Setting: The mines of Moria

Ugly gray-skinned goblins streamed out of the darkness and swarmed down from the ceiling far above their heads. The nine companions were surrounded, and they bunched together as the thousands of creatures pressed around them. Light from the gnarled wooden staff glowed around them, insignificant in the huge cavernous abyss of Moria. Legolas nervously aimed his bow at one goblin, then another, not knowing whether or not to attack.

Merry and Pippin stared at the goblins milling all around them, peering around their taller friends. A sinking feeling in Pip's stomach warned him that they were going to die; and that he was going to die hungry.

"Merry," whispered the young hobbit.

"Yes, Pippin?" Merry asked, back pressed against his friend's. They both held their swords in front of them despite the fact that they couldn't use them to save their little hobbit souls.

"We're screwed."

"Thanks, Pip, I had no idea," sighed Merry.

Suddenly, a foreboding drumbeat echoed through the great hall above the screeching of goblins, and suddenly the attention shifted away from the companions. Confusion clouded the Men's faces as their assailants scampered away, and judging by the look on Gandalf's face, he dearly wanted to do the same. Aragorn noticed disco lights swirling at the end of the long corridor opposite their escape route. More drum beats came, this time in rapid succession. Legolas's eyebrows pulled together in a frown; he recognized the sound as the opening to an old song from when he was just a new-born Elf.

Gimli son of Gloin shook his axe in the air and gave a great "Ha!", obviously thinking he'd done something to drive back their foe. He was oblivious to the drum-tune of "Yellow Submarine" that was making them all cover their ears. Angrily Legolas slapped the short, squat little bearded man and pointed towards the multi-colored disco lights. Squealing, the dwarf scampered over to hide behind Sam.

Boromir turned to the wizard. "What the hell is that?" he shouted over the music. Sniffing the air, he caught the noxious scent of baby powder and far too much perfume.

"It is a power beyond all of you. The very bane of our existence. Forget Sauron, this b*tch will squeeze the cheeks off your face. It's-" here Gandalf had to swallow,"-My Great Aunt Bertha."

Sam and Frodo screamed like girls. Or guys that thought they were girls.

"Run!" The men yelled in unison, and sped away.

"Where is my cute little nephie-pooh?" The deep voice made the stone walls shiver. The Fellowship was suddenly, horribly reminded of their own cheek-squeezing, cooking-baking, mustachioed aunts. Their footsteps gained spirit, and soon the hobbits were nearly out stripping Legolas.

"Gandi, come see the sweater that your auntie knitted for you." The voice was cooing and disgusting. Glancing over their shoulders, the Fellowship nearly turned to salt like in the Biblical story; a towering monstrosity wearing a fuchsia dress with horrid green polka dots lumbered after them. Her huge, fat-fingered hand was clapped on top of her head to hold a ridiculous straw hat decorated with fake birds and fruit down.

Tears streamed down pudgy Samwise's face as he danced precariously close to being struck down by Bertha's huge electric blue handbag, which swung wildly in her free hand. Aragorn wondered briefly if their foe would abandon them if he tripped Gamgee and offered him as a sacrifice. A smile split his face and he thrust away his murderous thoughts as he spotted the Bridge of Khazad Dum. Painted in bright yellow letters was a no clearance over seven feet sign, and beneath that a 15 ton weight limit. No way could that THING make it across.

Gandalf halted at the mouth of the bridge, looking dubiously at the toothpick-thin walk way. Boromir bumped into him from behind, and he pushed the Steward forward. Let him go first. Looking confused, he raced across without incident. Emboldened, the rest of the group shoved the elderly chap aside and ran to the other side.

He'd made it only half way when a huge, sweaty hand descended and blocked his path. A look of pure victory crossed Bertha's face, and she grabbed his head between her thumb and index finger, meaning to squeeze his cheek but nearly crushing his head. Before he recovered, Gandalf's Great Aunt yanked a nauseating orange and green sweater over his head. Popping his harassed face out of the opening, he cried, "Help, you fools!"

The others turned tail and ran. Outside, they collapsed on the rocks, laughing so hard that tears poured down their cheeks. Frodo crawled a little away from the others, hysterical giggles making him gasp for breath.

"Legolas, get them on their feet," Aragorn croaked, swiping at a tear on his cheek and hoisting one of the hobbits to his feet. Boromir protested.

"Give them a moment, before they get the hiccups!" He giggled. Their new leader gestured in the general direction of Lothlorien.

"By nightfall, Galadriel's party will be impossible to get into, and all the cute elves will be taken. Now, on your feet!"

Mercilessly the company, now only eight, stumbled along, laughing, towards the Golden Wood, leaving Gandalf behind to fend for himself.