If LotR Had Been Written By Someone Else!?

Cafe Society
,
61

Frodo was beginning to get very tired of living with his uncle Bilbo in Hobbiton and of having nothing to do: once or twice he had peeped into the red book in which Bilbo was writing, but he couldn’t make it out and it did not have enough pictures of elves, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Frodo `without pictures of elves?’

So he was considering in his own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made him feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of having an ale with Sam in Bywater would be worth the trouble of getting up and collecting Same, when suddenly a dwarf with a blue hood and walking stick ran close by him.

There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Frodo think it so very much out of the way to hear the Dwarf say to himself, `Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late! And Balin will be so angry with me’ (when he thought it over afterwards, it occurred to him that he ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the dwarf actually took a large axe out of its belt, and swung it a few times as if preparing for battle, and then hurried on, Frodo started to his feet, for it flashed across his mind that he had never before seen a Dwarf in Hobbiton with either an axe or a belt to remove it from, and burning with curiosity, he ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Frodo after it, never once considering how in the world he was to get out again. The hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Frodo had not a moment to think about stopping himself before he found himself falling down a very deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or he fell very slowly, for he had plenty of time as he went down to look about him and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, he tried to look down and make out what he was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then he looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there he saw maps of Middle Earth and pictures of dragons hung upon pegs. He took down a jar from one of the shelves as he passed; it was labeled `LEMBAS,’ but to his great disappointment it was empty . . . .

From Frodo’s Adventures in Middle Earth, by Lewis Carroll.

62

Suprised someone else hasn’t come up with this one:

“What’s it going to be then, eh?”

There was me, that is Frodo, and my three droogs, that is Merry, Pippin, and Sam, Sam being really dim, and we sat in the Prancing Pony making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard…

That’s all I’ve got today. Someone with more talent can continue it.

63

Hehehehehe, O man, these are just great!! :slight_smile:

Tom Wolfe

*His head still on the pillow, Frodo Baggins groaned. The sound of the knocking on the door of the Prancing Pony was shaking the poisonous yolk that was his head, shaking it, threatening to break it. The yolk was as heavy as unforged mithril, and it tilted this way and that, painful as orc-spear in naked flesh. If the yolk broke, he was finished.

What had he been doing last night? He looked with disgust at the filthy clothes he had left scattered on the floor, at the sloppy arrangement of blankets on the floor that had served him for the bed. A man-sized chair of rickety wood was by the fireplace. Dear God, the Breelanders and their cheap substitutes for real furniture. Again the yolk shifted.

Something about last night. Merry and Pippin had been getting drunk on Butterbur’s tab, and he had joined them even though he only had twenty silver pennies and those had to last him until Rivendell…something about the Ring. Frodo jerked his head up and immediately the yolk crashed into his skull. His head fell again. He had sung some outrageously stupid song of that old prat Bilbo’s, and even Sam had come in by then and had asked him to sing it again and Frodo, drunk with beer and attention, had agreed and then he had fallen and the Ring had fallen too -

The knocking continued. He had to answer or he would never get to sleep again. He stood up, clutching at the legs of the chair as the yolk shifted again.

He would never drink again. Never! Not so much as a small miruvor until Rivendell - he would be reformed from today on.

The knocking continued. “Oh, come in!” Frodo tried to yell, but ended in a feeble groan. God, the Breelanders, he thought again. The Ring. Why did I ever come here in the first place?*

64

Anyone who hasn’t watched that link, really really needs to.
I am gobsmacked. Fingolfin, did you do that yourself? How long did it take you? I want the “making-of” extras please!

click-the-link-click-the-link-click-the-link-click-the-link-click-the-link-click-the-link

65

Frodo jacked in.

He felt huge, invincible, unstoppable. Some small part of him knew that was the hits of pipe-weed talking, skewing his sense of self, making his nerves scream like they were being raked over rusted chrome. Knew, and didn’t care.

Over his shoulder he could feel Sam hovering, a hollow nonentity. It was eerie knowing he was back there, like having an itch in a limb long amputated. All around him the middle-matrix arced off into an impossible blue infinity, gridlines benchmarking the empty nonspace.

“There it is,” came Sam’s voice. “That’s the ice. Good luck breakin’ in there, man, that was made by a military AI. Name of ephelduath. You ain’t seen nuthin’ like it. They say it’s two way ice. Not only will it fry your brainpan tryin’ to get in, nuthin’ inside can work its way out. Leastaways, not without sarumancer’s say-so.”

Frodo wished Sam would shut the hell up. He also wished he wasn’t about to do what he came for. He wished a lot of things. He surveyed this sector of cyberspace. Before him was the ephelduath ice, shadowy and indistinct, and very very deadly. And beyond it, just visible through the whorls of lethal, greasy code, was sarumancer himself. The Dark Lord presented in the middle-matrix as a collosal data construct, angular and hideous. A mountain of vicious, evil information so dense it was hard to look at, hard to take in all at once. It played tricks on the eyes. Each nodule, each piece of it seemed to contain a perfect glittering symmetry. A simple frightening geometry. But taken altogether it became a great organic pyramidal thing, a digital volcano spewing mirrored liquid spheres of awareness out into the void. These spheres, Frodo knew, served as sarumancer’s eyes. When they intersected a gridline, at random, they would latch onto it and streak off in an unchosen direction in a vain effort to apprehend, to know, to see, all of the middle-matrix at once.

Here we go. He drew out the elvish icebreaker and contemplated its image for a moment. Given to him by Galadriel herself. He activated it, his unseen fingers moving fluidly over the keys of his Ono-Sendai. Triggered, the icebreaker flared up, a searing point of magnesium brilliance. He clicked forward, towards the ice. Slowly. Click. Carefully. Click. The elvish icebreaker encountered ephelduath’s handiwork, and forced it to recede. The ice’s killer algorithms spiralled futiley around Frodo and Sam as they rode the icebreaker inwards…

From The Lord of the Rings by William Gibson

66

Muse, tell us the tale of that (half)man of many wiles!
He who, excepting for shoes, was never at a loss;
ring-bearer, nine-fingered,
Frodyesseus, the far-wanderer
sailor of leaf-boats, smoker of pipe-weed
put-up-wither of of halfwitted cousins and employees,
you know, the guy you have
to spend about ten minutes introducing before anything happens.

Homer, “The Frodyessy”

67

Ooh, how about Patrick O’Brian? Just cut & paste a lot of incomprehensible sheets & yardarms into the text.

68

Beautiful Stony Bridge of the Dwarven mines!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That two lives have been taken away
On the last (Third Age) day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the Balrog it burn’t with all its might,
And the fire came pouring down,
And the dark orcs seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the fire seem’d to say-
“I’ll pass across the Bridge today.”

When the party left Rivendell
The Fellowship’s hearts were light and they felt quite well,
But Boromir threw a terrific strop,
Which made their hearts for to stop,
And many of the Fellowship with fear did hum-
“I hope Elbereth Gilthoniel will send us safe across the Bridge of Khazad-dum.”

But when the hobbits were ready to feed their tum,
The Balrog he gathered his orcish scum,
And shook the whole structure of the Bridge of Khazad-dum
On the last (Third Age) day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

So the Wizard mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Khazad-dum,
Until he was looking at the Balrog’s bum,
Then the whole bridge gave way with a hiss,
And down went Gandalf and Fiend into the abyss!
The Fiery Fiend did loudly quip,
Because he’d gotten Gandalf with his whip,
On the last (Third Age) day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe which could not have been worse
The alarm from mouth to mouth spread from river to firth,
And the cry rang out all o’er Middle Earth,
The Khazad-dum Bridge is blown down - O Elbereth!
And in the Fellowship from Rivendell,
Of which all the people were scared as h*ll,
Because they all heard Gandalf’s yell
“Fly, you fools!” Well, none had breath to to tell
How the disaster happen’d on the last last (Third Age) day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
by William F. McGonagall

see:
http://www.taynet.co.uk/users/mcgon/disaster.htm

69

Once a jolly wizard camped by a dwarven mine,
Under the shade of the mountains misty,
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his password worked,
“Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?
Ring-bearing Frodo, Ring-bearing Frodo,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?”
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his password worked,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?"

Down came a monster to grab at that Ring-bearer:
Up jumped Lego-las and loaded his bow with glee,
And he sang as he fired all his arrows at that mo-onster,
“Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?
Ring-bearing Frodo, Ring-bearing Frodo,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?”
And he sang as he fired all his arrows at that mo-onster,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?"

Up came a Numorean, carrying his broken sword;
Down came the hobbits, one, two, three:
"Where’s that coat of mithril you’ve got underneath your shirt?
“Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?
Ring-bearing Frodo, Ring-bearing Frodo,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?”
“Where’s that coat of mithril you’ve got underneath your shirt?
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?”

Up jumped the pony Bill and fled from the scene quickly;
“You’ll never take me in there!” thought he;
And his neighs may be heard as you pass by that dwarven mine,
“Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?
Ring-bearing Frodo, Ring-bearing Frodo,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?”
And his neighs may be heard as you pass by that dwarven mine,
Who’ll come Ring-bearing young Frodo with me?"

Apologies to A.B. “Banjo” Paterson

70

Perhaps a feeble effort, but here it is.

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
Old Hobbiton hath perced to the roote,
And Frodo drinken down in swich licour
Of which vertu he passeth happy hour;
Whan Gandalphus eek with his wise voice
Inspired hath in Frodo’s heart a choice,
(so priketh him nature in his corages);
To join odd folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And travel far to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from this homely shire’s ende
To Mordor, evil’s keep, to wende
To cast into the fire this One great Ring
…

– Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Ring

71

"Before I free myself from this abyss, Master Frodo,
Sam said when he had stood up straight,
“tell me enough I see I don’t mistake;
where is the ring? And how is Sauron so placed
head downward? Tell me, too, how has the sun
in so few hours gone from night to morning?”
And he to me: “You still believe you are
north of center middle-earth, where I met the gaze
of the unblinking eye who pierces through the world.
And you were there as long as I descended;
but when I turned, that’s when you passed the point
to which, from every, part, the rings weight from me is drawn.”
There is a place beyond, the limit of
that sea, its farthest point from Sauron,
a place one cannot see: it is discovered
by ship-there is a sounding sea that flows
along the hollow of a rock, and the slope is easy.
So Gandalf and Frodo came upon that hidden road
to make their way back into the bright world
with no care for any rest, they sailed
Gandalf first, Frodo following-until he saw
through a round opening, some of those things
of beauty the Deathless Lands bear. It was from there
that they emerged, to see-once more-the stars.

Frodo’s Inferno

72

So I put the thing on, and I’m (like) invisible. I’m not, as anyone around here will tell you, in the business of wearing jewelry, but damn, this little gold ring kicks more @ss than anyone should rightly possess.

–Tycho Brahe (www.penny-arcade.com)

Err… I don’t know where that came from. But I do know where this came from:

Belrond lounged indolently back in his chair, scratching at his formal purple robe in mild irritation. “Why do I have to wear this thing, anyway?”

Arwen smirked at him. “I think it helps them to think of you as
somewhat respectable, Old Wolf. Frodo, if you don’t stop playing with it, it will never leave you alone.”

Frodo looked up from the glowing blue ring in his lap. “But it keeps singing to me. Why’s it doing that?” Belrond and Arwen exchanged a glance. “It does that to everyone, Frodo. Now, put it back in your pouch and let’s go. I’m sure the council is about to start.”

As if on cue, Legolas entered, bowing deeply. “Ancient and Beloved, Lady Arwen, the kings have assembled and await thy presence.” Rolling his eyes, Belrond lead them down the hallway towards the council chamber. Frodo stared at the rich tapestries and columns of pure white marble, thinking how a few months ago, he had been living in a simple hobbit-hole, and Aunt Arwen was just Aunt Arwen and not someone to be treated with respect by kings.

As they rounded a corner, Belrond was nearly floored by a dirty fist. Legolas watching in disbelief, Belrond wrestled his assailant to the ground, each of them letting out a stream of curses that curled Frodo’s ears. Finally, they separated, and Belrond cursed again, muttering “What’s got into that ratty excuse for a head on your shoulders, Gandalf?”

His opponent, a hairy, misshapen fellow clad in grimy grey robes, glared back. “That’s for sending me to Saruman’s tower on a fool’s errand, Belrond. The old goat sat me on his roof for three months. I’m lucky he lost concentration and let me shift into falcon form before I started getting too hungry.” With a belch, he turned his attention to Arwen. “You’re getting fat, Arwen. Aragorn finally knock you up, or you just letting yourself go?”

Legolas gasped, but Arwen regarded the ugly wizard calmly. “When’s the last time you took a bath, Gandalf?”

Gandalf shrugged negligently, scratching himself “I think a storm rained on me a couple years ago, while I was watching Kal Sauron’s tomb.”

…

– Lord of the (Blue) Rings, by David Eddings

Okay, I lied, I don’t know where that come from either. But it’s clear that I’m definitely going to Hell, now.

And for those of you who claim Gandalf should have been Belgarath, well… a pox on both your houses.

–the Mouse

73

The ring had become for him more than a quest, more than a burden. Even in its absence its presence grew, to become an emblem of the languid darkness that crept between Mordor and Shire, Hobbit and friend, unsolaced mind and weary heart. For the rest of his days, the veiled weight pulled his tired eyes abjectly down, away from the shining light of his Creator, and into the dark heart that beat within all, whether, Hobbit, Elf or man. On occasion, the faint smile of a younger self glimmered on his grim visage, as a sputtering candle casts its own shadow of light across the landscape of darkness.

74

OK, I’ll try Piers Anthony.

Shelob gazed at Samwise with frank interest. Now that he could see her better, her spidery aspect was less fearsome. She was some woman!

“I’m sorry, Shelob,” he said diffidently, “but I must deliver the Ring to the Crack of Doom. I cannot abate my onus.”

“Because I’m a spider!” she flared. Samwise was taken aback. This was some feminine logic!

Samwise considered. Probably he should simply stick her with Sting–the sexual connotation was apt! But his conscience balked. And he was flattered; few females–human or otherwise-- would be content with a man of his height.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, lamely. “I must go.” He withdrew the Phial of Galadriel and displayed it to Shelob. Shrieking curses, she retreated before him, her female form tempting him still–

No! He would not be distracted. Suddenly he remembered with fresh urgency:

Frodo was alive, but taken by the enemy.

Please accept my apologies for that.

Fingolfin, I hope you have an industrial strength server hosting that movie, because I bet it’s gonna get slammed if word of this gets out (and I strongly suspect that some of the www.memepool.com folks peek in here every once in a while).

Nice to see so many people delurking for this thread. Welcome, y’all!

75

Iteki: No, sadly I did not go that. :wink: I am not sure who did, but it is fantastic!

glee, is that you? From the JREF Boards? The one who spanked the living daylights out of me in a BB Correspondence Chess game last week?

Testudo here, AKA Fingolfin. :wink:

I didn’t know you were a Tolkien fan.

76

The Lord of the Rings by John Cage:

THE RING!!!

The End.

77

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of Halfling,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow within dark Mordor,
(Come in under the shadow of dark Mordor),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a circlet of gold.

Frisch weht der Wind
Der Shire zu.
Mein Hobbitisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?

'You gave me the Ring first a year ago;
‘They called me the Ringbearer.’
–Yet when we came back, late, from Orodruin,
Your finger missing, and your strength gone, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of darkness, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Land.

Madame Galadriel, famous Elf Queen,
Had a forbidding realm, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Middle-Earth,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Wizard,
(Those are the grey robes that were his garb. Look!)
Here is Eowyn, the Lady of the Horses,
The lady of battle.
Here is the man with many colors, and here the Staff,
And here is the one-eyed Sauron, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he searches for in your pack,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Uruk-Hai. Fear death by Nazgul.
I see crowds of people, talking about a Ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Master Gamgee,
Tell him I bring the mallorn myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Lord of the Waste Land, by T.S. Eliot

78

The Lord of the Rings. S. Morgenstern’s Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure (the Good Parts version by William Goldman):

The year that Arwen was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a Gondor scullery maid named Annette. Annette worked in Gondor for the Steward and Stewardess (this was before the King returned), and it did not escape notice of the Steward’s that someone extraordinary was polishing the mithril. This notice in turn did not escape the notice of the Stewardess either, who was not very beautiful and not very rich, but plenty smart. The Stewardess set about studying Annette and shortly found her adversary’s tragic flaw.
Chocolate.

Armed now, the Stewardess set to work. Minas Tirith turned into a candy castle. Everywhere you looked, bonbons, truffles, mints. Annete never had a chance. She soon went from dainty to enormous. And the Steward never glanced her way again without sad bewilderment. (It must be mentioned that Annette seemed only cheerier through these events.) The Steward’s notice soon turned to his mother-in-law. The Stewardess noticed this too, and became grumpy about the whole thing. Not surprisingly, the Stewardess’s grumpiness became legendary, as Voltaire has so ably chronicled. Except this was before Voltaire.)

Skip a bunch of beautiful people becoming ugly over the next fifteen years.

Arwen, of course, at fifteen, knew none of the other goings on. And if she had, she would not have understood what difference it made who was the most beautiful. (Arwen at this time was barely in the top twenty, and that was out of potential only.) She hated washing her face and combing her hair and other such activities. Her favorite things to do were riding her horse and taunging the orphaned ranger boy.

Arwen named her horse “Horse.” (She was never long on imagination.) It did what she told it. So did the Ranger boy. Actually, he was more of a young man now, but that didn’t matter. She had always called him Ranger Boy and did so still. She’d say “Ranger Boy, fetch this. Ranger Boy, kill the necromancer. Hurry up now or I’ll tell father.”

“As you wish.”

That was all he ever answered. “As you wish.”

Now it must be mentioned that S. Morgenstern was rather long winded. So I relate this tale to you as my father told it to me with only the important parts left in. Morgenstern loved to go off about the courtly rituals of the elves, and how one was supposed to conduct oneself when dining with them. It really is only of interest to one from Middle Earth himself.…

Cut to Aragorn fighting the orcs in Moria.

My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isuldur. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

79

COMES NOW, plaintiff, Sauron, to file this original Complaint, and would show this honorable court the following:

  1. Plaintiff and party of the first part, Sauron (“Sauron”) is a(n) (un)natural person, and resident and domiciliary of Mordor.

  2. Defendant and party of the second part, Frodo Baggins (“Frodo”) is a natural person and resident of Hobbiton. Co-Defendant and party of the third part Samwise Gamgee (“Sam”) is likewise same.

  3. All parties being properly diverse, jurisdiction is proper pursuant to 28 M.E.C. 1332. Damages far exceed the minimum jurisdiction of the court.

  4. Defendant has converted and trespassed against the chattel and personalty of the plaintiff, namely, the One Ring (“Ring”) and is liable to plaintiff for same.

  5. Plaintiff would further show on or about the final day of the Third Age, defendants did intentionally cause the destruction of Ring while plaintiff was engaged in defending his business from hostile takeover. In the alternative, plaintiff pleads that the actions of the defendants toward ring amount to recklessness, gross negligence, and negligence.

  6. As a direct result of destruction of Ring, plaintiff has suffered actual damages in the form of irreparable harm to his business and personal reputation, as well as direct and indirect loss of income. Plaintiff has further suffered from mental anguish, humiliation, and loss of consortium.

  7. Insofar as actions of defendants were intentional, plaintiff further requests punitive damages in the amount of treble his actual damages.

WHEREFORE, PLAINTIFF, SAURON, PRAYS FOR: all reasonable damages above named; FURTHER, plaintiff prays for all additional relief in law or equity deemed necessary and proper by this honorable court.

Respectfully submitted,
Mouth of Sauron
Attorney for Plaintiff
Middle Earth Bar No. 734925639

80

LMAO!! LOL!!

Brilliant, just brilliant! :slight_smile:
Ian Hunter (Writer and Performer of ‘Cleveland Rocks’)

*One, Two, Three, Four!

Ah-ah-ah-ah!
Ah-ah-ah-ah!

Elrond’s Council’s sending me,
Back where the Ring was made.
Sauron’s a cruel Enemy.
It’s such a long, hard way.

All the hobbit folk living down on the Row going:
Bilbo rocks!
Gandalf rocks!
Sneakin’ Sméagol throttled little Déagol, then:

Chorus 1:
Precious rocks! (4 times)

Saruman knows but he don’t care;
He got his problems too.
Palantír and a traitor’s White Hand,
And the tribute’s due.

All the little orcs with the crimson swords go:
Orthanc rocks!
Mordor rocks!
Killin’ in sin with a great big grin they go:

Chorus 2:
Nazgûl rock! (4 times)

I’ve got some weapons from the War - Age Two.
I use ‘em just like Dúnedain do.
They hate the villains, and I do too.
Oh! Strider rocks!
Yeah! Elfstone rocks!
So grab a knife,
Find some strife,
And yell and scream for War!

Chorus 3:
Frodo rocks! (4 times)

(Repeat Chorus 3)

(Repeat Chorus 3)

Chorus ad lib:
Gandalf rocks!
Aragorn rocks!
Samwise rocks!
Bilbo rocks!
Galadriel rocks!
Elrond rocks!
Glorfindel rocks!
Pippin rocks!
Merry rocks!
Gimli rocks!
Legolas rocks!
Boromir rocks!
Faramir rocks!
Éomer rocks!
Éowyn rocks!
Arwen rocks!

Frodo rocks!
Frodo’s what it’s made of.

I said:
Frodo rocks! (4 times)

I said:
Frodo rocks! (4 times)

Frodo rocks! (4 times)

Three, four! … (4 times)

Instrumental finale*