 2. cackle
The 2001 Master and Apprentice Bulwer-Lytton/TPM Slash Challenge (18+ only. Sorry.)
You’re welcome.
Got another one for you. Hope you like it.
And for everyone else who contributed to this thread:
BRAVO!!!
BRAVA!!!
Thanks for the idea, Fingolfin.
-Fishgoat
You’re welcome.
Just posted another one for you. Hope you like it.
And for everyone else who contributed to this thread:
BRAVO!!!
BRAVA!!!
Thanks for the idea, Fingolfin.
-Fishgoat
ARGH!! Sorry about the double post. Trying to get rid of it, but the edit button doesn’t seem to work.
Bilbo Baggins’s house sat in the middle of intense green lawn and the graceful sweep of trees. The house gleamed in the hot Middle Earth sunshine. Gandalf the Grey, my uncle’s friend, parked the horse-drawn cart on the crushed gravel of the driveway. The gravel was so white, it looked like handpicked rock salt. Somwhere out of sight the soft whir of fireworks disrupted the peace of Bag End Shire. The grass was absolutely perfect in the middle of one of the worst droughts Bag End has had in over twenty years. Gandalf wasn’t here to talk to Mr. Baggins about water management. He was here to talk about saving the world.
Not the universe. He’s not that good. I mean Middle Earth. The decaying world. Black evil. Night of the living dead. Though certainly less dramatic than Hollywood would ever put up on the screen. It’s a job, that’s all, like selling.
Laurell K. Hamilton, <i>The Laughing Corpse</i>
a Frodo Baggins, Ring Bearer, novel
Oops, looks like I got that one wrong… my friends told me it was an Irish song, and since it sounded that way… my apologies…
My first posting here–arrived at this board via Neil Gaiman’s journal, where we talked up a few of the great offerings here.
And here’s my little part to help get the board to 500 postings before the new year :o)
Frodo and Sam’s Excellent Adventure
*
Frodo: (spots a lady going into the store) Excuse me, when did Sauron rule Middle Earth?
Cashier: I don’t know. I just work here. (leaves)
Frodo: Wanna try the Thrifty Mart?
Sam: Sure.
(They pack up their stuff and get ready to leave, but the wind picks up and it looks like a storm’s building. They look up and suddenly a phone booth comes right out of the sky and lands in front of them.)
Both: Whoa! Not bad.
(The booth’s door opens and Gandalf walks out.)
Gandalf: Greetings, my excellent hobbits.
Frodo: Do you know when Sauron ruled Middle Earth?
Gandalf: Well, perhaps we could ask him. Sam S. Gamgee, Esquire and Frodo ‘Froderick’ Baggins. Gentlemen, I’m here to help you with your Fellowship.
Frodo: What?
Sam: How?
(Suddenly another phone booth drops from the sky. They turn and look at it.)
Frodo: Sam?
Sam: What?
Frodo: Strange things are afoot at the Shire K.
(The doors to the second booth open and another Sam and Frodo come out. For our purposes here this new Sam and Frodo will be Sam2 and Frodo2.)
Sam2: Dudes, you guys are gonna go to Mordor!
Frodo2: Yeah! You are gonna have a most excellent adventure through Middle Earth.
Sam: Who are you guys?
Frodo2: We’re you, dude.
Frodo: No way. No way!
Frodo2: Yes way, Frodo!
Sam2: Look, we know how you feel. We didn’t believe it either when we were you and we us said what we us are saying right now.
Frodo: Okay wait, if you guys are really us, what number are we thinking of?
Sam2 & Frodo2: 69, dudes!
Sam & Frodo: Whoa!
(All four of them play the air guitar.)
Sam2: Look, we’ve gotta go.
Frodo2: Yeah, we gotta get back to the report. (they turn to leave and spot Gandalf) Gandalf!
Sam2: Listen to this dude, Gandalf. He knows what he’s talking about.
Frodo2: Right! And Frodo, give my love to the elves.
Frodo: Who?
Frodo2: You’ll see.
Gandalf: Gentleman…is everything all right?
(They turn and walk back to the booth.)
Frodo2: Frodo, don’t forget to hide the ring!
(Frodo nods his head and pats his pocket.)
Sam2 & Frodo2: Thanks, Gandalf.
(They get back into the booth.)
Sam2 & Frodo2: Catch ya later, Sam and Frodo.
(They close the door and take off. Gandalf turns back to Sam and Frodo and motions for them to enter his booth. Frodo holds up a finger for him to wait a moment and he turns to Sam.)
Frodo: Dude, are you sure we should be doing this?
Sam: Frodo, you and I have witnessed many things, but nothing as bodacious as what just happened. Besides we told ourselves to listen to this guy.
Frodo: What if we were lying?
Sam: Why would we lie to ourselves?
(Frodo nods and they walk over to the booth.)
Frodo: (to Gandalf) How are you gonna help us?
Sam: Yeah, are you gonna call someone and get the answers?
Gandalf: Gentlemen, we’re gonna do a lot more than that. (he dials the phone.)
Both: Whoa, excellent.
(Gandalf then hangs up the phone and puts on his sunglasses.)
Gandalf: Brace yourselves amigos. Gentlemen, we’re middle history.
(The booth takes off.)
*
Certainly not as good as some I’ve read here, but I felt I /must/ pay homage to Bill and Ted.
Anne Rice’s first book in the Ring Bearer’s Chronicles; “Interview with the Hobbit”.
“I see,” said the hobbit thoughtfully, and slowly he walked across the room to the round window. For a long time he stood there against the dim light of the shire and the passing lamp light of the last stragglers of the evening along the shire road. The hooded figure could see the furnishings of the room clearly now, the round oak table, the chairs, a washbasin hung on one wall with a mirror. He set the large book he’d brought with him down on the table and waited.
“But how many pages do you have with you in that red book there?” asked the hobbit turning now so that the other could see his profile. “Enough for the story of a life?”
“Sure, if it’s a good life.”
“Fair enough,” the hobbit replied as he eyed the faceless presence under the hood. He couldn’t see anything in there… “I’m going to turn up the lamp wick so it will be brighter in here.”
The hooded one began to ready his inkwell and brought out the long quill from within the folds of his long tattered cape. A sigh escaped him as the hobbit’s hand reached to turn the little handle on the lamp. “It will make little difference,” said the voice from under the cowl.
“I only wanted to prepare you.”
At once the room was flooded with a bright yellow light, and the hooded one, staring down at the hobbit, could not repress a gasp, “Dear God. Your feet!”
The hobbit’s feet were bare and completely covered with a thick curly hair that resembled fur.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, “I want this opportunity… Shall I begin with my days in the shire? I was born… I grew up? Or should I begin with the day when I was given this dark gift? Yes, that is where it really starts… I was forty five, but time is different for hobbits, I was a young man at that age, and the owner of a small plot just south of the river…”
(-Insert secret diaries; Frodo is given the dark gift and is looked after by Sam and they find Gollum and adopt him as their child only to have the little creature turn on them at the last minute and have it all end in fire.)
… The hooded figure drew back and ran the fingers of his armored hand loosely over his hood. “No!” he said with a short intake of breath, “No! It didn’t have to end like that! I won’t believe it! That ring must still exist!” his voice began to take on volume and grow stronger and more menacing as the figure in the hood rose from where he was sitting, “You brought me up here for a reason, didn’t you! Didn’t you! You want to give the ring to someone else… well, give it to me! I want what you have!”
(check out the next book where Sam becomes a rock star!)
Bwhahahahaha!!!
Ahem. Please see my sig. Been that way since shortly after I registered here last year.
That was my jumping-on point as well
Can we get a LotR in the style of not Hemingway, but in the style of the yearly re-write Hemingway competition?
Sorry Weird Al, I don’t always read the sigs…
-Outlaw
The Big Ring/Farewell, My Precious by Raymond Chandler
It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid-March, with the sun not shining and the usual look of hard, cold doom in the foothills. I was wearing an orc’s old suit, brown pants, brown shirt, no shoes, some mail and armor. I was tired, I was frightened, and I was desperate, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the apocalyptic hero ought to be. I was calling on the doom of all the races of Middle-Earth.
As a rule this Mordor joint wasn’t the sort of place a respectable person would be seen in. That suit me just fine. I never claimed to be a respectable person. And I’ve seen enough unrespectable people doing unrespectable things that it rarely makes me lose any sleep. This case, however, was one of the exceptions.