Ah, welcome to the revised and improved version of Freaky Friars From France. I fixed some typos, added Gollum's lacy panties and revised some paragraphs.
Lord of the Rings does not belong to me. The poem 'Animal Feet' belongs to my dear sister Jasmine. I do not own the Hamburglar or Ronald McDonald. Faramir's poem is mine. The songs aren't. Got it? Good.
"Please, sir," Éowyn begged. "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."
The Warden blinked and stared at the crazy woman before him. "Does it look like I give a flying rat's arse about your unrest? But I can give you a sloth, if you'd like," the Warden took a furry South American mammal out of his Jansport hiking backpack and shoved it into Éowyn's arms. "I hope that satisfies your sexual needs."
Éowyn looked from the sloth to the Warden. This was not what she wanted. Why would anyone want a sloth, let alone sleep with one? Éowyn pouted. "I don't want a sloth. I only want one thing, and it's definitely not a sloth."
"What do you want, then?" asked the Warden.
"Let me see the steward and I shall tell him what I want. Where's the little sucker?"
The Warden winked seductively at the sloth. "In the little girls' room..."
-In the girls' loo-
Faramir Nora was pacing back and forth in the restroom. He had originally come there because he needed to change his tampon, but it was a great place to ponder stuff. Outside it was light, but his heart was dark. For some odd reason, he seemed to know that his loony pops burned himself, and it comforted him to know that his ashes could be used as kitty litter for stray cats. Farrikins was also happy that Boromir was feeding the fishies in the river and perhaps Hannibal Lecter. At least his body was good for something, while Faramir, alive, was good for nothing. He wanted to cry.
He spun around and saw a blonde woman in ghetto garb holding a sloth. He recognized her as the Grim Reaper.
"Long time no see, eh, bud?" said Faramir happily, giving the Grim Reaper a high-five. "What have you been up to, you sexy reaper of all that may be grim?"
Éowyn wrinkled her unusually large nose. Faramir did the same with his even larger nose. "I'm not the Grim Reaper," she said gloomily. "I am just an impoverished thesaurus with a sinus infection."
"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"
"Tell the perverted Warden to let me go!"
"He likes squirrels," Éowyn said. She really wanted to leave for one special reason. "Just tell him to let me go! You're the effing steward so do something about it! I just want to go streaking..."
Faramir could not help but laugh. Éowyn's annoying grey eyes filled with tears as he laughed. "It's not funny...oh yes, my window does not look east."
"What's east, precious?" asked Faramir. This deranged woman was quite funny and he wanted to hear what she had to say. Of course, he was secretly in love with her because the author made him, but there was something about her perverted ways that made him giggle and want to rename himself Stella.
"Mordor is east," Éowyn sighed and looked towards what was supposedly east.
"What's in Mordor, precious, eh? Yes, precious," hissed Faramir. He liked to pretend he was the oh-so-sexy Gollum, his other secret crush.
"What's so special about orcs, eh, precious?"
"They're hot," said Éowyn. She winked and longingly looked east.
"Alright, we'll compromise. We can walk in the gardens in our insane array of undergarments and look east, but I won't have the Warden release you because the author is sadistic. Deal?"
Éowyn farted, bowed, and ran back to the house. Faramir skipped over to the local pet store and consumed bird seed, but Éowyn was constantly on his mind.
-five days later, you turd sandwich-
"Farrikins, I'm cold," whined Éowyn. She was cuddling the sloth for warmth, but it wasn't helping very much. After all, it was very cold and holding furry mammals doesn't keep one warm. Faramir and Éowyn were stupid...they were chillin' outside in the middle of March in their knickers. Faramir was sporting a shiny yellow tube top and a pair of Gollum's lacy panties. It was sexy. On the other hand, Éowyn was sporting the author's brother's Jar Jar Binks boxers and a bra that had once belonged to her cousin, Théodred. It was not sexy, but extremely revolting to the point that the author felt like throwing up her dinner, which she did after writing this paragraph.
"You are the neediest bitch ever," spat Faramir. "But fine...take my mum's cardigan."
Faramir had sent for the nauseating mustard yellow cardigan for Éowyn to wear. It had once belonged to his mum, Finduilas of Amroth. Only Faramir knew the real reason his mum had died. Finduilas was hunted down because she had stolen twelve of Mr Rogers' cardigans from his spiffy closet with the sliding door. So anyway, Éowyn put on the nasty cardigan and gazed at Faramir.
"Darkness is coming," she whispered. "Oh Eru, if only I were a goose in pink slippers from Payless Shoe Source!"
Faramir, being the oh-so-sweet dude he was, turned on a random torch, whose name was indeed Bobby. Bobby the torch lit up everything in sight. Farrikins and Éowyn were finally able to see stuff that they couldn't before, such as dead squirrels, stars, an Applebee's restaurant and other romantic shit. Éowyn, who had been longing for light, started reading a 'Senior Citizens Gone Wild' magazine that she had stolen from Ioreth, everyone's favourite gooseplop.
"In this hour I do not believe that darkness will endure...ooh...a spider!" said Faramir dreamily, picking up a hairy brown spider. Éowyn looked at him questioningly. Faramir chucked the spider at Willy Wonka and kissed Éowyn passionately like an old Chinese man in an anger management class. This kiss was better than any kiss. Kissing a deranged shieldmaiden was better than kissing Boromir, Beregond, and even Denethor, who was the best freaking kisser in the world. As for Éowyn, she was glad that Faramir was not all wrinkly like Théoden, whom she had frequently snogged when there was nothing better to do. The two idiots could hear voices singing in the distance...
Faramir and Éowyn could not resist. They tore off their skimpy clothes and went streaking while singing along to 'Japanese Boy'. It was the best day of their measly lives.
-a few months later, you tender octopus man-
"Cat, dog, and rabbit feet..." Éowyn said sadly. "...go pitter-patter on the street. There has never been a sound as sweet...as the pitter-patter of animal feet."
Alas, my dear buddy, Éowyn was depressed like a pregnant goldfish at a Frank Sinatra concert. Faramir had left the Houses of Healing to do his special stewardly duties around the city, such as beating up old people, spraying expensive cologne on watermelons, and playing chess with opera singers named Harold. She missed him, but yet she did not. Faramir was a great person to complain to, and she kind of liked him like that, but she was still grieving over the loss of the sloth, who had died from a hangnail.
Éowyn sighed and looked around with tears in her eyes. She was in the tower of Minas Anor, the freaking ugliest tower ever. Everything made her sad, especially the fact that her former crush, Aragorn Melissa, heir of some important king guy who nobody cares about, was engaged to a mint-flavoured toothpick from a local steakhouse. Despite the fact that everything was green and the weather was warm, she was still depressed. It made everyone wonder if she had ever heard of a shrink.
Just then, the little bitch could hear a terrible something singing. Whatever was singing sounded like the sad mixture of Mariah Carey and Michael Jackson. Éowyn spotted Faramir on the other side of the tower. He was wearing a red pleather miniskirt, and he was holding wilted flowers and a blown-up condom, which was probably supposed to be some sort of deranged balloon.
"Éowyn, I'm back!" he called excitedly. "I have presents for you!"
She ignored him.
"Please," begged Faramir, getting to his knees in front of Éowyn. "I love you although I hardly know you. Marry me or else!"
Éowyn slapped Farrikins, causing him to cry. The two insane people sat there until Faramir had finished crying. He stood up and began to sing in his horrible voice...
Please, Éowyn, say that you want me,
Promise me that your arse is wild and free,
Love me, hold me, take me to the park,
Then I won't randomly turn into a shark,
Touch me, comfort me, wrap me up in a white sheet,
Then I won't be forced to sniff Eomer's feet,
I love you like a swan loves a flamingo,
Hey, bitch! Let's dance to the Cotton Eye Joe!
I know you love me, you want to feel my greasy butt,
So put down your porno magazines and stop being a slut,
Excuse me, fair lady, but now I must consume a grasshopper,
Always remember not to shop at Price Chopper.
Faramir threw himself back on the ground and started bawling like a file cabinet in a funeral home with a clicky pen and a polka-dotted gooseplop named Jose. Éowyn then thought about something she hadn't thought about before. Faramir was a sweet man. He would do anything for her. What if she married him? Surely she would be happy. If not, she could just murder the little sucker and move to Bangladesh.
She pondered this for another moment. Yes, this was what she wanted. She cleared her throat and Faramir looked up expectantly.
"Uh...um..." Éowyn started. This was harder than she thought. "Um...oompa loompas wear pants."
"Yes, they do," replied Faramir, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"I love you," she said. "Marry me, you vile cookie stomper!"
So on that fateful spring day in 3019 of the third age, Faramir and Éowyn had a heavy snog session in Minas Anor. People were watching them from the ground, but it did not bother them one bit. Most people had taken to chucking marzipans at them, but Ronald McDonald didn't.
"This is unfair!" Ronald protested. "I don't have a lover to snog!"
The Hamburglar snuck up on him from behind and tapped his shoulder. "I can change that!"
Ronald McDonald and the Hamburglar snogged. They too began to chuck marzipans at Faramir and Éowyn.
Éowyn and Faramir lived happily ever after like a blueberry muffin that likes playing tennis with foreign language teachers on Saturday afternoons after poking random livestock with a monk named Gretchen.