A/n-I’m so sorry for the long wait in updates, it’s just that I’ve had writer’s block for this story (It was supposed to be a one-shot). Thus, the plot is FINALLY advancing! YAY!

Disclaimer-Anything from Tolkien’s universe belongs to him and his agents and such, yet the random “One (fill in object here) to Rule Them All” objects belong to me.

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Where we left off…Hype, Rhia, LH, Random Orc #3, and Elendil had just been revived by being transported to the beginning of chapter 2. However, they just realized that Sauron would try once again to take over the world with a newspaper and an Elvis Impersonator, which they had defeated once before yet it had resulted in Random Orc #3 throwing himself into Mt. Doom, Elendil being smacked by a hotline phone and dying, and Hype, Rhia, and LH being mauled to death by an “army of flock of rabid college mascots”. And Hype just realized that the last sentence is very, very long, and doesn’t care. And since it was finally summer break, Hype, Rhia, and LH could destroy the Elvis Impersonator (and the newspaper, but that was destroyed by Ents so nobody cares about that, either).

Thus, we finally get back to mid-chapter 2, to try to stop the Elvis Impersonator once and for all. Unfortunately, that means that Random Orc #3 was already dead, so he poofed from existence.

“Hey, where’d Random Orc #3 go?” LH asked.

“Since he was already dead by mid-chapter 2, he poofed from existence,” reasoned Hype.

“Oh,” said everyone.

“I guess that means if we die again, then we’re screwed. GIL-GALAD, DON’T YOU DARE THROW THAT HOTLINE PHONE, WE’RE ALREADY HERE!” screamed Rhia, leaping and grabbing the phone before it killed Elendil again. Thus, Isildur was not fairly pissed off, which made the plot line run that much better.

“Wait, if Gil-Galad just threw the phone, and it DIDN’T kill Elendil this time, that means that the Elvis Impersonator has already been invented. Crap,” said LH.

“So that means…” began Hype. She was cut off by the random appearing of Círdan and Elrond, “No fistfighting this time, ok guys?” Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad looked royally confused. Anyone who isn’t referencing to chapter 2 right now is probably also royally confused.

“We’re going off to fight the Elvis Impersonator, so be good elves and men and don’t kill each other until we get back, ok?” said the three teenagers, and they raced off still bearing their respective weapons.

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So they kicked Sauron’s butt, and the “army of flock of rabid college mascots” (it’s really bad when I keep poking fun at my own typos) and came back perfectly alive. Thus, the odd cliffhanger I left you with was resolved, and we proceed onto the actual story.

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Sauron was in a rather foul mood. So was Frodo, but we don’t care about him (yet). The reason he was in a foul mood? Marco Polo had let his Corn Flakes get soggy. That, and the fact that every time he tried to create an evil demonic object to pour all of his evil and malice into, something would happen or somebody would come and destroy it before he had the chance to take over the world. And he had soggy Corn Flakes for breakfast.

“MARCO POLO! WHOEVER THE COOK HERE IS, PLEASE TOSS HIM INTO THE PIT OF ETERNAL DOOM!” shouted Sauron.

“We have a pit of eternal doom?” asked Marco Polo, not noticing that in the third line of this section, the author had plainly said that he had been the one to let the Corn Flakes get soggy.

“No. But its worth sounding evil and demonic saying it, right?” asked Sauron. Marco Polo blinked, and shook his head. Thus, Sauron kicked him off into oblivion.

“Now I need new random orcs,” groaned Sauron. Marco Polo came back, because I can’t think of any good names for new random orcs.

“Hey! I came back from oblivion! Oh, and Melkor says “Hi” and to change your underwear,” said Marco Polo.

“Sauron has no pants! Sauron needs no pants!” demanded Sauron, referring to himself in the third person and irking the hell out of everyone that people referring to themselves in third person irk the hell out of.

“That’s nice to know,” said Marco Polo.

“Now, I need to come up with something that’s so evil, so demonic, so utterly dark that everybody will be too busy cowering in fear about that they won’t be able to combat it with ANYTHING!” said Sauron, “Marco Polo, what’s the most evil, demonic, and utterly dark thing you can come up with?”

“Ummm…a waffle,” said Marco Polo.

“A waffle?” asked Sauron.

“A waffle,” said Marco Polo.

“What’s so evil, demonic, and utterly dark about a waffle?” asked Sauron, utterly confused.

“Well, when you toast them, they never come out just right. They’re either too burnt, or too raw, or completely frozen because you forgot to turn the toaster on. Then, they make the kitchen smell weird, like partially cooked waffles. Then, you can’t get the butter to stay on because it goes into the little holes and it makes you use too much butter, then you get fat. And then, when you put the syrup on, it goes into the little holes and makes you get fat again! And you get the syrup all over the plate, and you make a giant mess. Waffles are evil!” said Marco Polo.

“I never thought of that before…” said Sauron. Thus, 4 seconds later, Sauron created the most devilish, demonic and tasty weapon ever.

“BEHOLD! THE ONE WAFFLE TO RULE THEM ALL!” shouted Sauron, holding the One Waffle aloft. The orcs blinked a few times, and erupted in laughter. Even Sauron began to chuckle to himself.

“That’s kind of lame,” said FWYM. Marco Polo smacked him, causing him to die again.

“Nice,” Random Orc #4, whom we shall call “Yugoslavian Man’s Replacement”, or YMR.

“It kind of was a stupid idea,” said Sauron, and he pitched the One Waffle into Mt. Doom, having it become the second least successful demonic weapon ever (after the One Bar of Soap).

“Now what?” asked Sauron.

“I have…a better idea,” said YMR, quoting something but I’m not sure what.

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Three bushels of corn and seven History textbooks later, Sauron had created the most evil, demonic, and utterly dark weapon ever, even more so than an Elvis Impersonator and a Spanish Textbook. The sheer power radiating off of it caused our three teenagers to go off hiding (well, one went to Ireland and the other two cowered under their beds, but it still qualifies as hiding).

“BEHOLD! THE ONE RADISH TO RULE THEM ALL!” shouted Sauron. The orcs started dancing happily at the fact that something perfectly evil had been created.

“I am a genius,” said YMR. Marco Polo smacked him, and he also died. However, it was no problem for Sauron because he was tired of the stupid Yugoslavian-Orc things running around. So he created the pathetically apathetic Random Orc #5, called Merppy. For what reason, I do not know, just that his name is Merppy.

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Meanwhile, not far away…

“This is not good,” said Gil-Galad, to a bunch of other people, “Sauron has created a REAL evil weapon, and those three teenagers are nowhere to be found!”

“Yeah, that kind of is a problem,” said Elendil.

“I think it’s a good time to form an alliance of men and elves and dwarves that nobody has ever seen and will never see again,” said Círdan.

“Just one problem,” said Elrond, feeling like making Círdan look like an idiot, “The dwarves are on a 200-year holiday and won’t be back for another 20 years,”

“We can’t wait 20 years for the stupid dwarves to come back!” moaned Gil-Galad, “I think we’ll just have to resort to having an alliance of men and elves that nobody has ever seen and will never see again,”

“Except that a lot of elves permanently relocated to Valinor after the Elvis Impersonator came into existence,” said Elrond and Círdan, simultaneously.

“No they didn’t,” said Elendil. Everyone else stared at him, “Rhia, Hype, LH, Random Orc #3 and I made a big net on the road to the Gray Havens and captured all of the elves trying to get away. Then we brainwashed them into thinking that the only way to get to Valinor was to destroy Sauron. So we have a net-full of elves that are ready to make Sauron go boom,”

“Then we might be able to pull it off,” mused Gil-Galad hopefully, “Elendil, go find Isildur. Something tells me that he has a very important part to play in this rapidly unfolding saga,”

“Yeah,” said Celeborn, appearing for no apparent reason, “He cuts the radish off Sauron’s finger, but loses it in the Anduin, and Deagol is going to find it…” he was cut off by randomly-appearing Galadrial who smacked him on the head and dragged him back to Lothlórien.

“Did he just say that Isildur cuts the One Radish of Sauron’s finger?” Elendil asked. The others shrugged.

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Not long after, Elendil and Gil-Galad had amassed an army of elves and men unlike anything that had ever been seen in Middle Earth, and unlike anything that would ever be seen again. Sauron put on a nice show also, putting forth an army of orcs more or less like any other army of orcs seen on Middle Earth: many, easy to kill, and collectively having the IQ of a rock. Elrond put on a lovely show of shouting “helpful” things to his section of the army, such as: “SHOOT DOWN THE ARMY OF CEREAL BOWLS COMING IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION” and “DON’T SHOW THEM ANY MERCY BECAUSE IF YOU DO, I’LL BEAT YOU TO A BLOODY PULP!” Of course, it was in Elvish so all of the men in the army thought he was being rather brilliant in coming up with a sort of code that none of the men or orcs could understand. However, the surviving elves had a lot of gossip to mull over for the next several centuries. But that’s not what this tale is about.

For a while, it seemed that neither of the two sides were doing much except killing each other off. Then, the Last Alliance side seemed to be gaining the upper hand. At least, until Sauron got fed up with the cheap orcs he had hired, and decided that the best way to get a job done was to go down there and do it himself. So in a blinding flash of smoke and a puff of light, he stepped onto the battlefield wielding a rather large baseball bat and the One Radish around his finger.

“Well, that’s screwy,” said Gil-Galad, as Sauron came after him. Then a very odd thing happened: Gil-Galad vanished in a loud puff of light. Sauron stood there puzzled for a moment, then turned on Elendil. In a loud smack, Elendil was whacked with the baseball bat and went flying across the…er, battlefield.

“Dad!” shrieked Isildur, and he ran to his father, brutally slaughtering all orcs, elves, men, and Spanish teachers in his way. Unfortunately, it was the wrong Spanish teachers. Anyway, as Isildur fell to the side of his father, Elendil blinked and looked at his son for the last time.

“Luke…I am your father…” he said.

“Who the bloody hell is Luke?” demanded Isildur.

“Gaak…dead,” said Elendil, and he died.

“You EXPLANATIVE!” shouted Isildur, and he sliced the radish from Sauron’s hand with a perfectly good sword. Sauron did the weird implode-explode thing, and vanished.

“That was odd,” said Isildur, and put the sword down. And the sword, conveniently named “Narsil” shattered into several rather sharp pointy pieces.

“I thought it was supposed to have a lifetime guarantee?” asked Isildur. He shrugged, and picked up the One Radish. Instantly, it began to corrupt him with its evil radishness.

“Ok, Isildur, follow us,” said Elrond, and he and Círdan led Isildur up to Mt. Doom.

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Will Isildur actually listen to Círdan and Elrond this time? Will he ever be refunded for Narsil’s lifetime guarantee? Will Hype, Rhia, and LH ever come back from hiding? And what the heck happened to Gil-Galad? Find out next time, when I’m actually not lazy and decide to update (probably when I get back from Ireland. That part was true.)

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