In the line of musicals…
Has anyone done Oklahoma! yet? How about Carousel? Phantom of the Opera?
LOL, emele, that’s too funny. Now this tune will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day…
in my post above, I messed up. It says “Gondor” where it should say “Helms Deep”. For some reason, it won’t let me edit my post.
Sorry, don’t mean to be a buzz kill. Great thread, I’m enjoying it much. Just couldn’t hold back one comment…
Ekers-
Have you actually read Ayn Rand, or did you pick her name from your “random list of philosophers I don’t understand”? Objectivism is pretty far from Communism or Socialism. If you’re interested:
Monty Python and the Lord of the Rings
Makes Harry Potter look like a children’s story …
Scene - Open field.
ARAGORN:
Say there, little dwarf!
FRODO:
Hobbit!
ARAGORN:
Little Hobbit. Sorry. Who lives in that hole over there?
FRODO:
Actually I’m rather TALL for a Hobbit.
ARAGORN:
I-- what?
FRODO:
I’m rather tall for a Hobbit – I’m not little.
ARAGORN:
Well, I can’t just call you “Hobbit”, now can I?
FRODO:
Well, you could have said “Excuse me, FRODO”.
ARAGORN:
Well, I didn’t know you were called “FRODO”.
FRODO:
Well, you didn’t bother to find ask me, did you?
ARAGORN:
I did say sorry about the little dwarf comment, but from the behind you looked …
FRODO:
What I object to is that you automatically treat me like an inferior!
ARAGORN:
Well, I am King.
FRODO:
Oh, King, eh? Oooh, that’s rich in’t? – and just how did you get that, eh? By exploiting the elves and dwarves, eh? By hanging on to outdated imperialistic nonsense that creates the economic and social differences in our society. If there’s ever going to be any progress with the–
SAMWISE:
Ooh FRODO, there’s some LOVELY filth over here! Oh (noticing ARAGORN), good morning!
ARAGORN:
How do you do, good sir? I am ARAGORN, King of Middle Earth. Who’s hole is that?
SAMWISE:
King of the what?
ARAGORN:
The Middle Earth.
SAMWISE:
What’s the Middle Earth?
ARAGORN:
Well, ALL of this is. We are all part of the Middle Earth, and I am your king.
SAMWISE:
I didn’t know we had a king. I thought we were an independent cooperative.
FRODO:
Oh come on! We’re living in a dictatorship: a self-indulgent monarchial autocracy in which the working classes–
SAMWISE:
Oh, there you go bringing class into it again.
FRODO:
Well, that’s what it’s all about, eh? If only people would hear of–
ARAGORN:
Please! Please, good people. I am in haste. Who lives in that hole over there?
SAMWISE:
Bilbo lives there.
ARAGORN:
Then is he your lord?
SAMWISE:
We don’t have a lord.
ARAGORN:
What?
FRODO:
I told you. We’re an revolutionary syndicate. Each of us takes turn to act as a sort of executive officer each week …
ARAGORN:
Yes.
FRODO:
…but all the determinations of that said officer have to be affirmed at a special meeting…
ARAGORN:
Yes, yes, I see.
FRODO:
…by a simple majority in the case of purely minor matters …
ARAGORN:
Oh, be quiet!
FRODO:
…but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more major–
ARAGORN:
Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!
SAMWISE:
Order, eh? Who does he think he is? Heh.
ARAGORN:
I am your king!
SAMWISE:
Well, I didn’t vote for you.
ARAGORN:
You don’t vote for kings.
SAMWISE:
Well, how did you become King, then?
ARAGORN:
I am descended from the Ancient Kings. That is why I am your king!
FRODO:
Listen. Paramount executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some illegitimate statement of birthright.
ARAGORN:
Be quiet!
FRODO:
Well, but you can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause you make a claim that so-in-so was your daddy!
ARAGORN:
Shut up!
FRODO:
I mean, if I went 'round saying I was an emperor just because I claimed to be someone’s son, they’d laugh me off the street!
ARAGORN:
Shut up, will you? Shut up! (grabbing Frodo).
FRODO:
Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system.
ARAGORN:
Shut up!
FRODO:
Oh! OH! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help! Help! I’m being repressed!
ARAGORN:
Bloody little FREAK!!
FRODO:
Oh, what a give-away. Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh? You saw it, didn’t you?
DOH! Sorry, ok, I misread your post, so now I’m the fool. Especially since the board won’t let me edit my original post to retract it and hide my shame. Nevermind.
A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but this time it can be compared to a Balrog.
Gandalf, soon to be assigned head of the White Visitation, sits in velveteen darkness, wisps of pipeweed vapor morphing into Adenoid shapes in 4/4 time, polyrythmic over 5, shifting to major flat 7 add 9 in a sickening cacophony as Orcs, AKA Sauron’s Schwarzcommando, twisting and writhing beneath the trusswork archway break into chorus.
“There is no way out.”
Lie and wait, lie still and be silent. Screaming holds across the sky. Are there wings in that darkness? . . .
-Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Ringbow
I really tried to check through all of the pages to check that nothing like this had already been posted, but I ran out of steam at about page 11 so here goes.
Hobbit Traffic
“The third age has landed. All that exists now is pipe weed, pubs and long expected parties! I’m only like 3 foot tall, man. I’m gonna blow smoke out my pipe like a smokey ring. I’m gonna talk quietly to rangers all night, I’m gonna lose my footing on the table. The free peoples of middle earth are fighting, man! Tonight I’m mr underhill, I’m frodo baggins, I’m going to mordor with my chosen fellowship man! We’re gonna get more split apart than Gil Galad ever did! Anything could happen tonight, you know! This could be the best night of my life! I’ve got the ring in my trouser pocket, I’m gonna wear the one, man! the lembas are on me! YEAH!!!”
Ala Human Traffic
Knowing that this could’ve been done better, and that the other Thompson posting just wasn’t up to snuff, I give you:
Fear and Loathing in Mordor.
Bilbo was in the bathtub when I returned. Submerged in green water–the oily product of some Middle Earth bath salts he’d picked up from some savage hawker, along with a new AM/FM radio plugged into the electric razor socket. Top volume. Some gibberish by a thing called “Three Dog Night,” about a frog named Jeremiah who wanted “Joy to the World.”
First Lennon, now this, I thought. Next we’ll have Glen Campbell screaming “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”
Where indeed? No flowers in this town. Only carnivorous plants. I turned down the volume and noticed a hunk of chewed-up white paper beside the radio. Bilbo seemed not to notice the sound-change. He was lost in a fog of green steam; only half his head was visible above the water line.
“You ate this?” I asked, holding up the white pad.
Bilbo ignored me. But I knew. He would be very difficult to reach for the next six hours. The whole blotter was chewed up.
“You evil son of a bitch,” I said. “You better hope there’s some thorazine in that bag, because if there’s not you’re in bad trouble tomorrow.”
“The ring!” he snarled. “I want the ring!”
“What ring?”
“The one ring–you know where!”
“You’re doomed,” I said. “I’m leaving here in two hours–and then they’re going to come up here and beat the mortal shit out of you with big saps. Right there in the tub.”
“I dig my own graves,” he said. “Green water and the ring. . .don’t make me use this.” HIs are lashed out of the water, Sting gripped in his fist.
“Gandalf,” I muttered. And at that point I figured he was beyond help–lying there in the tub with a head full of acid and the sharpest knife I’ve ever seen, totally incapable of reaon, demanding the Ring. This is it, I thought. I’ve gone as far as I can with this savage waterhead. This time it’s a suicide trip. This time he wants it. He’s ready. . .
OK, I’m a complete hack but I had to try:
Many men have ventured into Moria, but few have returned sane. I was to meet the bearer of the one ring there, but circumstance dictated that it could not be a happy occasion. As the Eye burned into my mind I heard a voice cry out, The Precious, My Precious…
I still shudder to recall that voice, and the shape of what once had been a man, but had been twisted so savagely by the fire that burns in the darkest, impenatrable Heart of Moria.
Re-reader, I appreciate the effort you put into your post, but I’ve got a paperback copy of Outlander in front of me right now, and it looks like you’ve cut and pasted large sections from pages 280-283, changing only the names and the narrative perspective (from first person to third). That’s not parody so much as it’s a copyright issue. Very bad form. 
I love that there’s still lots of funny stuff pouring into this thread after 16(!!) pages. (Whatever happened to the 10-page limit anyway?)
The Lard of the Rings by Kinky Friedman
It was a cold night in New York. A stiff northerly was blowing big snowflakes around my loft in 199 Vandam Street. The cat was sitting on the windowsill and, with a mew of distaste, watched the smoking remains of the two towers which were blown to the lord by the flying Orks of Saruman.
I took a big cuban cigar from Sherlock Holmes’ head and set fire to it, holding the tip of the cigar ever so slightly above the flame. I puffed at it while watching thoughtfully around the loft. The industrial-size espresso machine was steaming like the train to nowhere. Hank Williams looked out of the compartment window, dreaming of Kaw-Liga the little wooden Indian. Winnie Katz’s lesbian dance class made thumping sounds on the ceiling, hopefully leaving it in place. On the mantelpiece, the little black puppet head smiled, and rightly so, because nothing was happening and life inside this universe of a loft was like always.
An ashtray the shape and size of Texas sat on my desk between two red phones, which rang. The cat leaped sideways and disappeared in the rain room, obviously using the opportunity to dump a serious Nixon. I picked up the blower on the left. “Start talkin’,” I said.
A little rodentlike voice shouted “Kinkstah!”. It was Frotso, my old housepest. “Kinkstah! Guess what I found!” I had no idea, but I could tell from past experience that whatever he found, it meant trouble. He even inherited several million dollars a while ago and had never seen a cent of it, not to mention my expenses of which I never saw a cent.
“You found your mind which you lost Elvis knows when.”
“No, Kinkstah, it’s a ring with some strange writing scribbled around it. It makes you invisible when you wear it. you gotta see it. Let’s meet at Wong’s in an hour.” I cradled the blower, poured a healthy shot of Jameson’s into the bullhorn and tossed it.
The cat came back from the rain room and raised an eyebrow. She never liked Frotso and made a point that she would never make an attempt at liking him.
“Frotso gave me a ring, because he found a ring,” I told the cat. The cat, of course, said nothing. Being a cat, she had some dignity and disliked silly word games.
The wind outside went stronger. It made moises like angry men shouting. The cat jumped on the window sill and peered down, a trace of recognition in her face. The noise of the wind became words: “Throw the goddam puppet head, Kinky!”
I opened the window and looked down. Between the garbage trucks, Rambalf the grey jumped up and down like a madman.
“Wait down there, we have a date with a special friend.” I closed the window, took an emergency ration of cigars from Sherlock Holmes’ head and left the loft. I left the cat in charge.
Lawyerese
The Party of the First Part, consisting of, forthwith:
Frodo Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire
Samwise Gamgee, a Gardner for Frodo Baggins, aforementioned
and their heirs and designees as provided in statements witnessed and executed under the laws of the jurisdiction in which they reside, does state their intent to remove from the world, end the existence of, and otherwise destroy or irredeemably damage to the point of uselessness one RING OF POWER (hereinafter, “Ring” or “the Ring”).
Whereas such Ring is not a ward of the state, on the rolls of inventory maintained by the state, or otherwise under governmental control,
And Whereas such Ring has been under the de facto ownership of one Gollum (formerly Sméagol, sometime Hobbit of the Stoors), and such Gollum does now swear loyalty to and abide by the wishes of the Party of the First Part,
And Whereas the several person(s) who may have laid claim to the Ring have failed to respond to properly-placed notifications in local media within the legislated timeframe,
the Party of the First Part does hereby resolve that the Ring is their exclusive and rightful property, do dispose of in any manner they see fit.
Whereas the Congress of the Middle Earth has established laws under Section 15.2-426 of the Code of Middle Earth restricting littering upon and introduction of foreign objects into Mount Doom, and the Party of the First Part does so intend, this request for such permission is respectfully submitted this eleventy-first birthday, and is signed and witnessed by the Party of the First Part and an accredited Notary Public in the service of the State.
[signed],
Frodo B., Samwise G.
[signed]
Gandalf the Grey, Witness
I attest that I have examined the credentials provided by the aforesigned and did witness their signature hereto, on the power of my Notary.
[signed]
Bob
My Notary expires soon .
Frodo had come a long way to this high mountain. He had joined the army as a private, and now he was an officer, Major Frodo Baggins.
Sam stood beside him, holding the massive seven-barreled gun as they watched Frodo’s enemy, Gollum, fall into the fire of Mount Doom. Gollum had bitten off Frodo’s finger and fallen to his death, taking teh Ring of Power with him. The magnificent Ring that had once been Sauron’s. Now it was destroyed in the fires that had forged it, and it was Sauron’s ring no longer. It was Frodo’s Ring.
- from “Frodo’s Ring” by Bernard Cornwell
Sorry if someone’s already done this.
Heh.
Good stuff so far - I got sent this page in a link.
Here’s one I did a while back.
LotR in the style of…
Aptar and Kerpal’s “Kickdog” prank phonecall!
If you’re lost, just do a Google search for “Kickdog” and pick a Flash anim 
Fatboy Tim - your “Full Mithril Jacket” was excellent! LOL!
“A Palantír Darkly”
While Sam milled about in the bushes, looking for the vial of coke, Frodo slipped the ring on again. And closed his eyes. He hoped it worked. He was sick of being burned. After all, Bilbo was his uncle, but he was not above burning a nephew. Once Bilbo had sold him a bag of doctored Ent leaves, claiming it was Tookish Gold. Frodo had coughed for a week trying to get the shit out of his system, not to mention his pipe. The ring itself had come from Gollum, another meth head and all-around freak. Who knew what Gollum’s trip was, only that it was bad. Any doubts and all you had to do was look at the poor bastard. In his head, Frodo rolled an instant fantasy: The Eye was looking at him again. Calling him. In his hand, Sting had grown fifty-feet tall, but for some reason, it still weighed the same. It shone bright white, like when you’re sterilizing a buddy’s needle. Frodo flashed on this and drove Sting deep into the darkness of the pupil.
And then something strange happened. The ring made him invisible to others. Maybe even to himself. But when he drove that hallucination into that other hallucination, the ring was somehow weakened. He saw Sam. And Sam saw him. Impossible, he thought, but Sam stared.
Sam saw a vague blur staring back at him, looking like a Hobbit. He was Everyhobbit and in every combination. Unsure of what to do, Sam shrugged and continued with what he was doing. Earlier, he had prepared a Rivendell hit. That’s when you snort the coke off the Lembas, inhaling some of the Elvish crumbs as well. Not knowing what to do about Frodo, Gandalf, the Ring, or the bummed-out fellowship, which was now more of a loose affiliation of dopers than an actual fellowship, Sam bumped the hit and fell to his knees, joining Frodo in the murk.
Anyone ever read any Mac Bolan?
Strider fisted his 2 Grendel & Ghost Quadra balanced battle blades, with a Roland Co quill harmonizer. 47 inches of honed death dully reflected the light from the distant fire. The ridged grips dug into his hands thru the leather gloves. The storm covered his approach. The nazgul troops never new what hit them. He swung out with his left blade. It barked as it hit the first in the back of the head, spraying blood bone and brain matter against the gray stones of the ruined temple.
I appreciate your warm welcome to the forum.:rolleyes:
I sincerely apologize if I inadvertently broke any of your rules.
My post was certainly meant as a parody, and I believe that it falls under fair use and was not a copyright violation. Although I am a practicing attorney, I am not a copyright law expert, and since it is your forum and not mine I bow to your opinion. I’m sure you will delete my post if you deem it appropriate to do so.
I also posted a link to my parody on the Compuserve Writers Forum where Diana Gabaldon is a moderator, so if she objects to the parody as a copyright violation of her work, I’m sure she will so inform me.
My name Frodo Baggins and this Ring is my thing. It
Wants to bind the bearer and in the Darkness bring it.
No hammer, no chisel can even ding it.
Sauron forged it so he could Emperor Ming it.
Isildur cut it off and he shouda fling it
But he tried to take it home and big-time king it
He dissed on the Orcs who had a way to ping it
It showed him in the river so their arrows zing it
Now Elves are so they smart and they like to sing it
They all natural but they ain’t no Tlingit.
Dwarves got the gold but they can’t bling-bling it.
Men got the swords but they can’t Badda-a-bing it.
Ain’t noone find it then, it’s a missing thing. It
Only us hobbits find a way to cling it.
Now Sauron gotta plan but the Nazgul wing it
And Gollum sees my neck and he wants to wring it
And Shelob bite my ass but Sam he Sting it
Now it’s the Crack of Doom, I say It’s Time To Ring It!
***** Aaaaahhh!
RingBearer FB