I stuff a handful of shrooms into my gob. Nompf omf momf and—
—here we go!
The world resolves into a cliff-dotted range of grass-coated rocks. Off in the distance, lively waterfalls hiss and sputter. What the hoozis? Must have hop-skipped into another dimension.
Suddenly, I hear rapid clapping and slimy gulping, coming from somewhere off to my left. Nice—someone’s close by. Hopefully, whoever that is can help me out.
I start making my way through a deep gully, bordered by sheer walls of damp stone. Don’t know where I am, but the scenery’s pretty. I just hope there aren’t any monsters, like sandworms or exogorths or—
I round a corner and my mouth drops open. Ho. Lee. Shit.
Sam and Frodo are spit-roasting Gollum, pumping away with their stout Hobbit dicks. Frodo’s got back, Sam’s got front.
(Fucking knew it!)
I shuffle backward, intent on leaving with no one the wiser, but Sam spots me and shouts, “OY!” As he pulls out, Gollum glances at me, and Sam finishes right in his eyes.
“IT BURRRNNNNSSSS!!!” Smeagol crooks his arms and wails at the sky.
Sam shouts, “Get him Mr. Frodo! If Rosie finds out, she’ll be cock-stomping mad!”
I turn around to beat a hasty retreat, but Sam grabs a spud out of their stewpot, screams, “PO-TAY-TOES!” and slings it as hard as he can, hitting me in the side of my right knee. (Fuck! Forgot they can throw rocks like nobody’s business!) My foot goes numb, I stumble to the ground, then scoot frantically away on my hands and my butt.
“Don’t!” I show them my palms as they back me against a gully wall. (Jesus Christ, Gollum is HUNG! Who would have thought?)
“We can’t let you live,” Sam hisses. “You know too much.”
“What the fuck, man? I have nothing against gay people, buttplay, or—”
“Watch him, Mr. Frodo! I’m going to get a knife!” Sam goes running toward their campsite.
Frodo stares at me with those creepy big eyes. “If Gandalf finds out, he will turn against us.”
“GANDALF?!?” I sputter. “Maybe you haven’t read the news, but he’s the LAST person you should be concerned about! Look—hook up with whoever you want, as long as you’re not hurting anybody!” My eyes flick over to Gollum. “It’s just…”
“What?” Frodo prods.
“Standards, maybe?” I hiss through my teeth and give him an awkward, questioning look. “I know you’ve been on the road, but—”
“I’ve got it, Mr. Frodo!” Sam tromps back, knife in hand. “Let’s cut him up and throw in the stew!”
Fuck. THIS. Ain’t no way I’m getting eaten by the Middle Earth version of cannibalistic rednecks. So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality-distortion powers. Magic flash.
“What devilry is this?” Arwen comes running over, looking angrily from Hobbit to Hobbit. “Why are you harrying this handsome wanderer?”
The Hobbits exchange a nervous look. Sam says, “Ah…I…”
“Away with you!” She flaps a disgusted hand. “And for Ilúvatar’s sake, put on some clothes!”
As the Hobbits go scrambling off, she reaches down and helps me up. “Never once, in all my years on Middle Earth, did I think that Gollum bore such fleshly might.”
“I know, right?” I dust off my thighs. “Guy’s packing a .50 cal barrett.”
She gives me a once-over, curling a lock of hair behind her ear. “Judging by the bulge on thy inner leg, you are just as blessed as Smeagol Trahald.”
“I’m flattered,” I chuckle. “But I got a thing for super-hot soccer moms. You check off the first box, but—”
“As of today, I am two thousand, nine hundred and one years old.”
My jaw drops. “You…uh…” Then I clear my throat and regain my composure. “Well let’s get to fucking! Hot damn!”
And so my entry into Middle Earth concluded with another joyous entry: into the Elven equivalent of a blazing hot soccer mom. Kent Wayne wins again! HEH heh heh!
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