If LotR had been written by someone else!?

[Ulmo]

If Lord Of the Rings had been written by someone else!?

~~~
Lord of the Rings, by Ian Fleming. (Author of James Bond books)

Aragorn placed his hand on the cool, ivory hilt of his 6.38 Anduril sword, half-holding it in as casual manner as possible. His eyes swept the room of the Prancing Pony, eyeing up the potential threats. He took out his pipe, made from the warmed heartwood of a mature oak. In the palm of his left hand, he unwrapped his leather tobacco pouch filled, as he preferred, with Gondorian Silk Cut. Aragorn preferred it to the harsher, stronger Numenorian blend...

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by PG Wodehouse. (British humor author and creator Jeeves, the butler)

"Sam, I've decided to go and overthrow the Dark Lord by tossing his
jewelry into a volcano."
"Very good, sir. Should I lay out your crazy adventure garb? I presume that this will pose a delay to tea-time. I would remind your Hobbitship that your Great Aunt Lobellia Sackville-Baggins is expected for tea."
"Blast! I say, bother! How can a chap overthrow the Dark Lord? I suppose I'll have to delay my campaign."
"Very good, sir. I believe you will be free in about a decade." "I'll do it then. Make a note, Sam."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Bernard Cornwell. (Writes military historical fiction)

"God save Rohan, will ye look at all those orcies," said Sergeant Eomer, looking down the slope near Helm's Deep. "Thousands upon thousands of them, and not a single guard."
Aragorn looked at the multitude. He was a professional soldier, born and bred in a hedgerow, good only for war and fighting. Unlike the other officers, he didn't come from the Nobility, and was looked down by most. 'Nosey' Gandalf had given him his commission, and his sword, for saving his life in battle. "You're right, Sergeant Eomer. Let's see what we can do with these Numenorian bows"....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Oscar Wilde. (Playwright noted for his “wittiness”

"He bested me in a riddle contest."
"A riddle contest?"
"It was so. And he cheated."
"To cheat in a riddle contest is a riddle in itself, and is therefore not cheating, but just another riddle."
"He cheated and asked me what he had in his pockets."
"He picked and pocketed a pretty prize, performing perfidious behaviour. How very noble, so like our own Lords and Masters..."

~~~

Yes, Dark Lord, by Lynn & Jay. (In the style of British sitcom “Yes Prime Minister")

"Ah, Lord Sauron. I have here the draft of your speech to the Nazgul Committee on Running Water."
"Still waters run deep, Sir Grishnakh?"
"Er, with respect, Dark Lord, if waters are still, then they can't run at all, deep or shallow."
"Thank you, Bernard. Where would we be without you. What's the gist of my speech?"
"Essentially, Lord Sauron, that the policy of the Dark Lord Administration is to avoid having a policy, and that the absence of a policy does not betoken a lack of policy, but a policy of policy limitation, limiting policy initiatives to initial policy outlines, without precluding disparate policy initiatives within the policy outlines."
"Pardon?"
"You'll tell them they can do what they like, Lord Sauron."....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Rudyard Kipling (you’d better know who this is)

I went round to an elven inn, to buy a glass o' beer
The owner looked at me long-nosed, "We don't serve your kind here"
The elf maids giggled fit to die, pointing out my height
But I swim in booze whenever there is Evil in the Night.

Yes it's Gimli this and Gimli that
And go away you brute
But its To the Front, our faithful friend
When the bows begin to shoot.....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Raymond Chandler (Mystery writer. Creator of Philip Marlowe)

"Frodo Baggins?" said the old man in the doorway, rain dripping from his oversized hat with all the ease of a dwarf burrowing after gold.
"That's the name on the door. Guess I'm gullible enough to believe what it says about me."
The old man came in and dripped water on the earth floor. Added a touch of class, so I didn't complain.
"Frodo, you've got a problem."
"I pay my taxes, and I'm clean with the Rangers. What's my problem?"
"Bilbo shafted you with that heirloom. Gold ring? Gold ringer, more like."
"A dud, huh. Can't say I'm surprised."
"If it was a dud, you wouldn't have a problem. Your problem is that this little heirloom has a history, a history with a pearl-handled stiletto in the back. It goes back all the way through the biggest string of mugs you find as wallpaper on Minas Tirith's finest. Goes all the way back to Night-Time Sauron....."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by George Lucas (Creator of “Star Wars”

"Did you ever wonder who your father was, Frodo?"
"Uncle Bilbo was my father, Obi Gan Dalf."
"Your Uncle is a fine man, but he is not your father. Your father was a fine warrior and a great captain, strong in the Force. He was called Sarumann the Wise, and he was a good friend."
"Was? Is he dead?"
"He is no more. It is your destiny to avenge his death, young Baggins."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Dylan Thomas (Irish writer and poet, noted for romantic images of his youth)

I whistled defiantly as I walked down the streets of Under Mount Doom. Auntie Grima was baking orc bread, and the smell wafted over the streets like a miasma of wonderment. She was a dried-up woman, who cursed every time the pit was mentioned, that death-dealing, life-giving pit. It was precious to us even though it killed us, our precious it was, but we didn't care about it as much as we cared about the grilled human ears we had for tea.
"Dopey!" called my friend across the street to me, his voice echoing around our brown fields. "Dopey, you going to see the game?"
There was always a game on. We didn't watch it, we devoured it, and when it was over, we played it out again and again, with a ball instead of a captive's head. Grishna was always Garth Lliwams, and I was always Jaypeeare. He was magic, and when we finished, we would go home and dream of Nazgul....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by George MacDonald Fraser (British historical comedy writer. Creator of Flashman)

I never could stand that Boromir. Stuck up and arrogant. Still, I fixed him good in his turn. I remember thinking, when the halflings rushed off, that's yours, Boromir. But I'm getting ahead of the story. It all started back in Rivendell. It was all Gandalf's fault, of course. Nearly every disaster of the Third Age was. But this time he outdid himself. His idea of a good plan was to take this wonder weapon we had chanced upon, and throw it away. Couldn't even throw it away in the sea, like any sane chap. No, his plan was to take it all the way into the middle of enemy territory, where there were millions of orcs and others, and throw it into a volcano knowing that the damned thing will explode. There was a long silence, and Gandalf then said "Volunteers only, of course." Then everyone looked towards me....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by James Joyce (Irish writer of nearly incomprehensible, image-filled fiction)

Old man willow, whistling like a tea pot, shining like a star, oh so brilliant in the dreaming and smoke and by the river, Goldberry's river, dancing like a vision, Bombadil, Bombadil, Bombadillo. Rock of ages, young and ageless, naked before my eyes like Rivendell Rock, sweet and hard and trusting....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Meatloaf (American singer of Gothic Rock)

It was a hot summer's day in the Marsh of the Dead
There was fog crawling over the swamp
I could listen to the screams of the Dead Men Calling
I could see their empty
eyes and the candles blowing in the wind.
You were licking your finger
With the Ring of Power and I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were dancing together up on the Crack of Doom
And no-ones gonna know what we've done.

~~~

Bagenders (I have no idea what this is supposed to be. Can anyone tell me?)

Gaffer Gamgee was relating the doings of the Baggins down at the old Green Dragon. "I tell you, they ain't proper Bagenders, with them noses in the air, not like our Samkin, who can turn up a turnip pretty as you please. Now Lobellia, she's all right. Nah, she is. But Bilbo? Remember that business with the Old Dwarfs? And what did that Bilbo give me on his eleventy first? Wine. I asks you. Do I look like a wine drinker? Yeah, I knows I drunk it, but that's not the point..."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Christopher Martin-Jenkins (British sports (Cricket) commentator)

"It's a lovely summer's evening here in the Paths of the Dead. Aragorn has won the toss, and has decided to bat. Interesting decision, and Jonathon Agnew has some news on that, so I'll pass you over to Jonathon while Fred cuts me a slice of that delicious orc cake sent in by Mrs Galadriel of Lorien Wood. Thank you Mrs Galadriel."
"Well, Chris, I've just been speaking with Eowyn, who said that she had recommended that Aragorn should send the other side in to the Paths of the Dead first. It seems that opening in there can be nasty. Bit of an uncomfortable pitch. The green slopes of Pelenor Fields are much more suitable to the opening pair of Aragorn and Eomer. Raggers seems keen to play a Captain's innings today. I gather the bearded wonder has some statistics for us?"
"According to my records, the last time anyone went in on the Paths of the Dead, it was a sticky wicket."
"I wonder if we'll see that again today. Well, Raggers has come out, and I must say, his new sword looks a lot better. Reforged, I hear. Fred?"
"I don't know about forged or reforged, but he'll need to show more application than he has done. Treated his sword like it were broken."
"That's true, but he has done some remarkable running between the countries. Oh dear, it looks like they're going in for the day. Yes, they're definitely going in to the Paths of the Dead...."

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Andrew Lloyd Weber (Composer. Creator of the musical, “Evita”

Don't cry for me, Numenoria
The truth is, you never sank down
Beneath those wild waves
Those deep sea wild waves
You never left from
This Middle Earth

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by Gene Roddenbury (Creator of Star Trek)

"The Halflings, cap'n, they will na take the strain"
"Strider, we've got to get out of this snow. Legolas, did you get a reading on that creature?"
"Fascinating, Captain. It appears to be an unknown creature that lurks in the pool waiting for passing strangers. Ecologically implausible, captain."
"Do you know what it is?"
"I believe I said it was unknown, Dr Gimli. Logically, if I knew what it was, then it wouldn't be unknown."
"Cap'n, we're in some sort of temporal warp, stretching and deforming the plot. The snow should take place a day before our encounter with this beastie."
"Captain, what are we going to do."
"Boromir, put on that red armour."....

~~~

Lord of the Rings, by D H Lawrence (Author of soft porn classic, “Lady Chatterley’s Lover")

Arwen Evenstar stitched, her hands moving over the soft silk of the flag. Her hands moving, her mind roved, as free as she was herself trapped. Aragorn was far, far away, but active. She thought of his maleness, and stitched faster. Her hands brushed the silken flag, and she looked across the sward, eyes passing over the elven gamekeeper without seeing him, yet seeing everything....

LOL!

[img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Fenrir]

*rolls on floor, laughing uproariously*
I love the Yes Prime Minister one and the Oscar Wilde.
Can you please, please, please write a Delia Smith one, I'm no good at this sort of thing.

[zifnab]

Wow I dont know what to say!

Dr. Suess : I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not eat Suaron's ring with ham! I will not eat them in the morn, I will not eat them with Boromir's horn! I will not eat them with a Ringwraith, I will not eat them in the bath! I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not Suaron's ring with ham!

My pathetic attempt at humour!

[img]smilies/rolleyes.gif[/img] [img]smilies/eek.gif[/img] [img]smilies/rolleyes.gif[/img] [img]smilies/eek.gif[/img]

[Mister Underhill]

The Kipling is my favorite, far and away. That's right on the money. But they forgot the obvious line for the Ian Fleming: "Son of Arathorn. Aragorn son of Arathorn." Or is that a movie invention?

[ January 11, 2002: Message edited by: Mister Underhill ]

TOlkien's revenge: Why did the chicken cross the road?

The chicken, sunlight coruscating off its radiant yellow-white coat of feathers, approached the dark, sullen asphalt road and scrutinized it intently with its obsidian-black eyes. Every detail of the thoroughfare leapt into blinding focus: the rough texture of the surface, over which countless tires had worked their relentless tread through the ages; the innumerable fragments of stone embedded within the lugubrious mass, perhaps quarried from the great pits where the Sons of Man labored not far from here; the dull black asphalt itself, exuding those waves of heat which distort the sight and bring weakness to the body; the other attributes of the great highway too numerous to give name. And then it crossed it.

[Ulmo]

Originally posted by Thenamir2:
<STRONG>TOlkien's revenge: Why did the chicken cross the road?

The chicken, sunlight coruscating off its radiant yellow-white coat of feathers, approached the dark, sullen asphalt road and scrutinized it intently with its obsidian-black eyes. Every detail of the thoroughfare leapt into blinding focus: the rough texture of the surface, over which countless tires had worked their relentless tread through the ages; the innumerable fragments of stone embedded within the lugubrious mass, perhaps quarried from the great pits where the Sons of Man labored not far from here; the dull black asphalt itself, exuding those waves of heat which distort the sight and bring weakness to the body; the other attributes of the great highway too numerous to give name. And then it crossed it.</STRONG>

LMAO! That's hilarious! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Let's get a whole thread of these and combine 'em. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Bring 'em on people! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Mister Underhill]

Hemingway:
~~~~~~~~
It was very late and everyone had left the hall except an old man who sat in the shadows the leaves of the old Mallorn made against the moonlight. The two elves inside the hall knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he usually was quiet and kept to himself they knew that if he became too drunk he would start setting things on fire, so they kept watch on him.

“He’s drunk,” one elf said.

“What do you care?”

“He’s muttering about the secret fire.”

“Leave him alone. He used to carry a ring.”

“He’ll stay all night. He should never have been rebodied.”

The old man rapped on the table with his goblet. The younger elf went over to him.

“What do you want?”

The old man looked at him. “Another miruvor.”

“You’ll be drunk,” the elf said. The old man looked at him. The elf went away.

“Look at his bushy eyebrows,” he said to his colleague. “There is nothing as nasty as an old Man. He’ll stay all night and I’ll never get any sleep.”

The elf took the bottle of miruvor from the counter inside the hall and marched to the old man’s table. He poured the goblet full.

“You should never have been rebodied,” he said to the old man.

[ January 11, 2002: Message edited by: Mister Underhill ]

[Eowyn of Ithilien]

lmao ohhhhhhhh dear [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] well done everyone!!!!

[Elanor]

LOL! You guys are great [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Jane Austen would have rightfully concentrated on the true heroine of the story though:

Arwen Evenstar, handsome, clever and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, had lived nearly three thousand years in Middle Earth with very little to distress or vex her. Her dear mother had died long ago, in circumstances best not related here; and as her father was much occupied with matters of business, she dwelt for many years with her grandmother at her beautiful country estate of Lothlorien.

Mrs Galadriel was a wise and wealthy woman, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. She was fond of company, and entertained many guests, both noble and rich. Long years had Miss Evenstar resided with her beloved relation, before returning to her father's home.

There she was a great comfort to her aging father, especially as her two older brothers, though loving and devoted to their sister, were often abroad on great adventures.

One day the exciting news was announced that there was to be a great Council held by her father. Though the gentlemen would likely spend much of the day discussing business affairs - something about a Ring, which Arwen did not fully comprehend - there would certainly be a a feast, and an occasion for dancing.

"Mrs Glorfindel told me that they are expecting 4 gentlemen and 6 hobbits!" announced the serving maid, with much excitement.
"Nay, it was 7 gentlemen and 9 hobbits," corrected her companion.

In the end there were only two gentlemen and four hobbits, as well as an assortment of dwarfs. The assembled guests were much admiring of Miss Evenstar's singing, and in raptures at her sweet beauty. However, few of the guests noticed a brief look of understanding pass between one of the gentlemen, a handsome and distinguished man, if a little less smartly dressed than the occasion strictly merited, and Miss Evenstar. Could it be possible that they had met before?

[Elendil]

ROFL! You are all great, my favourites are Bond and Meatloaf!

You guys are a crack up, there should be a thread, or a colum for jokes, that would rule...

[Sindalómiel]

These are great, I wish I was capable of thinking them up. I loved the Austen one. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Mister Underhill]

By Mark Twain, who would undoubtedly have focused on the true hero of the narrative – that mischievous rascal, Pippin:
~~~~~~~
NOTICE:
Persons attempting to resolve the question of Balrog wings by means of this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to define the nature of Tom Bombadil will be banished; persons attempting to find allegory in it will be shot.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR,
Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.

FOREWORD:
In this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Quenya Elvish dialect; the extremest form of the Rhovanion dialect; the ordinary Sindarin dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.

I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not succeeding.
THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER 1
You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Red Book of Westmarch; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Frodo Baggins and his Uncle Bilbo, and they told the truth, mainly. There was things which they stretched, but mostly they told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was the Lady Galadriel, or Elrond, or maybe Gandalf. The Lady Galadriel – the Lady of Lothlorien, she is – and Elrond, and the wizard Gandalf is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

[Elanor]

A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a bright and sunny day, and Winnie the Frodo stumped up to the top of the Shire to see if his friend Christopher Gandalf was interested in Hobbits at all. Christopher Gandalf was sitting at his door pulling on his Big Boots. As soon as he saw the Big Boots, Frodo knew that an Adventure was going to happen.
"We're all going on an Expedition," said Gandalf.
"Going on an Expotition?" said Frodo eagerly. "Where are we going to on this Expotition?"
"Expedition, silly old Hobbit! We're going to discover the Cracks of Doom."
"Oh" said Frodo. "What's the Cracks of Doom."
"Oh, just a thing you discover, " said Gandalf carelessly. "Go and tell the others, and make sure you bring Provisions."
"Pro... what? I'm a Hobbit of Very Little Brain and long words Bother me."
"Things to eat."
"Oh, that's good!" said Frodo happily, and off he went to fetch Sam and some mushrooms.

~~~~~~
They all went off to discover Mount Doom,
Legolas, Sam and Gimli and all,
It's a thing you discover as I've been told,
By Legolas, Sam and Gimli and all.
Boromir, Gandalf and Frodoo,
And Frodoo's relations all went too,
But where Mount Doom was none of them knew,
Sing Hey! for Sam and Gimli and all!

[ January 17, 2002: Message edited by: Elanor ]

[Lostgaeriel]

Lord of the Rings by Baroness Emmuska Orczy (author of The Scarlet Pimpernel)

An alternate version of Many Meetings (transposed from the 12th chapter - The Scrap of Paper)

Arwen suffered intensely. Though she laughed and chatted, though she was more admired, more surrounded, more feted than any woman there, she felt like one condemned to death, living her last day upon Middle-Earth.

Her nerves were in a state of painful tension, which had increased a hundredfold during that brief hour which she had spent in Aragorn’s company, between the banquet and the ballads. The short ray of hope--that she might find in this good-natured, lazy individual a valuable friend and adviser--had vanished as quickly as it had come, the moment she found herself alone with him. The same feeling of good-humoured contempt which one feels for an animal or a faithful servant, made her turn away with a smile from the man who should have been her moral support in this heart-rending crisis through which she was passing: who should have been her cool-headed adviser, when feminine sympathy and sentiment tossed her hither and thither, between her love for her brothers, who were far away and in mortal peril, and horror of the awful service which Sauron had exacted from her, in exchange for Frodo’s safety.

There he stood, the moral support, the cool-headed adviser, surrounded by a crowd of brainless, empty-headed young Elves, who were even now repeating from mouth to mouth, and with every sign of the keenest enjoyment, a doggerel quatrain which he had just given forth. Everywhere the absurd, silly words met her: people seemed to have little else to speak about, even Bilbo had asked her, with a little laugh, whether she appreciated her betrothed’s latest poetic efforts.

"All done in the re-forging of a sword," Lord Aragorn had declared to his clique of admirers.

"They seek him here, they seek him there, Those Nazgûl seek him everywhere. Is he in Riven? --- Is he in Dell? That demned, elusive Underhill." *

Aragorn’s bon mot had gone the round of the brilliant halls. Bilbo was enchanted. He vowed that life without Strider would be but a dreary desert. Then, taking him by the arm, had led him to the Hall of Fire, and engaged him in a long bout of pipe-smoking.

Lord Aragorn, whose chief interest in most social gatherings seemed to centre round the ale-barrel, usually allowed his fiancée to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much as she liked. And to-night, having delivered himself of his bon mot, he had left Arwen surrounded by a crowd of admirers of all Ages, all anxious and willing to help her to forget that somewhere in the spacious halls, there was a long, lazy being who had been fool enough to suppose that the cleverest Elf-woman in Middle-Earth would settle down to the prosaic bonds of Númenorean matrimony.

Her still overwrought nerves, her excitement and agitation, lent beautiful Arwen Evenstar much additional charm: escorted by a veritable bevy of Men, Hobbits and Elves of all Ages she called forth many exclamations of admiration from everyone as she passed.

She would not allow herself any more time to think. Her early, somewhat Valinorean training had made her something of a fatalist. She felt that events would shape themselves, that the directing of them was not in her hands. From Sauron she knew that she could expect no mercy. He had set a price on Frodo’s head, and left it to her to pay or not, as she chose.

*Editor's note: Aragorn's "poetry" is particularly bad here - not as painful as Vogon poetry but worse than Sir Percy's in the original novel - and much worse than Bombadil's [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] - and absolutely horrible compared to Viggo Mortensen's! (I rather like VM's stuff.)

[ February 02, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

And since song lyrics (by Andrew Lloyd Webber & Meatloaf) have already been included, I'll add this one of mine (already in the Fan Fiction section).

The Lord of the Rings by 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

[ January 18, 2002: Message edited by: Lostgaeriel ]

[Lostgaeriel]

By the way Ulmo, I think "Bagenders" refers to the BBC soap opera "Eastenders".

[Estelyn Telcontar]

What if Gene Roddenberry had written LotR?

Captain Frodo, there's something approaching, approximately three ages from us.

Put it on screen, Mr. Spam, sorry, Sam!

*everyone stares at the screen*

I've never seen anything like it, Kept'n!

Neither have I, Ensign Pippin, but it looks like ... a Black Rider!!!

Captain, I'm afraid!

Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant Merry.

Hailing frequencies open, Captain.

*shrieking and sniffing*

What's he saying, Bones Aragorn?

I'm a doctor, not a linguist!

All right, we will hide in the Moria Nebula. He can't follow us in there.

Our shields kenna take this any longer, Captain!

All right, Engineer Gimli, get us out of here!

We've been hit - Admiral Gandalf is wounded!

He's dead, Jim - ah, Frodo.

Commander Boromir, take a shuttle with our new secret weapons system - try to lead him into a trap.

I'll be happy to, Captain!

Oh no, the shuttle's been hit by a red eye!

Beam him out of there, fast!

We're losing him, Captain, there's no life sign on board.

All right, Lieutenant Legolas, aim for the Rider and fire!

He's out of reach of our weapons, Captain.

Then we have no choice. We will have to cross... the final frontier!

*all gasp* The final frontier? Captain, is there no other way?

It's our only hope. Mr. Sam, chart a course to the Barrow-Downs. Warp nine!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:08 AM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Ulmo]

Gene Rodennberry was already in the original post:

Lord of the Rings, by Gene Roddenbury (Creator of Star Trek)

"The Halflings, cap'n, they will na take the strain"
"Strider, we've got to get out of this snow. Legolas, did you get a reading on that creature?"
"Fascinating, Captain. It appears to be an unknown creature that lurks in the pool waiting for passing strangers. Ecologically implausible, captain."
"Do you know what it is?"
"I believe I said it was unknown, Dr Gimli. Logically, if I knew what it was, then it wouldn't be unknown."
"Cap'n, we're in some sort of temporal warp, stretching and deforming the plot. The snow should take place a day before our encounter with this beastie."
"Captain, what are we going to do."
"Boromir, put on that red armour."....


...but I kind of like yours better. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[The Mirrorball Man]

Lord of the Rings, by Chuck Palahniuk (author of Fight Club)

And here we go again. Ringwraith number one. Right here. Just in front of me. As real as a throat cancer. Or he might be Ringwraith number two, for all I know. Or Ringwraith number four, or five, or any of these mass-produced atrocities. Ringwraiths: when you've seen one, you've seen them all. And I have seen them all.

And coming up inside me is the inexpressible hope that maybe they'll just kill me right now and end my absurd Hobbit life. My comfortable, predictable, uneventful, boring little parody of a life, with the unanimous approval of my neighbors as my sole ambition. Just like a multi-recycled ersatz of a real life, complete with a Hobbit hole and a Hobbit name, with a Hobbit family tree and the matching family, and of course with Hobbit weed so that we never really have to think about all of this.

Flash.

Ringwraith number one draws his sword. "The Ring. The Ring", he says. Sure.

Flash.

That's it. I'm ready. Ready to go offline. Ready to be struck by the Great blue Pencil. Ready to cash the check. Ready to go out of print like a stupid baseball card. "Come and take me", I think. But that’s not what I say. No, not at all.

"By Elbereth and Luthien the fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!"

Smart kid. Ringwraith number one looks at me like I’m some kind of endangered species.

Right now, me getting killed would be redundant.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Oops, Ulmo, no plagiarism intended - sorry! You had so many good ones, I laughed so hard and guess I forgot that Star Trek was already in there. I love this thread - it's so much fun to read and fun to think of ideas. I will try very hard to come up with something original soon!

[zifnab]

What really happened between Gandalf and Saruman in Orthanc-If written by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman & Zifnab.
-------------------------------

“Saruman”, said Gandalf, standing away from him. “ only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we! But I would not give it, nay, I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last. Well, the choices are, it seems, to submit to Sauron, or to yourself. I will take neither. Have you others to offer?”
“Yes,” said Saruman. “I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, and so saving yourself much trouble and pain. The third choice is to stay here, until the end.”
“Until the end?”
At that precise moment, a great whirlwind with dazzling lights from all the spectrum started in the corner of the tower. To the amazement of the two wizards, out of the whirlwind came a gentleman-imposing, dressing all in black: black breeches, black velvet coat, black silk stockings; white hair, tied in back with a black ribbon. He was accompanied by an old man, with a flowing beard and hair, wearing mouse-colored robes, all topped by a shabby and sorry-looking pointed hat.
The old man was singing.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall,” the old man gave a sudden stop, and seemed to be arguing with him-self. “No, no, no, that’s not right, oh how does it go, ninety-nine minus three add four divided by pie,” “Oh the heck with this, I shall have to have a meeting with the people at AA to figure that one out! I wonder if we could met at a nice little pub, there’s a lovely one named Cheers, or so I’ve heard.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the gentleman in black with a low voice, “but we are not alone.”
“Eh!” The old man gave a violent start, his hat slipped over his eyes, “Struck blind, by god!” he said in awed tones, stretching out groping hands.
“It’s your hat, sir,” said the gentleman in black, has he grabbed the old man’s hat and yanked it off his head. “Your hat, sir,” he said, waving it in front of the old man’s face.
“That’s not mine,” said the old man, staring at it suspiciously. “You’ve switched hats on me. Mine was in much better condition-“
“Excuse me, sir, but like I said earlier, we are not alone.” said the gentleman in black.
“Oh yes”, the old man said. His faced turned and twisted so that it resembled a menacing looking half-witted fellow. He eyed the two astonished people facing him with deep suspicion. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
The gentleman in black sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t believe that would be at all wise.” “It seems, sir, that your directions, might have been a bit wrong. I do not think we are in the Labyrinth.”
“What! Confound that kender, I should have none he would have given me the wrong directions,” said the old-man.
“Pardon me, sir. But we have to get back to business.” said the gentleman.
At that moment Gandalf and Saruman, snapped back into reality. They eyed themselves with suspicion. “What is the meaning of this, and who may I ask are you!” said Saruman, struggling to get the situation back under control.
“Who am I, Who am I,” cried the old-man, “Why…I am a great and power wizard, who does not like to be questioned by a man who desires a shiny ring, bah, I say to you!” The old man reaches out for Sarumans hand and gives it a good whack. “Why I don’t suppose when this is all over Manwe will have a nice long talk with you, my dear sir! Neglecting your responsibility, eh. And you, my dear Grand…Gald…Gandalf will lead the people forth. Ring, Ring that’s all you fellows talk about, why I can get any ring I want, do you know why?”
After this statement the two wizards were rendered speachless.
“Because I am a great a powerful wizard,” screams the old-man, thinking that their silence was meant in fact to be doubt.
“All this ring will give you is DEATH,” cried the old man, shaking his head, “DOOM AND-ER-whatever comes after. Can’t quite think….”
“Destruction?” suggested the man in black.
Now Gandlaf being more wise in the ways of the elderly speaks forth. “Excuse me my dear sir, but my companion and myself seem to be at a lose. You see, you seem to know us, but we have no clue, as to who you may be. And what is all this about me leading the people forth, to where I may ask?”
“You know…forth and such, Tally Ho! And all that.” said the old-man looking quite sheepish. “As to who I am……”, the old man said with a puzzling look on his face.
“You don’t know?” the old-man asked looking alarmed.
“No, sir. You haven’t told them.” said the gentleman.
“Drat.” The old-man stroked his beard. “I was rather hoping you would. You’re sure you don’t?”
-Silence-
“Ah, well. Let’s see.” The old man muttered to himself. “Fiz-No, I can’t use that. Furball. Doesn’t seem quite dignified enough. I have it!” he shouted, grabbing Gandlaf by the arm. “Zifnab!”
“Bless you!” said both wizards at once.
“No, no! My name! Zifnab! What’s the matter, Sonny?” The old man glared, eyebrows bristling. “Something wrong with that?”
-Uncomfortable silence-
The man in black starts to tug on the old mans sleeve. “I think we best get going, sir, before you say something that your not supposed to.”
“Well then, as my esteemed colleague said early, we must get going, but Saruman, you must make sure that those Orcs of yours are put on leash and collar. Nasty little vermin, they are. Its starting to look like a dump out there. And what a stink! Makes you wish you were in Lothlorien in the spring time. But I guess those Ents will come and tidy things up a bit.
The man in black shakes his head. “You’ve gone and done it now!”
The whirlwind comes again to the tower, and right before the old man and the gentleman, jump in. Gandalf speaks up. “But Zifnab…….”
“Don’t call me Shirley!” the old man snapped. “My name’s…well…it’s…Oh, the hell with it! Call me Shirley if you want. Rather a pleasant name. Grows on you. Good-bye!”. The old man waves his hand in a peculiar manner and throws some kind of dust in the air, then jumps back in the whirlwind.

-Silence-

Both wizards blink and continue with their conversation.
“Until you reveal to me where the One may be found. I may find means to persuade you. Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters: to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey.” said Saruman.
“That may not prove to be one of the lighter matters,” said Gandalf.

[Elendil]

Great Zifnab!

[The Mirrorball Man]

You guys are really talented. I especially like the Jane Austen and Hemingway parodies.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

I don't know if there's a Monthy Python version of LotR, but their contribution to a discussion board would certainly be frowned on:
"Spam, spam, wonderful spam."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

This LotR version of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's "Erlkönig" is dedicated to all German speaking Middle Earthers, to those of you who know the great song Schubert made of it, and most especially to all pianists who have enjoyed playing the wonderfully dramatic accompaniment!

Der Ringkönig

Wer wandert so spät, was ist das Ding?
Es ist der Frodo mit seinem Ring.
Der Gandalf kommt, ist sehr verschreckt,
„Hast du ihn sicher? Ist er versteckt?“

„O Frodo, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?“
„Siehst, Pippin, du den Ringgeist nicht?
Den schwarzen Reiter mit Kron und Pferd?
O Merry, er trägt ein großes Schwert!“

„Du lieber Baggins, komm, geh mit mir!
Das Spiel der Macht spiel ich mit dir;
Orks bringen dich gerne in mein Haus,
Die Feuer dort gehen niemals aus.“

„Mein Samwise, mein Samwise, hörst du ihn nicht,
Der böse Sauron, der mit mir spricht?“
„Sei ruhig, im Gasthof wirst sicher du sein.“
In dem Durcheinander greift Streicher bald ein.

„Komm, Frodo, wir wollen mit dir geh’n,
Wir sind eins weniger als zehn;
Zauberer, Menschen, Elbe und Zwerg
Begleiten dich als gutes Werk.“

„Moria, o Gandalf, hüte dich dort!
Der Balrog wacht an düsterem Ort.“
Jetzt ist auch Boromir verlor’n
Und Merry und Pippin komm’n nach Fangorn.

Gollum folgt Frodo, welch häßlich’ Gestalt;
Barmherzigkeit siegt, Sam braucht keine Gewalt.
Reiter und Könige, Kampf und Streit,
Hoffnung fast weg, bald ist es soweit.

Frodo und Sam trotzen Shelob und mehr,
Der Ring und das Herz werden ihnen schwer.
Sie erreichen Mount Doom mit Mühe und Not,
Gollum beißt, Ring kaputt und Sauron tot.

[Sindalómiel]

Wish I understood German...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Sorry, Sindalomiel, but there's no sense in translating. You have to know the original to enjoy it. But please go ahead and write something in a language I don't understand!

[Sindalómiel]

Originally posted by Estelyn Telcontar:
<STRONG>Sorry, Sindalomiel, but there's no sense in translating. You have to know the original to enjoy it. But please go ahead and write something in a language I don't understand!</STRONG>

Hehe it's cool. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

And since I only speak English I have no chance of confusing you with other languages. Ah well...

[Elrian]

Originally posted by zifnab:
<STRONG>What really happened between Gandalf and Saruman in Orthanc-If written by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman & Zifnab.
-------------------------------

“Saruman”, said Gandalf, standing away from him. “ only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we! But I would not give it, nay, I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last. Well, the choices are, it seems, to submit to Sauron, or to yourself. I will take neither. Have you others to offer?”
“Yes,” said Saruman. “I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, and so saving yourself much trouble and pain. The third choice is to stay here, until the end.”
“Until the end?”
At that precise moment, a great whirlwind with dazzling lights from all the spectrum started in the corner of the tower. To the amazement of the two wizards, out of the whirlwind came a gentleman-imposing, dressing all in black: black breeches, black velvet coat, black silk stockings; white hair, tied in back with a black ribbon. He was accompanied by an old man, with a flowing beard and hair, wearing mouse-colored robes, all topped by a shabby and sorry-looking pointed hat.
The old man was singing.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall,” the old man gave a sudden stop, and seemed to be arguing with him-self. “No, no, no, that’s not right, oh how does it go, ninety-nine minus three add four divided by pie,” “Oh the heck with this, I shall have to have a meeting with the people at AA to figure that one out! I wonder if we could met at a nice little pub, there’s a lovely one named Cheers, or so I’ve heard.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the gentleman in black with a low voice, “but we are not alone.”
“Eh!” The old man gave a violent start, his hat slipped over his eyes, “Struck blind, by god!” he said in awed tones, stretching out groping hands.
“It’s your hat, sir,” said the gentleman in black, has he grabbed the old man’s hat and yanked it off his head. “Your hat, sir,” he said, waving it in front of the old man’s face.
“That’s not mine,” said the old man, staring at it suspiciously. “You’ve switched hats on me. Mine was in much better condition-“
“Excuse me, sir, but like I said earlier, we are not alone.” said the gentleman in black.
“Oh yes”, the old man said. His faced turned and twisted so that it resembled a menacing looking half-witted fellow. He eyed the two astonished people facing him with deep suspicion. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
The gentleman in black sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t believe that would be at all wise.” “It seems, sir, that your directions, might have been a bit wrong. I do not think we are in the Labyrinth.”
“What! Confound that kender, I should have none he would have given me the wrong directions,” said the old-man.
“Pardon me, sir. But we have to get back to business.” said the gentleman.
At that moment Gandalf and Saruman, snapped back into reality. They eyed themselves with suspicion. “What is the meaning of this, and who may I ask are you!” said Saruman, struggling to get the situation back under control.
“Who am I, Who am I,” cried the old-man, “Why…I am a great and power wizard, who does not like to be questioned by a man who desires a shiny ring, bah, I say to you!” The old man reaches out for Sarumans hand and gives it a good whack. “Why I don’t suppose when this is all over Manwe will have a nice long talk with you, my dear sir! Neglecting your responsibility, eh. And you, my dear Grand…Gald…Gandalf will lead the people forth. Ring, Ring that’s all you fellows talk about, why I can get any ring I want, do you know why?”
After this statement the two wizards were rendered speachless.
“Because I am a great a powerful wizard,” screams the old-man, thinking that their silence was meant in fact to be doubt.
“All this ring will give you is DEATH,” cried the old man, shaking his head, “DOOM AND-ER-whatever comes after. Can’t quite think….”
“Destruction?” suggested the man in black.
Now Gandlaf being more wise in the ways of the elderly speaks forth. “Excuse me my dear sir, but my companion and myself seem to be at a lose. You see, you seem to know us, but we have no clue, as to who you may be. And what is all this about me leading the people forth, to where I may ask?”
“You know…forth and such, Tally Ho! And all that.” said the old-man looking quite sheepish. “As to who I am……”, the old man said with a puzzling look on his face.
“You don’t know?” the old-man asked looking alarmed.
“No, sir. You haven’t told them.” said the gentleman.
“Drat.” The old-man stroked his beard. “I was rather hoping you would. You’re sure you don’t?”
-Silence-
“Ah, well. Let’s see.” The old man muttered to himself. “Fiz-No, I can’t use that. Furball. Doesn’t seem quite dignified enough. I have it!” he shouted, grabbing Gandlaf by the arm. “Zifnab!”
“Bless you!” said both wizards at once.
“No, no! My name! Zifnab! What’s the matter, Sonny?” The old man glared, eyebrows bristling. “Something wrong with that?”
-Uncomfortable silence-
The man in black starts to tug on the old mans sleeve. “I think we best get going, sir, before you say something that your not supposed to.”
“Well then, as my esteemed colleague said early, we must get going, but Saruman, you must make sure that those Orcs of yours are put on leash and collar. Nasty little vermin, they are. Its starting to look like a dump out there. And what a stink! Makes you wish you were in Lothlorien in the spring time. But I guess those Ents will come and tidy things up a bit.
The man in black shakes his head. “You’ve gone and done it now!”
The whirlwind comes again to the tower, and right before the old man and the gentleman, jump in. Gandalf speaks up. “But Zifnab…….”
“Don’t call me Shirley!” the old man snapped. “My name’s…well…it’s…Oh, the hell with it! Call me Shirley if you want. Rather a pleasant name. Grows on you. Good-bye!”. The old man waves his hand in a peculiar manner and throws some kind of dust in the air, then jumps back in the whirlwind.

-Silence-

Both wizards blink and continue with their conversation.
“Until you reveal to me where the One may be found. I may find means to persuade you. Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters: to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey.” said Saruman.
“That may not prove to be one of the lighter matters,” said Gandalf.</STRONG>

Good ole Zifnab! You tempt me to read the DGC again, friend! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] All the others were good too. Couldn't understand the Deutsche one though. Westron seems to be the norm here.

[img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[The Mirrorball Man]

The Lord of the Rings by Irvine Welsh (author of Trainspotting)

- Longbottom Leaf. What does that stuff dae fir ye Bilbo? Gandalf’s voice is genuinely enquiring. And he’s persistent:

- Ah want tae ken.

Ah launch intae a spiel. Ah feel surprisingly good, calm and clear, talkin aboot it.

- Ah don't really know, Gandy, ah jist dinnae. It kinday makes things seem mair real tae me. Life's boring and futile. We Hobbits start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we're aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. Basically, we live a long, disappointing life, and then we die. We fill up oor lives wi rubbish things like genealogy and parties tae delude oorsels that it isnae aw totally pointless. Longbottom Leaf’s an honest weed, because it strips away these delusions. It doesnae alter yir consciousness. It just gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being. Eftir that, ye see the misery ay the Shire as it is, and ye cannae anaesthetise yirsel against it.

Gandalf seems happy with my answer. He’s hooked.

- Where do ye get this stuff, Bilbo?

[Elvenglass]

Wow! This is fantastic! I am very impressed with all your imagination. I spent 15 minutes just reading through all of these messages. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] If only I could add my own.. Well I'll keep thinking and perhaps I can add my own sometime!

[Aralaithiel]

Well, get ready to frown, Estelyn! I am working on a Monty Python version of LOTR just for you! And the rest of this board as well. Bwhahahahahahahaha! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Ithilwen]

Estelyn, I read a little German and found that poem HILARIOUS! Thanks for posting it. This is definitely one of the most entertaining threads in the Downs.

[SlinkerStinker]

A Hobbitwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

There was me, that is Frodo, and my three droogs, that was Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrin, and we sat in the Prancing Pony Milkbar. We were peeting milk of the Big Folk that evening, a lovely mixture that would get you feeling real horrorshow and ready for a bit of the ol’ in and out. The lovely devotchka Rose was batting the glazzies with Samwise, but we’ve got time for a little twenty to one later I tell him.

O’ Brother, I could vivid old Gandolf now if I had me hands on his warbles right square this evening. A meeting his dishonest gulliver had promised yours truly, as we stroll into the bar still young Malchins by hobbit standards, and a bit overmatched at the moment. A real bruiserboy of Ranger sat in the corner eyeing yours truly as if he wanted a little gavoreeting with me all lovely like while he swibbled his pipe.

‘Aye!’ Samwise whits to me as the hairs stand on his plod real horrorshow like, ‘I don’t care for this place. Nothing but trouble in here I say. ‘ Patience my little droog, it’s time for a bit of investigatin.

‘Hello hello good sir.’ I announce to the Ranger as I wack him in the garbles. ‘Lets have a bit of fun with the Nazguls, eh me brother.’ And so it was that we came into the company of Strider, a big fella with a like silver sword with the names of different malchicks on the blade, supposedly victims to the smiling edge of the wicked little poker.

Leaving the bar we headed for Weathertop, a favorite of the skivits of old, and a place guaranteeing a bit of action for me droogs.

‘Well wakey wakey, who do we have gracing our presence this bitter eve’ I ask as a gully little group of Nazgul start plodding up the hill toward me droogs and I. ‘I’d say we shan’t get any spatchka this night right?”
‘Right Right’ Aragorn replied as his mind turned from thoughts of pretty polly, to thoughts of the real horrorshow to follow.

[SlinkerStinker]

sorry that story isn't all that good, but you try to write in that dialect. It's mind bogling. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Aralathiel, I'm looking forward to your Monty Python version!
...and now for something completely different...
Does anyone want to try their hand at a Black Adder LotR? It could have something like this:

Frodo Blackadder: Now how on Middle-Earth am I to get rid of this confounded ring?

Sam Baldrick: I've got a cunning plan, Mr. B!

FB: Baldrick, I'm sure your plan is about as cunning as the back of a cave troll's neck.

(...or maybe completely different...)

[Elanor]

Lol! Those are fab, especially the Irvine Welsh. I used to live in Dundee, and I can hear the voice in my head reading that style really clearly. Liked the Clockwork Orange version too [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Eowyn of Ithilien]

I love blackadder [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] yes yes...ty for all your stories guys!

[Birdland]

Ooooh, can I play, too?

The Lord of the Rings - by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton (19th century author known for his run-on sentences, and for coining the phrase "It was a dark and stormy night.")

It was a dark and pleasant evening when Mr. Bilbo Baggins, fashionably corpulent yet still remarkably well-preserved despite the many years of constant speculation and endless none-too-subtle enquiries regarding both his fiduciary and mental balance, most particularly by diver Sackville-Bagginses fiercely agitated on by the once-lovely yet morosely bitter Lobelia, left town.