Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. I'm not even sure I own myself, which is pretty pathetic.
This is the sequel to my Fellowship of the Ring parody Lord of the Taters. You don't absolutely have to read the first Lord of the Taters, but it would be better if you do (and review it, please!)
Chapter One: The Strangeness Continues
Frodo Baggins the Magical Hob, and Samwise Gamgee, also a Magical Hob, had run away from their five companions and were now traveling alone on their own journey. Their journey, however, was being postponed at the moment while they busily slept.
Frodo was sleeping soundly, deep within a very odd dream. In the dream, he was wandering around what appeared to be Elrond's bedroom. Gandalf sat in a chair, smoking his pipe.
"Gandalf!" cried Frodo. The image of Gandalf flickered and disappeared.
"I'm not Gandalf, you're Gandalf!" Sam protested.
"I'm not Gandalf, he's Gandalf!" said Frodo, pointing at Thingum.
"Nice Hobses!" croaked Thingum. He then ran off.
Suddenly, Grima Wormtongue came running through the room, screaming, "Get out of my way! Hazardous material coming through!" He stopped running, picked up Sam, and swallowed him.
"SAM!" Frodo cried in distress.
"Mwahaha!" Grima laughed. He suddenly melted into a puddle of ice cream. Frodo touched the puddle of ice cream and it turned into Gandalf.
"Odorf!" said Gandalf. "Doog ot ees uoy!"
"Huh?" Frodo was very confused, as he did not understand backwards language.
Gandalf started to dance around the room. "Fish, fish, it's good for your soul, down your throat and out your hole!" He burst into flame and disappeared.
"He's really most sincerely dead!" sang Thingum.
Frodo jumped around excitedly and burst into song. "Ding-dong, the wizard's dead, the wizard's dead, the wizard's dead, ding-dong, the- ACHOO!"
Suddenly, Frodo woke up. "That has got to be the weirdest dream I've ever had in the history of my entire existence."
Sam, hearing Frodo's voice, woke up. "What are you doing, Mr. Frodo?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? I just woke up!"
"Alright, Mr. Frodo, relax."
"I guess we'd better start traveling again," Frodo sighed. He got to his feet and he and Sam started to walk until they came to a cliff. "Uh-oh," said Frodo.
"Never fear, rope is here!" cried Sam, pulling some rope of his pack.
"Sam, that rope looks extremely poorly made," Frodo commented. "And it's all tattered and frayed and moldy."
Sam shrugged. "Don't blame me. Galadriel's the one who gave it to me." Sam uncoiled his rope and tied it securely. "You go first, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo slid down on the rope and landed at the bottom. He suddenly let out a loud scream. "AAAAGGGHHH!" He waved his hands around wildly.
"What is it, Mr. Frodo?"
"I'VE GOT ROPE BURN! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!" Frodo slapped his hands on a rock, trying to get rid of the sting in them. "Ow, it won't go away!"
"Quit your complaining, Mr. Frodo." Sam then began to climb down on the rope. When he was about a quarter of the way down, something suddenly fell out of his pocket.
"What the heck is that?" Frodo asked.
"Just catch it!"
"But my hands still hurt really bad!" Frodo failed to catch the little box and it shattered into a million billion trillion pieces. "What was in that thing anyway?"
Sam shrugged. "I dunno. Must not have been that important." He continued his descent down the rope. When he was halfway down, the bad-quality rope suddenly snapped, and Sam went crashing to the ground. "Ow! Could you help me get up, Mr. Frodo?"
"No way! Are you crazy? This horrible rope burn has made it impossible for me to use my hands for at least a few hours!"
"Fine, I'll help myself." Sam got to his feet and an odd scent met his nose. "Hey, something smells kind of like Aragorn."
"If it smells like Aragorn, then it must smell pretty bad," Frodo said. He sniffed the air. "Eew!"
"I wonder what it is?"
"I don't know." Frodo sniffed again. "Ow, my poor, sensitive nostrils!" He collapsed to the ground, tightly clutching his nose.
"Mr. Frodo, are you all right?"
"Does it look like it?"
"It's the tater, isn't it?"
Frodo took his tater out of his pocket and sniffed it. "No Sam, I don't think it is. Maybe it's you! You don't have body odor, do you?"
"No way!" Sam denied. "Only people like Aragorn have body odor!"
"Well somebody around here didn't use deodorant," Frodo observed. "Aw, who cares? I'm tired."
"But you've had a full half already!"
Frodo stared at Sam. "What?"
Sam looked rather puzzled. "Did I just say that?"
"Oh. Must have been a random outburst."
"Well that was uncanny," Frodo said. "Anyway, I'm tired."
"But you've just slept for twelve hours! Twelve hours, Mr. Frodo! And you're telling me that you need more sleep?"
Frodo yawned. "Yes. Now let's go over there by that highly conspicuous area and have a rest!"
Sam crossed his arms stubbornly. "You can rest, Mr. Frodo, but I'm not!"
"Suit yourself, Sam." Frodo dropped to his knees and dragged himself over to his chosen resting spot. He closed his eyes and was snoring instantly.
Sam plopped down on the ground and decided to count how many dirt particles were on the ground. "One, two, three, four, five, six..."
The two Magical Hobs thought they were completely alone, but they were quite wrong. Thingum crept out of the shadows, muttering to himself. "We smells deodorant, we does, precious. Smells clean and fresh like wicked elveses!"
Frodo continued to snore and talk in his sleep. "Zzzzz... I'm not like you, Bilbo... zzzzzzzzz..."
Sam was still counting dirt particles. "Four thousand and one, four thousand and two, four thousand and three..."
Thingum crept closer. "Where is my tater?" He sniffed around. "Aha!" He spotted Frodo and made his way over to him.
Frodo did not awake. "Zzzz... Frodo had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb... zzzzz... ...it's fleece was white as snow..."
Sam continued to be absorbed in his counting. "Nine million and ninety-eight, nine million and ninety-nine, uh... Hey, what's comes after nine million and ninety-nine? Mr. Frodo?" He looked at his companion and saw Thingum bending over him. "Hey!"
Thingum turned around and looked at Sam. "Our tater!" he screeched. He attacked Sam and the two of them engaged in a brutal wrestling match.
Due to all of the noise going on, Frodo woke up. "Where am I? What is the time? Fish sticks!"
"Mr. Frodo, I could use some help here!" yelled Sam, who was trying to remove Thingum's hands from around his throat.
"Frodo to the rescue!" Frodo cried, whipping out his handy-dandy plastic butterknife. Thingum let go of Sam, grabbed Frodo's plastic knife, and started gnawing on it.
"Hey, give that back!" Frodo yelled. He took back his knife and swatted Thingum on the head with it. He then grabbed him by the arm and sniffed him. "Eew! Here's the source of that terrible smell!"
Thingum grinned. "Of course it is, precious. We doesn't use deodorant!"
"Well that doesn't matter. You have to show us the way to Mulchdor!"
"Because Gandalf told me to go there."
"Because it's vital to the plot."
"Shut up and swear to serve me forever!"
"Oh fine. We serves you and takeses you to Mulchdor. Happy?"
"Yep," said Frodo. "Now Sam, where's that rope?"
"I ate it, Mr. Frodo."
"I had to eat that rope, begging your pardon! It was my destiny!"
Frodo shrugged. "Well then we'll have to use your intestines as a rope instead. I'm sorry, Sam."
Sam suddenly looked terrified. "Wait a minute? My intestines?"
Thingum decided to make his own suggestion. "Why don't stupid Hobses just forget the rope?"
Frodo smiled at Thingum. "You know, I never thought of that! Great idea! Now let's go to Mulchdor!" And so the two Magical Hobs and the creature Thingum skipped off into the sunset. Actually, there was no sun, and they didn't know how to skip, but those facts are unimportant.
Well, that's the first chapter. Review, please!