I was totally shocked at the response to this fic and how quickly I finished it! Now I have nothing to work on until my muse decides to torture me with a random plot bunny like this. I urge you to check out my other stuff until I start something else. Pwease?

Thanks to Southerngirl4615, Hyperactive Forever, Lady Tolwen, Annie, Elli, Lady Voldything and Tongue in Cheek Scribe. You guys rock my socks!

This chapter is dedicated to my sister. Happy sweet sixteen, Jaye!

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise is mine.

-Chapter 5 – Of Upset Brothers and Fissers-

King Éomer Clarissa of Rohan's life was now a pile of horse dung and angst. He was going to see Gandalf for a reason that has nothing to do with getting therapy. He knew the truth. On the other hand,Gandalf Christina Ainsley Rebecca Shaniqua the White, wannabe therapist, was glad that he had helped Arwen, Legolas, Faramir and Éowyn. To him, at least, he helped them. To celebrate, Gandalf opened a few bottles of wine and had a little party in his dumpster with a morose alien from the planet Yuanafak, who got so drunk that it passed out and longed to visit the little boys' room when it woke up.

Someone knocked on the door. Gandalf groaned and turned the music off. He hated interruptions, and when he felt trapped, pants. "Come in, thou synthetic maggot."

"Gandalf Christina, I hate you!" the person outside the door shouted. "You are under arrest!"

Gandalf was as confuzzled as a fruitless jazz oaf hiding under a pile of sturdy Greek philosophers. Who the heck wanted to arrest him? Why would anyone even think of arresting his sweet fouz?

"Let me in, Captain Crunch!" Éomer yelled. He broke down the door and jumped back in horror at the sight of Gandalf wearing a hot pink miniskirt. "You are sick and wrong!"

"Awe, is Éomer having a bad day?" he cooed, jumping off the couch and pinching Éomer's cheeks like a windmill attempting to steal a box of poultry quirks. "Gandie will make it all better!"

"How can you make everything better when my life has come to a complete stop? And you're the cause of it all!"

"I did not ruin your life! I haven't seen you in years!"

Éomer kicked him. "Do you want to know what's going on in my sad life, you doleful nose loaf?"

"I have to! I'm a therapist!"

"Uh huh, and Ioreth has prostate cancer," Éomer spat. "Alright, so I come home one night from my special kingly meeting, only to find that my uncle's skeleton wants to take the throne back!"

Gandalf smiled. "I brought him back to life. So how is Theoden?"

"REBURIED!" he shouted, looking around for something to hurt Gandalf with. He couldn't find anything, so he continued with his tirade. "I buried him again, and when I came back home I was shocked to find the decaying King of Gondor on my bed reading teen magazines! He requested to have a slumber party with his friends from the girls' football team. Needless to say I was stuck playing dress-up and painting my nails pretty shades of pink instead of doing my kingly duties or playing laser tag with impeccable cubes of cheddar cheese."

"So?"

"So I had to escort him back to his grave in Minas Tirith!"

"Thank you for flying Delta," Gandalf said sweetly.

"I don't thank you! You gave those nutters fake therapy! And guess what? When I got back from Minas Tirith, I found Lothíriel tied to the meal table. She was bruised and her feet were swollen! Do you want to know why, you nose loaf?"

"Why would that be, snookums?"

"The King of Mirkwood and his son broke into the Golden Hall, beat my wife up and forced her to dance to Jenny From The Block for eight hours straight! She is still in the hospital! I will hurt you!"

"Violence is not the answer, Éomer Clarissa, daughter of Éomund," the old fart replied, trying to keep his cool. He knew he was going to be in deep trouble. "You seem upset. Is there anything wrong?"

"I just told you!" Éomer yelled. He restrained himself from shaking Gandalf like an erroneous priest carcass. "Do you want to know what else is wrong?"

Gandalf said nothing. His mind was focusing on the oh-so-lovely thought of Frankenstein.

"My brother-in-law is now in a correctional facility for the rest of his life," he sneered. "Faramir apparently thought that he was green, and you could not cure him or his abusive tendencies!" Éomer choked on his tears. "Faramir decided to go hunting with Elrohir before he went to the funny farm. Do you want to know what he shot?"

"What?"

"My little sister!" Éomer broke down and began to cry while Gandalf stared. "Didn't you know that Éowyn was pregnant?"

"Of course I knew! I thought Éowyn and the baby would be happier with Gollum, so I didn't do anything."

"She's not happy now! She's dead!" he sobbed. "You killed two innocent lives and it's all your fault!"

"It's Faramir's fault, you glassy grandfather!"

"I am no grandfather!" Éomer paused. "I am no man, I am no man..." then he began to wail more, beating his fists on the couch like a nocturnal robot sniffer. "Waaah! Liverwurst! Éowyn loved liverwurst!"

"You have issues, Éomer, you really have issues."

"No, you have issues, Gandalf. You are going to jail for this!"

"For what?"

"For everything I mentioned."

Gandalf's blueish-greenish-yellowish-reddish-pinkish-orangeish-purpleish eyes popped out. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Bring in the fissers!"

Suddenly, a bunch of fissers (police officers) ran into the room and seized Gandalf. "Don't take me! Don't take me! I'm just a liquidated snail staying up past its eight o'clock curfew!"

As Éomer laughed and Gandalf was carted away by those chubby and doughnut-loving fissers, the deranged old fart whispered, "I'll be back."

Fin.