Orc standing in a field: Lemon Curry?
Urkai #1: Are you the brain specialist?
Urkai #2: Hallo?
Urkai #1: Are you the brain specialist?
Urkai #2: <looking around the room> Yes. What seems to be the problem.
Urkai #1: My brain 'urts!..
Orc in drag: Legalos!
Orc: Legalos!
Elf: What flavor is it?
Orc: It isn’t any bloody flavor. It’s wood elf flavor! Legalos!
Elf: Do you get wafers with it?
Orc: You don’t get any bloody wafers with it! Legalos…
trumpets
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Only one survivor, sir.
SARUMAN: Ah. Thwow him to the floor.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: What, sir?
SARUMAN: Thwow him to the floor.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Ah.
whump
FRODO: Aagh!
SARUMAN: Hmm. Now, what is your name, Jew?
FRODO: “Frodo” sir.
SARUMAN: ‘Fwodo’, eh?
FRODO: No, no. ‘Frodo’.
slap
Aah!
SARUMAN: Hoo hoo hoo ho. The little wascal has spiwit.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Has what, sir?
SARUMAN: Spiwit.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Yes. He did, sir.
SARUMAN: No, no. Spiwit, siw. Um, bwavado. A touch of dewwing-do.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Oh. Ahh, about eleven, sir.
SARUMAN: So, you dare to waid us.
FRODO: To what, sir?
SARUMAN: Stwike him, Gawd, vewy woughly!
slap
FRODO: Aaah!
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Oh, and, uh, throw him to the floor, sir?
SARUMAN: What?
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Thwow him to the floor again, sir?
SARUMAN: Oh, yes. Thwow him to the floor, please.
FRODO: Aah!
whump
SARUMAN: Now, Dwarvish wapscallion.
FRODO: I’m not Dwarvish. I’m a Halfling.
SARUMAN: A Hafwing?
FRODO: No, no. Halfling.
slap
Aah!
SARUMAN: So, your father was a Hafwing. Who was he?
FRODO: He was a guard in the Tookborough Garrisons.
SARUMAN: Weally? What was his name?
FRODO: ‘Drogo Baggins’.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Ahh, ha ha!
SARUMAN: Gawd, do we have anyone of that name in the gawwison?
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Well, no, sir.
SARUMAN: Well, you sound vewy sure. Have you checked?
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Well, no, sir. Umm, I think it’s a joke, sir,… like, uh, ‘Meriadoc Brandybuck’ or… ‘Fatty Bolger’, sir.
GUARD #4: chuckling
SARUMAN: What’s so… funny about ‘Fatty Bolger’?
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Well, it’s a joke name, sir.
SARUMAN: I have a vewy gweat fwiend in Buckwand called ‘Fatty Bolger’.
GUARD #4: chuckling
SARUMAN: Silence! What is all this insolence? You will find yourself in the Mines of Mowia vewy quickly with wotten behaviour like that.
FRODO: Can I go now, sir?
slap
Aaah! Eh.
SARUMAN: Wait till Fatty Bolger hears of this.
GUARD #4: chuckling
SARUMAN: Wight! Take him away!
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Oh, sir, he-- he only–
SARUMAN: No, no. I want him fighting wabid, wild Balwogs within a week.
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Yes, sir. Come on, you.
GUARD #4: Ha ha haa ha, ha ha ha. Hooo hooo hoo hoo. Hoo hoo…
SARUMAN: I will not have my fwiends widiculed by the common soldiewy. Anybody else feel like a little… giggle… when I mention my fwiend… Fatty…
GUARD #1: chuckling
SARUMAN: …Bolger?
GUARD #1: chuckling
SARUMAN: What about you? Do you find it… wisible… when I say the name… ‘Fatty’…
GUARD #3: chuckle
SARUMAN: …‘Bolger’?
GUARD #1 and GUARD #2: chuckling
SARUMAN: He has a wife, you know. You know what she’s called? She’s called… ‘Lotta’… ‘Lotta Bracegirdle’.
GUARDS: laughing
SARUMAN: Stop! What is all this?
GUARDS: Ha, ha ha ha ha ha…
SARUMAN: I’ve had enough of this wowdy webel sniggewing behaviour. Silence! Call yourselves Shawkie’s gawds? You’re not-- Seize him! Seize him! Blow your noses and seize him!
doh! forgot to fix the “what is your name Jew?” line!
During the third age, Middle Earth lay in ruins, and foreign nationalists frequented the streets - many of them orcs(not the streets - the foreign nationalists). Anyway, many of the these Orcs went to tobacconist’s shops to buy pipeweed…
An Orc tourist approaches the clerk. The tourist is reading haltingly from a phrase book.
Orc: I will not buy this oliphant, it is scratched.
Clerk: Sorry?
Orc: I will not buy this oliphant, it is scratched.
Clerk: Uh, no, no, no. This is a tobacconist’s.
Orc: Ah! I will not buy this tobacconist’s, it is scratched.
Clerk: No, no, no, no. Tobacco…um…pipeweed(holds up a bag)
Orc: Ya! Pi-ipe Weeeed! Ya! Uh…My hovercraft is full of eels.
Clerk: Sorry?
Orc: My hovercraft(pantomines puffing some pipweed)…is full of eels
(pretends to strike a match)
Clerk: Ahh, matches!
Orc: Ya! Ya! Ya! Ya! Do you waaaaant… do you waaaaant… to come back to my place, bouncy bouncy?
Clerk: Here, I don’t think you’re using that thing right.
Orc: You great poof.
Clerk: That’ll be six and six, please.
Orc: If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? I…I am no longer infected.
Clerk: Uh, may I, uh…(takes phrase book, flips through it)…Costs six and six…ah, here we are. (speaks weird Orcan-sounding words)
Orc punches clerk.
Meanwhile, a hobbit constable on a quiet street cups his ear as if hearing a cry of distress… He sprints for many blocks and finally enters the tobacconist’s.
Constable: What’s going on here then?
Orc: Ah! You have beautiful thighs.
Constable: WHAT?!?
Clerk: He hit me!
Orc: Drop your panties, Sir Elrond; I cannot wait 'til lunchtime. (points at clerk)
Constable: RIGHT!!! (drags orc away by the arm)
Orc: (indignantly) My nipple explode with delight!
How to Tell a Hobbit…
Uruk-hai: We have found a hobbit, may we eat him?
Crowd: EAT!! EAAAAAAT HIM!
Saruman: But how do you know he is a hobbit?
Uruk-hai: He looks like one!
Other Uruk-hais: Yeah! He looks like one!!!
Saruman: Bring him forward.
(a young elf is pushed through the crowd of Uruk-hais to the platform. He
is dressed all in traditional hobbit attire, has a two gerbils tied around his feet,
and a pipe in his mouth. He talks funny because of the pipe.)
Legolas: I’m not a hobbit, I’m not a hobbit!
Saruman: Er,…but you are dressed as one.
Legolas: THEY dressed me up like this.
Uruk-hais: No! nooo! We didn’t! We didn’t!
Legolas: And these aren’t my feet, they are false ones!
(Saruman lifts up the gerbils to reveal the elf’s real feet, which are in
fact rather, well, ‘elvish’.)
Saruman: Well?
One Uruk-hai: Well, we did do the feet.
Saruman: The feet?
Uruk-hai: And the pipe. But he’s a hobbit!
Uruk-hais: Yeah! Eat him! Eat! Eat him!
Saruman: Did you dress him up like this?
Uruk-hais: NO! No, no, no, no, no, no…
One Uruk-hai: yes.
Uruk-hais: yes. yes. yes. A bit. yes. a bit. a bit.
Another Uruk-hai: (hopefully) He is on a quest…
Saruman: What makes you think he is a hobbit?
Uruk-hai: Well, He turned me into a troll!!
(pause)
Saruman: a troll?
(long pause)
Uruk-hai: I got better…
Uruk-hais: EAT HIM anyway! EAT! EAT! EAT HIM!
Saruman: Quiet, quiet, quiet, QUIET! There are ways of telling whether he is a hobbit!
Uruk-hais: Are there? What? Tell us, then! Tell us!
Saruman: Tell me. What do you do with hobbits?
Urak-hais: EAAAAAT!!! EEEEEEAAAAAAAAT!!! You EAT them!!! EAT!!
Saruman: And what do you eat apart from hobbits?
Uruk-hai: More hobbits!
Other Uruk-hai: Dwarves.
Saruman: So. Why do hobbits taste good?
(long silence)
(shuffling of feet by the Uruk-hais)
Uruk-hai: (tentatively) Because they taste like…dwarves?
Saruman: Goooood!
Other Uruk-hais: oh yeah… oh…
Saruman: So. How do we tell whether he tastes like a dwarf?
One Uruk-hai: Make a barbecue out of 'im!
Saruman: Aah. But can you not also make a barbecue out of humans?
Uruk-hais: oh yeah. oh. umm…
Saruman: Are dwarves fireproof?
One Uruk-hai: No! No, no, they burn!
Other Uruk-hai: Throw him into Mt. Doom!
Uruk-hais: yaaaaaa!
(when order is restored)
Saruman: What also burns in Mt. Doom?
Uruk-hai: Gollum!
Another Uruk-hai: Apples!
Another Uruk-hai: Uh…very small rocks!
Another Uruk-hai: Cider!
Another Uruk-hai: Uh…great gravy!
Another Uruk-hai: Cherries!
Another Uruk-hai: Mud!
Another Uruk-hai: Ents! Ents!
Another Uruk-hai: Dragons!
Gandalf: The One Ring!
Uruk-hais: (in amazement) ooooooh!
Saruman: exACTly!
Saruman: (to a Uruk-hai) So, logically…
Uruk-hai: (very slowly, with pauses between each word)
If...he...burns the same as the One Ring......he tastes like a dwarf.
Saruman: and therefore…
(pause)
Uruk-hai: A Hobbit!
All Uruk-hais: A HOBBIT!
Etc.
Female Orc #1: Hello, Mrs. Premise.
Female Orc #2: Hello, Mrs. Conclusion.
Conclusion: Busy Day?
Premise: Busy? I just spent four hours burying the hobbit.
Conclusion: Four hours to bury a hobbit?
Premise: Yes - it wouldn’t keep still.
Conclusion: Oh - it wasn’t dead, then?
Premise: No, no - but it’s not at all well, and we were going to be away for a fortnight, so as we were going to be on the safe side.
Conclusion: Quite right - you don’t want to come back from Gondor to a dead hobbit. It’d be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it now, that’s what I say. We’re going to have to have our dwarf put down.
Premise: Really - is it very old?
Conclusion: No, we just don’t like it. We’re going to take it to the vet tomorrow.
Premise: Tell me, how do they put dwarves down, then?
Conclusion: Well, it’s funny you should ask that, because I’ve just been reading a great big book about how to put your dwarf down, and apparently you can either hit them with the book, or you can shoot them with a crossbow just there, just above the nose.
Premise: Just there? Well, well, well. 'Course, Mrs. Essence flushed hers down the loo.
Conclusion: No, you shouldn’t do that - no, that’s dangerous. They breed in the mines! and eventually you get huge evil smelling tribes of soiled dwarves, marching out of orcses’ lavatories infringing their personal freedom.
Somehow I doubt that Elrond would say that to his mother-in-law.
::looks pointedly at Monstre::
Aragorn with his companions march through the Passage of the Dead.
Spirit 1: Must be a king.
Spirit 2: Why?
Spirit 1: ‘e hasnt’ got s*** all over 'im.
Gandalf:
'Evening, Lord!
Aragorn:
(stiffly)
Good evening.
Gandalf:
Is, uh,… the Lady Arwen a goer, eh? Know whatahmean, know whatahmean, nudge nudge, know whatahmean, say no more?
Aragorn:
I, uh, I beg your pardon?
Gandalf:
Ar…, uh, Arwen, does she go, eh, does she go, eh?
Aragorn:
(flustered)
Well, she sometimes ‘goes’, yes.
Gandalf:
Aaaaaaaah bet she does, I bet she does, say no more, say no more, know whatahmean, nudge nudge?
Aragorn:
(confused)
I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you.
Gandalf:
Follow me. Follow me. That’s good, that’s good!
A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind Nazgul!
Aragorn:
Are you, uh,… are you selling something?
Gandalf:
SELLING! Very good, very good! Ay? Ay? Ay?
(pause)
Oooh! Ya wicked Ay! Wicked Ay! Oooh hooh! Say No MORE!
Aragorn:
Well, I, uh…
Gandalf:
Is, your uh, is your wife a sport, ay?
Aragorn:
Um, she likes sport, yes!
Gandalf:
I bet she does, I bet she does!
Aragorn:
As a matter of fact she’s very fond of horseback riding.
Gandalf:
'Oo isn’t? Likes riding, eh?
Knew she would. Likes riding, eh?
She’s been around a bit, been around?
Aragorn:
She has traveled, yes. She’s from Rivendell.
(pause)
Gandalf:
SAY NO MORE!!
Rivendell, saynomore, saynomore, saynomore, Lord!
Aragorn:
I wasn’t going to!
Gandalf:
Oh! Well, never mind. Dib dib?
Is uh, is Arwen interested in… posing, ay? ‘Posing, ay’, he asked him knowingly?
Aragorn:
For paintings?
Gandalf:
Brush brush, grin grin, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more?
Aragorn:
Portraits and such, eh?
Gandalf:
They could be, they could be portraits, eh.
Candid, you know, CANDID paintings?
Aragorn:
No, no I’m afraid we don’t have an artist.
Gandalf:
Oh.
(leeringly)
Still, mooooooh, ay? Mwoohohohohoo, ay? Hohohohohoho, ay?
Aragorn:
Look… are you insinuating something?
Gandalf:
Oh, no, no, no… yes.
Aragorn:
Well?
Gandalf:
Well, you’re a man of the world, Lord.
Aragorn:
Yes…
Gandalf:
I mean, you’ve been around a bit, you know, like, you’ve, uh… You’ve ‘done it’…
Aragorn:
What do you mean?
Gandalf:
Well, I mean like,… you’ve SLEPT, with a lady…
Aragorn:
Yes…
Gandalf:
What’s it like?
ELROND:
Old woman!
SARUMAN:
Man!
ELROND:
Man. Sorry. What wizard lives in that tower over there?
SARUMAN:
I’m thirty-seven millenia.
ELROND:
I-- what?
SARUMAN:
I’m thirty-seven millenia. I’m not old.
ELROND:
Well, I can’t just call you ‘Man’.
SARUMAN:
Well, you could say ‘Saruman’.
ELROND:
Well, I didn’t know you were called ‘Saruman’.
SARUMAN:
Well, you didn’t bother to find out, did you?
ELROND:
I did say ‘sorry’ about the ‘old woman’, but from the behind you looked—
SARUMAN:
What I object to is that you automatically treat me like an inferior!
ELROND:
Well, I am King!
SARUMAN:
Oh, King, eh, very nice. And how d’you get that, eh? By exploiting the lesser races! By 'anging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in middle-earth. If there’s ever going to be any progress with the–
WORMTONGUE:
Ooh Saruman, there’s some lovely orc filth down here. Oh! How d’you do?
ELROND:
How do you do, good sir? I am Elrond, King of the Elves. Who’s tower is that?
WORMTONGUE:
King of the who?
ELROND:
The Elves.
WORMTONGUE:
Who are the Elves?
etc
He’s not the king of gondor, he’s a very naughty boy
ROFLMAO – Oooh! I think I hurt mi’self!
Damn you! Now I have to clean the keyboard and my sinuses are killing me! Best laugh I’ve had in days.
Better late than never…
After the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Faramir, Eowin, and Pip lay in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.
:: A bell rings as Aragorn enters. Dwarf singing in the background::
Aragorn: Good Morning.
Ioreth: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the Minas Tirith Herb Emporium!
Aragorn: Ah, thank you, my good woman.
Ioreth: What can I do for you, Sir?
A: Well, I was, uh, sitting outside the gates of Minas Tirith just now, skimming through “The Red Book of Westmarch,” and I suddenly came over all healing-ish.
I: Healing-ish, sir?
A: prestidigitating physicianal.
I: Eh?
A: 'Ee, the 'hands of the king be the 'ands of a 'eeler!
I: Ah, medicinal!
A: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, “a little crushed frondescence will do the trick,” so, I curtailed my Westmarching activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some herbal pharmaceutical!
I: Come again?
A: I want to buy some herbs.
I: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the dwarf singing!
A: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Durin-ian muse!
I: Sorry?
A: 'Ooo, I like a nice tune, 'yer forced too!
I: So he can go on singing, can he?
A: Most certainly! Now then, some herbs please, my good woman.
I: Certainly, sir. What would you like?
A: Well, eh, how about a little Athelas.
I: I’m, a-fraid we’re fresh out of Athelas, sir.
A: Oh, never mind, how are you on Ginseng?
I: I’m afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it fresh on Monday.
A: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout woman, four ounces of Myrrh Gum, if you please.
I: Ah! It’s beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting it this morning.
A: 'T’s Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Aloe Vera?
I: Sorry, sir.
A: Arrowroot?
I: Normally, sir, yes. Today the wagon broke down.
A: Ah. Butcher’s Broom?
I: Sorry.
A: Ithilien? Goat Weed?
I: No.
A: Any Branduin Alfalfa, per chance.
I: No.
A: Bay Leaf?
I: No.
A: Bitteroot?
I: No.
A: Ginko Biloba?
I: No.
A: Boswellia?
I: No.
A: Ginger Root?
I: :: pause:: No.
A: Nettle Root?
I: No.
A: Chamomile?
I: No.
A: Garlic, Bladderwrack, Sage, Rosemary, Rosehips, Sasparilla, Catnip, Chickweed, Yohimbe?
I: No.
A: Cannabis, perhaps?
I: Ah! We have Cannabis, yessir.
A: You do?! Excellent.
I: Yessir. It’s…ah,…it’s a bit dry…
A: Oh, I like it dry.
I: Well,… It’s very dry, actually.
A: No matter. Fetch hither the foliage de la hemp du Mordor! Mmmwah!
I: I…think it’s a bit drier than you’ll like it, sir.
A: I don’t care how f**king dry it is. Hand it over with all speed.
I: Oooooooooohhh…!
:: pause::
A: What now?
I: The cat’s eaten it.
A: :: pause:: Has he.
I: She, sir.
:: pause::
A: St. John’s Wort?
I: No.
A: Echinacea?
I: No.
A: Necromancer’s Claw?
I: No.
A: Milk Thistle?
I: No.
A: Valarian Root?
I: No, sir.
A: You…do have some herbs, don’t you?
I: ::brightly:: Of course, sir. It’s a herb shop, sir. We’ve got–
A: No no… don’t tell me. I’m keen to guess.
I: Fair enough.
A: Uuuuuh, Astragalus.
I: Yes?
A: Ah, well, I’ll have some of that!
I: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Ioreth Astragalus, that’s my name.
:: pause::
A: Lothlorian Mallorn Leaves?
I: Uh, not as such.
A: Uuh, Kava Kava?
I: no
A: Slippery Ent Bark,
I: no
A: Chasteberry,
I: no
A: Stevia,
I: no
A: Fangorn Ivy,
I: no
A: Shire Milkweed,
I: no
A: Enedwathian Beaver Herb?
I: Not today, sir, no.
:: pause::
A: Aah, how about Old Toby?
I: Well, we don’t get much call for it around here, sir.
A: Not much ca–It’s the single most popular herb in Middle Earth!
I: Not 'round here, sir.
A: ::slight pause:: and what IS the most popular herb 'round hyah?
I: Galenas, sir.
A: IS it.
I: Oh, yes, it’s staggeringly popular in the White City.
A: Is it.
I: It’s our number one best seller, sir!
A: I see. Uuh…'Galenas, eh?
I: Right, sir.
A: All right. Okay. ‘Have you got any?’ he asked, expecting the answer ‘no’.
I: I’ll have a look, sir… nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
A: It’s not much of a herb shop, is it?
I: Finest in the walls!
A: ::annoyed:: Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
I: Well, it’s so clean, sir!
A: It’s certainly uncontaminated by herbs…
I: ::brightly:: You haven’t asked me about Nicotania, sir.
A: Would it be worth it?
I: Could be…
A: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY DWARF UP!
I: Told you sir…
A: ::slowly:: Have you got any Nicotania?
I: No.
A: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
I: Yessir?
A: Have you in fact got any herbs here at all?
I: Yes, sir.
A: Really?
:: pause::
I: No. Not really, sir.
A: You haven’t.
I: Nosir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
A: Well I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to slay you.
I: Right-O, sir.
::Aragorn takes out Anduril and lops Ioreth’s head off::
A: What a senseless waste of human life.
Yes, I know that Old Toby, Galenas and Nicotania are all forms of tobacco and those and some others mentioned are not used for healing… cut me some slack.
Mount Doom. Forbidding, aloof, terrifying. The mountain with the biggest tits in Middle-Earth.
[BONG!] Start again!
Uruk- Hai: Sir!
Saruman: Yes, what is it?
UH: News from Helm’s Deep, sir
S: yes
UH Big Rhorrim attack at dawn, sir…
s: yes
UH: Well the Riders of Rohan were all wearing little silver halos, sir… and they had fairy wands with big stars on the end…and
S: They what…?
UH:and… they had spiders in matchboxes, sir
S: Great Morgoth! How did our chaps react?
UH: Well they were jolly interested, sir. Some of them, I think it was the Fourth Orc Brigade, sir, they… Well, they went and had a look at the spiders, sir.
Well, there’s egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and cram; egg bacon and cram; egg bacon sausage and cram; cram bacon sausage and cram; cram egg cram cram bacon and cram; cram sausage cram cram bacon cram tomato and cram;
…or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and cram.
Have you got anything without cram?
Well, there’s cram egg sausage and cram, that’s not got much cram in it.
I don’t want ANY cram!
Why can’t she have egg bacon cram and sausage?
THAT’S got cram in it!
Hasn’t got as much cram in it as cram egg sausage and cram, has it?
Cram cram cram cram. Lovely cram! Wonderful cram! Cram spa-a-a-a-a-am cram cra-a-a-a-a-am cram. Lovely cram! Lovely cram! Lovely cram! Lovely cram! Lovely cram! Cram cram cram cram!
Poor Smeagol’s dead, and never even called me Mother…
Gollum: Where is the fissshes? Oh fishy, fish fissssh. Where did you go?