Over the course of a few days, Merry had suddenly become narcoleptic. He slept everywhere, while his friend Pippin, who was hyperactive by nature, could not. On one sunny day, as the hobbits were held as prisoners of a pack of Orcs, Pippin, tied to the back of an Orc, observed his friend, dead asleep on the back of another Orc. Pippin looked at his dear friend quizzically. “Merry?” he said. “Merry!” Merry, in response, omitted a snore loud enough to be heard over the stomping feet of the Orcs. At the head of the company of Orcs, one Orc stopped suddenly. He smelled something that smelled a lot like That Guy From Psycho.

“What is it?” said TTT Orc #2.

“Manflesh,” said TTT Orc #1. Fan girls perked their ears (and eyes) at the word. There were only two kinds of manflesh in this tale: The really old kind, and the really hot kind. Using logical reasoning they knew that the manflesh being referred to in the previous line of dialogue could only be the really hot kind. Then again, they weren’t thinking about Gimli. But Gimli wasn’t “manflesh.” Neither was Legolas. But Aragorn was!

~

Aragorn listened intently to the sounds of the ground while fan girls fainted and missed a good five minutes of the story. “They’ve quickened their pace… They’ve caught our scent. We must make haste!” Legolas obliged. Gimli complained. Last summer he had entrusted Legs of Steel to improve his cross-country agility. But he was wronged. His short legs failed to keep up with those of a taller and more agile man (and elf), and his endurance was waning with every footstep me made. His dear friends paid no heed to his inability to run as fast as they could, and indeed ignored him when he tripped, fell, and landed on his helmet-covered head. At one moment, Aragorn paused, searching around as if he had heard something.

“What is it, Aragorn?” inquired Legolas.

“A strange noise… It sounds like…” Aragorn listened again to the sound and twitched when he realized what it was. The most horrible sound ever known to man. Especially when man was trying to sleep. “It’s snoring! Gimli, have you fallen asleep?” he questioned, remembering that one night in Lothlorien. But Gimli was still a ways behind them.

“My spider-sense tells me that this is no mere snorer, it’s a hobbit,” stated Legolas.

“Merry and Pippin. We must be on the right track.” With haste Legolas and Aragorn ran on, Gimli gasping behind them like a put-put car way past its expiration date. They came to no stop until they reached the top of one hill, overlooking the rest of the land, as hilly and grassy as the, erm, hill.

“Oooh! Pretty!” said Academy Award Winner Howard Shore, taken by the land’s majesty. “It’s all big and grand-like…”

“Rohan,” said Aragorn.

”Mmm. Rohan you say?” said Academy Award Winner Howard Shore. “Rohan… Y’know this really nifty song just came into my head. Let me play it for you.” Shore struck up his orchestra, and the Choir of Doom sang the words:

“Rohan, Rohan. It’s a hell of a town...”

“…” said Aragorn. The urge to jump off the cliff was astonishingly powerful at that moment. He never heard any music so unbearable. It was like Gershwin on crack. A lot of crack. But then Aragorn, being raised by elves, was a bit of a music snob; though the same could not be said for Legolas, who was clearly enjoying the noise.

“It’s got a beat, and I can dance to it!” said Legolas, breaking into the funky chicken. Moments later, Gimli caught up, and, catching his breath, listened to the music appreciatively.

“Right you are, Master Elf,” he replied. “I could easily see Miss Liza Minelli singing it some day. Liza Minelli is a great singer, you know? No offence, but she far surpasses any Elven voice I’ve heard in all Middle-Earth.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Legolas. He wasn’t much of a fan of Liza Minelli, though he could go for some Michael Bolton now and then.

Aragorn bashed his head on a rock. “Make it stop… Make it stop!” he cried. The absurdity of it all was killing him (as was bashing his head on a rock repeatedly).

“Hey, I can’t please everyone,” said Academy Award Winner Howard Shore. “At least the audience likes it.”

“We don’t,” replied the audience.

“Oh. Oh… Well, I’ve got another song for Rohan, then…” He struck up the band, the audience was moved.

“You can stop bashing your head in now, Aragorn,” said Legolas.

To Be Continued
On to Chapter 3 – Pervy Éowyn Fancier
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