ALTERNATE ENDING TO "BORED OF THE RINGS" BY THE HARVARD LAMPOON

 From: rfd@po.CWRU.Edu (Richard F. Drushel)

Newsgroups: alt.fan.tolkien

Subject: Parody of "The Scouring of the Shire" chapter of LOTR

Date: 10 Dec 1992 06:06:22 GMT

Message-ID: <1g6mouINNsur@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>

Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)

Lines: 418

     The following is a complement to my previously-appearing parody

of Appendix A in the style of "Bored of the Rings".  This text is

inserted before the original final chapter "Be It Ever So Horrid".

Some of the sentences in the first four paragraphs are "borrowed" from

the original text, with new material interspersed.  The entire chapter

"This Is The Way We Scrub Our Stye" and the three paragraphs of the

revised chapter "Be It Ever So Horrid" are my own invention.  The original

text of "Be It Ever So Horrid" resumes at the end.  As in my Appendix A

parody, "Hoggit" and "Hoggiton" replace "Boggie" and "Boggietown".

 

     I feel that this ending and my parody of Appendix A serve to

round out an otherwise complete parody of "The Lord of the Rings".  I

hope you enjoy it.

 

************************************************************************

 

     ALTERNATE ENDING TO "BORED OF THE RINGS" BY THE HARVARD LAMPOON

                 A Parody of "The Scouring of the Shire"

              in "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien

 

                     (c) 1992 by Richard F. Drushel

         with apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien and The Harvard Lampoon

 

     So it was that the Great Ring was unmade and Sorhed's power

destroyed forever.  Arrowroot son of Arrowshirt and E'orache were soon

wedded, and everybody who was anybody in Lower Middle Earth attended the

wedding.  Gladwrapiel and Cellophane came, as did Orlon Half-Witted and

his beautiful daughter, the Lady Arwench.  At the reception, Goodgulf

the Wizard blessed the newlyweds, prophesying that eight monocled and

helmeted offspring would soon be smashing the palace furniture.  Pleased

by this unexpected news, the King generously made Goodgulf Wizard

Without Portfolio to the newly-conquered Fordorian lands and gave him a

fat expense account, to be voided only if he ever decided to set foot

back in Twodor.

     Not a few observers noted the lascivious glances that passed

between the King and the Lady Arwench soon after the Wizard's

benediction.  Several weeks later, on one of the darkest days ever to

dawn in Twodor, Queen E'orache was found dead at her breakfast table,

stabbed as she fell over backwards onto a dozen salad forks.  Some of

the historians of the realm remarked upon the similarity between the

Queen's demise and that of King Chloroplast the Green; a few who had the

temerity to do so publicly mysteriously disappeared, and the rest took

the hint.  The Lady Arwench, properly veiled and attired in a respectful

black mourning swimsuit, stood next to Arrowroot at the funeral; and

when the beefy Queen of Twodor and Roi-Tan was securely walled up in her

crypt, her favorite bull merino lovingly embalmed at her side, Arrowroot

proudly announced his betrothal to the fair Elf-maiden.  Orlon her

father kicked up his heels in sorrow, for by her choice she was sundered

from the Auld Elves, and their parting extended beyond the end of the

world.

     King Arrowroot now set about the reorganisation of his realm.  To

E'orwax, the late E'orache's cousin and now King of the Rubbermark, he

sent a rich weregild of sheep-dip and nose-plugs; and in return E'orwax

renewed the Oath of Churl, the promise of fealty and non-aggression

first sworn long ago by Churl the Dumb to Carrion, eleventh Steward of

Twodor.  To Gimlet the Dwarf, Arrowroot granted a scrap-metal franchise

on Sorhed's surplus war engines.  To Legolam the Elf, he granted the

right to rename Chikken Noodul "Ringland" and run the souvenir

concession at the Zazu Pitts.  Lastly, to the four Hoggits he gave the

Royal Handshake, and one-way tickets aboard Gwanho back to the Stye.

     Of Sorhed, little was heard again, though if he returned, Arrowroot

promised him full amnesty and an executive position in Twodor's defense

labs.  Of the Ballhog and Schlob little was heard either, but local

gossips reported that wedding bells were only centuries away.  Of

Serutan the defrocked Wizard there was no word, however, and Isinglass

lay deserted and silent.

 

                   THIS IS THE WAY WE SCRUB OUR STYE

 

     It was but a short time after Arrowroot's second wedding that

Frito, Spam, Moxie, and Pepsi, still clad in their tattered

Elven-cloaks, wearily trod the familiar yellow-brick Inter-Shire

Turnpath back to Hoggiton.  The flight from Twodor had been swift, and

apart from some air pockets and a mid-air collision with a gaggle of

migrating flamingoes, was quite uneventful.

     As the Hoggits strolled up to the City Gates, they were greeted by

an astounding sight.  Hoggiton, in their absence, had been transformed.

Orderly streets with well-paved sidewalks now lay where meandering,

muddy ruts had once run.  Rows of newly-painted houses with whitewashed

fences, neat gardens, and trimmed hedges replaced the squalid, filthy

hovels of Bug End.  And everything was clean--even the pebbles at their

feet smelled of Lemon Pledge and glistened in the afternoon sun.

     "W-w-what's happened to the Stye?" gibbered Moxie, his jaw wagging

like a rusty hinge.

     "Yes, what?" chimed Pepsi, retrieving his astonished eyeballs from

where they had fallen at his feet.

     "There's been deviltry at work here, and no mistake," said Spam,

thoughtfully scratching his backside.

     At that moment, a group of uniformed Hoggits marched smartly out of

the guardhouse at the Gate and surrounded the travellers with a ring of

glittering, razor-sharp putty knives.

     "What business brings ye to our humble country, O strangers?" said

a chain-mailed guardsman sporting a tin watering-can upon his head.  "We

are not over-fond of outlandish folk at our borders in these troubled

times."

     Spam peered warily at the soldier.  "Why, you oughta know Spam

Gangree from no strangers, Clotty Peristalt," he cried, "nor Master

Frito Bugger, nor Masters Pepsi nor Moxie neither."

     "Aye," said Clotty gravely, "I ken who ye be; but Rules are Rules,

and since ye have come from Outside, therefore ye be Strangers, and

subject to proper Query and Challenge, By The Book."

     "By The Book indeed!" snorted Spam.  "What kind o' tom-foolery is

this, anyhow?  Hoity-toity-talkin' guards at the Gate, new paint on

ev'ry house, no potholes in the streets--what's Hoggiton coming to these

days?  You never were much o' one for regiments an' regularity, Master

Peristalt--'ceptin' in meals an' stools, o' course."

     Clotty looked sheepishly at the ground.  "Aw shucks, Spam," he

whispered, "things is differ'nt now since..."  He cleared his throat,

and his voice changed, as if he were reciting lessons learned by rote.

"We are now much better off than at any other time in our history.

Efficient planning and resource allocation have allowed the Stye to

become a model of peaceful, harmonious, and productive society for all

Lower Middle Earth.  We must not allow undesirable outside influences to

disturb our prosperity."

     Frito, who had been silently taking all this in, suddenly spoke up.

"I think I have the answer," he said as a 25-watt light bulb appeared

over his head.  "Look there."  Frito pointed a quivering finger at the

bright insignia on the guardsmen's trashcan-lid shields.  It was a

Dragon's head, tongue a-loll in an idiotic grin, with great round ears

like black bowling balls...

     "Aiyee!" screamed Moxie.  "It's Dickey Dragon!"

     "And that means that Serutan the Wizard is at work here in the

Stye," said Frito.

     "But I thought Goodgulf had expelled him from the Magician's

Union," said Pepsi.  "His pitchfork was broken."

     "Serutan has many powers besides magic, or so Goodgulf told me,"

explained Frito.  "He still has his persuasive voice, and around here

that seems to have been quite sufficient."

     Spam stamped his foot.  "Well, I may be naught but a simple-minded

Hoggit, but I'm not gonna set aroun' here an' let some two-bit ex-Wizard

tell me how I'm gonna live.  No sir, I'll not *stand* fer it!"

     "Then *sit*, traitor," said Clotty Peristalt sternly.  "For such

talk is slander against the State, and the penalty is Death, By The

Book."  The ring of soldiers began to close in upon the Hoggits.

     "O snap out of it already!" snapped Spam, tweaking Clotty's

pock-marked nose.  "All this law an' order an' such, it just ain't

nacherl fer Hoggits t' live that way.  Tell me, Master Peristalt, how

many baths ha' they made ya take in the last week?"

     "Seven," admitted Clotty.

     "An' how many times didja hafta change yer underwear?"

     "Seven."

     "An' brush yer teeth?"

     "Seven again."

     "An' you like that, Master Peristalt?"

     There were a few seconds of ominous silence, then a terrible cry

erupted.  "No!" shouted Clotty.  "I'm sick an' tired of it!  I hate it!

I hate it!"

     "Well," began Frito slyly, "if you dislike it so much, why don't

you, like, uh, put a stop to it, y'know?"

     "Like, uh, revolt," suggested Spam.

     "Like, uh, rebel," prompted Moxie.

     "Like, uh, have a revolution, y'know," added Pepsi.

     Clotty pondered long in silence.  Finally, the single relay that

was his brain gave an audible KLUNK! and he looked up decisively.

"Revolution it is!" he cried.  "Down with the New Order!  No more

dieting!  No more garbage collection!"  The other guardsmen stared at

him stupidly; but then their own mental relays tripped in a flurry of

clunks that sounded like flashbulbs popping at a presidential press

conference, and they joined in with subversive outbursts of their own,

like "No by gosh, we won't wash" and "We love our toxic waste."  Frito

pointed the aroused Hoggits in the general direction of the Town Square,

and they set off, each one firmly resolved to wrest his right to be

slothful and slovenly from the do-gooder government.  All except for

Pepsi, who had to go poo-poo and was looking for the nearest filling

station.

     As the band of rabble-rousers marched through the streets of

Hoggiton, the townsfolk peered curiously out of their spotless windows,

muttered to themselves about the shameful decadence of modern society,

and promptly joined ranks.  By the time they reached the Town Square,

nearly three hundred (give or take a thousand) swearing, shouting, and

spitball-shooting Hoggits were calling for the impeachment (and the

head) of the Mayor.

     "The Mayor?" said Frito incredulously.  "You don't mean that good

old Warty Fastbuck has got anything to do with this?"

     "Warty ain't the Mayor no more," said Clotty.  "He got voted out

last Arbour Day, tho' it was one o' the fishiest elections I ever seen.

You an' I both know that there ain't but nobody in the Stye dumb enough

t' want the job o' Mayor 'ceptin' ole Warty, so nacherly there warn't

nobody but Warty on the ballot--that I'll swear on a heap o' stingwort.

I warn't the onliest one t' be plumb pooped outa me pants when we opens

the ballot-box and sees that ev'ry vote cast was fer somebody named

Shark-eye.   Ev'ry one!  As the whole Board o' Elections is standin'

around scratchin' its armpits an' wonderin' what's the deal, in walks

some tall feller in a red Union-suit, claimin' t' be this very Shark-eye

an' demandin' t' be sworn in as Mayor."

     "So what happened?" asked Frito.

     "Well, the Board tried t' disallow his claim, on account o' he

hadn't filed no petitions t' get hisself ont' the ballot in the first

place.  But Shark-eye says, 'Why, most certainly I filed the proper

petitions.  Why don't you just go and look yourself?'  So Dungo

Liverflap, head o' the Board, opens up his filin' cabinet, an' what does

he pull out but a proper signed petition, all dated, stamped, sealed and

official-like!  I don't remember ever seein' no such petition--but right

there on it was my very own X-mark, jes' like I always scrawl it; an'

lotsa other folks' X-marks was there, too.  So by an' by the Board says,

'We don't rightly remember any o' this, but all the papers is here, fair

an' square.  Papers don't lie, so we musta elected this Shark-eye

Mayor!'  An' ole Dungo Liverflap pulls out The Book an' swears Shark-eye

in right then an' there!"

     "But what happened to Warty?" asked Frito.

     "Nobody rightly knows," said Clotty with a shudder.  "After

Shark-eye took over, things started t' change around here mighty quick.

All the garbage was t' be picked up, folks couldn't have no run-down

houses no more, the streets was all levelled off an' paved.  Shark-eye

gets some o' these renegade Elf interior-decorator-types in t'

bee-yootify the town, an' sooner'n you can snarf a watermelon, droves of

architects are swarmin' in, a-goo-gooin' an' a-ga-gain' over this an'

that, handin' out medals an' ribbons an' awards an' such fer such purty

designin'.  Yecch!  Whadda all those egg-heads come up with?  That

simperin' Dickey Dragon character, who's s'posed t' be the 'yoonifyin'

theme' fer the Stye, so we sees his face plastered everywheres, from

lamp-posts t' garbage-cans.  The reg'lar Hoggit-folk begun t' get a bit

upset, seein' as how the Mayor o' the Stye ain't really s'posed t' do

very much in the way of actual govermint, an' Shark-eye was doin' more

than the last fifty Mayors ever had nightmares about doin'.  So ole

Warty Fastbuck, he stands up an' says, ''Nuff's enuff!'  Next thing

y'know they're buildin' a bypass straight through Warty's bedroom, an'

Warty hisself is hauled off t' the Black Holes for violatin' some Rule

or other.  A couple days later, Shark-eye puts up a flag on top o' City

Hall, bearin' a remarkable resemblance t' ole Warty; not surprisin',

since it was ole Warty, or his skin rather.  After that, folks got

mighty co-operative with Shark-eye, seein' as how back-talk was bein'

dealt with; so we've gotten neat, an' clean, an' even ar-tick-yoo-late.

Not willingly, mind you, but discretion is the better part o' stayin'

alive, as we say in the Stye."

     Frito looked up, fearfully expecting to see the grim remnants of

the late Mayor still fluttering from the flagpole.  A hideous vulture

was perched at the top of the pole, licking its beak hungrily, but only

a white Dickey Dragon pennant waved idly in the breeze.

     The crowd of Hoggits in the Town Square was growing even more rowdy

and boisterous.  They pelted the windows of City Hall with apple cores,

old sweatsocks, and the contents of chamber-pots.  Dickey Dragon posters

and billboards were obscenely defaced, and Dickey Dragon dolls were

burnt in effigy.  Moxie and Pepsi, their faces flushed with excitement

and ale, stood on the front steps and led the riotous mob in a loud

protest song:

 

          "Who's the wielder of the club

          That bludgeons you and me?

          D-I-C

          K-E-Y

          O-U-S-O-B!

 

          Hi-dee-hi-dee-ho there!

          Who has caused our misery?

          D-I-C

          K-E-Y

          O-U-S-O-B!

 

          Dickey Dragon!  (Shark-eye sucks!)

          Dickey Dragon!  (Shark-eye sucks!)

          Forever let us hang the Mayor high, high, HIGH, HIGH!

 

          Come along and sing our song

          And join the massacree!

          D-I-C

          K-E-Y

          O-U-S-O-B!

 

          Diiieeeeeeee Dickey!  Diieeeeeeee Dickey!

          Diiieeeeeeee Shark-eye the lousy Mayor!"

 

     As the fired-up Hoggits were about to begin another rousing chorus,

there was a bright flash of light, and a billowing cloud of greenish

smoke emanated from the second-floor balcony of the City Hall.  Moxie

and Pepsi ran screaming from the steps, and the rebellious crowd fell

back speechless, all eyes aloft in terror.  As the smoke cleared, the

Hoggits could see a tall figure clad in a glowing red Union suit

standing at the balcony railing.  His long, barbed tail thrashed back

and forth like that of a wary, stalking cat; St. Elmo's fire danced from

the points of his polished black horns.  He stroked his pointed goatee

with the air of a philosopher counting angels on the head of a pin, and

his rude cackle echoed through the silent Square.

     "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha," he cackled.

     "Aiyee!" shrieked Clotty, "it's Mayor Shark-eye!"

     "Serutan, you s-s-stinkin' worm!" yelled Spam, trying to keep his

knees from knocking.  "H-h-how dare you come b-back here an' ruin our

S-s-stye?"

     The defrocked Wizard put up his hand in a gesture of resigned

annoyance.  "Well, well, Master Spam Gangree," he said mockingly.  "I am

indeed most sorry that you do not approve of the recent, shall we say,

improvements? which I have so generously brought about here in this

charming homeland of yours.  However, I do not believe I asked you for

*your* opinion."

     Spam's unprintable retort died in his throat as Serutan slowly

clenched his fist.  Spam's larynx closed off, his tongue clove to the

roof of his mouth, and he was stricken dumb.

     "And if it isn't the two idiots, Moronoduc Dingleberry and Paraffin

Gook," sneered Serutan, unable to conceal his scorn.  "I truly marvel

that your pitiful brains are even able to keep your hearts beating and

your lungs breathing at the same time.  Goodgulf Greyteeth must be

stupider than I thought if he would willingly concern himself with the

likes of you."  Serutan crossed his arms and blinked, and suddenly their

hearts stopped beating, and their diaphragms were paralysed.  Yet,

remarkably, they did not fall dead, though whether by the force of the

Wizard's spell or the natural indifference of Hoggit physiology to

asphyxiation could not be said.

     Grinning evilly, Serutan cast his mesmeric gaze upon Frito, who

squirmed like a bowlful of tapeworms.  "Hail the Ring-Bearer, the

estimable Frito son of Dorito!" His soothing words oozed with honey and

cyclamates.  "To you we owe a great debt of thanks for so courageously

and expeditiously disposing of foul Sorhed.  Long have the free peoples

of Lower Middle Earth awaited the downfall of the Barnyard-do^r!  I

grieve that your finding me here distresses you.  But those who leave

home and return oftentimes find that life has gone on without them, and

it's 'on your feet, lose your seat,' as they say in the Stye." He

chuckled aloud.

     Frito struggled to speak.  "This is our home," he said brokenly,

fighting off the Wizard's spell.  "We liked it the way it was, however

rustic and inefficient you think it might have been.  We don't like what

you've done here, we certainly don't like Dickey Dragon, and we

absolutely positively don't like you, Serutan, or Shark-eye or whatever

you want to call yourself.  Just go away and leave us alone!  Besides,

the Magician's Union could get pretty testy if they find out you've been

practicing black magic without a licence."

     At this the defrocked Wizard became enraged.  He stamped his cloven

feet, swung his barbed tail around his head like a lasso, and began to

foam at the mouth.  "Testy?" he spat, "I'll show you testy!   You

pathetic little rodents!  How dare you mock the power of Serutan the

Great, Keeper of the Dark Flame and Lord of Hocus-Pocus?  I am the Mayor

of the Stye, and I am the Master here!"

     Serutan drew himself up to a set, looked in for the sign, then

wound up and fired a screaming strike of glittering ball lightning right

at Frito.  Frito tried to get out of the way, but the vicious 95 MPH

fastball caught him belt-high in the gut, knocked him off his feet, and

burst into flames.  "I'm done for now," thought Frito as the hair on his

belly began to singe, "so what the heck." He began to scream bloody

murder.

     Spam, Moxie and Pepsi each tried desperately to move toward Frito,

but the Wizard still held them in his iron grip.  The rest of the Hoggit

crowd began to disperse, needing no further convincing as to who was

Boss in the Stye; and Serutan laughed approvingly from his balcony, and

turned to leave Frito to his fiery fate.

      Suddenly a buck-toothed little girl wearing a

blue-and-white-checked gingham dress and ruby-red slippers, with a mangy

runt of a dog yapping at her heels, came rushing in with an old oaken

bucket full of water.  She ran over to Frito, reared back, and clumsily

slopped the contents of the bucket in his general direction.  She missed

him completely, but the spray of water sloshed up onto the balcony of

the City Hall, drenching Serutan instead.

     "Aaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!" screamed the Wizard.  "Now look what

you've done!"

     As the Hoggits watched in horror, streams of smoke and steamy

vapours began to rise from Serutan's body.  "I'm melting!  I'm melting!"

he wailed as he dwindled and shrank and oozed away into a puddle,

leaving only his robes, horns, and hooves behind him.  The dreadful

slime rolled over the edge of the balcony, where it dripped onto the

steps of City Hall, eating deep pits into the marble steps.

     "My!  People certainly do come and go around here!" spoke the

little girl, picking up her dog, who was lapping at the hissing goo.

     Spam, Moxie, and Pepsi found that they could move once again.  They

cautiously approached the steps, staring up at the smoking balcony.  As

the rivulets of melted Wizard dropped a black horn onto the fizzling

steps, the trio flushed with realization and incontinence.  "Serutan is

dead!" they cried joyfully.

     "Shark-eye is dead!  Hurray!" shouted the rest of the Hoggits,

throwing caps and diplomas into the air.  "Long live the Stye!  Long

live the little buck-toothed girl!"  The crowd grabbed the girl, hoisted

her up on their shoulders, and began to march around the Square, singing

"Ding-dong!  The Shark-eye's dead!"  They also grabbed the little dog;

but of this we will say no more.

     "But what about Frito?" said Moxie, glancing at Pepsi.

     "Yeah, Frito?" said Pepsi, glancing at Moxie.

     "Frito!" gasped Spam, glancing in horror at the crackling blaze

that was his master.  "Oops, almost forgot." He grabbed the bucket,

filled it from a convenient horse-trough, and dashed it over the fire.

Remembering his Hoggit Scout training, he stirred the smouldering embers

thoroughly, then shovelled fresh dirt onto the ashes.  "Lo, Master

Frito," called Spam hopefully, "are ya okay?"

     The mound of dirt stirred.  Two blackened hands were thrust up, and

then an amorphous mass rose and opened its mouth.  "Yes, Spam," said

Frito Bugger's voice, "I'm okay."

     Spam grinned weakly.

     "But when I get my hands on you, you won't be!"  screamed Frito,

his clenched fingers lunging for Spam's throat.  Spam turned in terror

and sped across the Square, with Frito right behind him, cutting loose

with a stream of choice epithets which even old Uncle Bimbo, after years

of four-letter Scrabble, could not have matched.  The two Hoggits

vanished in the distance, but Frito's angry shouts rang out even above

the din of the celebration in the Square.

     Moxie and Pepsi exchanged "What, me worry?" looks.  "So what's

eatin' Frito?" asked Moxie.

     "Yeah, eatin'?" echoed Pepsi.

 

                          BE IT EVER SO HORRID

 

      The next few weeks in the Stye were filled with both celebrating

and cleaning up the mess that Serutan had left behind.  Actually,

"cleaning up" is not the word for it, since most of the evil Wizard's

reforms had consisted of picking up trash, closing open cesspools and

the like, and the Hoggits were only too glad to return to their former,

squalid habits.  Soon the gutters of Hoggiton were crawling again with

flies and mosquito larvae, and everybody agreed that things were pretty

much back to normal.

      The dim-witted little girl whose errant bucket toss had resulted

in the dissolution of Serutan was hailed as the saviour of the Stye and

was richly rewarded.  The Hoggits held a great feast in her honour, at

which they presented her a gleaming golden statuette cunningly engraved

with adulations, valedictories, and Variety headlines.  The Hoggits

begged her to stay and be Queen of the May, but she said something about

a prior engagement with a Scarecrow at a Tin Woodsman's house and she

really ought to be on her way.  After a tearful good-bye, the girl and

her runty dog skipped off down the yellow-brick Inter-Shire Turnpath,

and were not heard from again.

      In the meantime, Frito Bugger lay in bed at Bug End, wrapped like

a mummy in Vaseline gauze, nursing the third-degree burns which covered

95% of his body.  Spam Gangree hovered tenderly over him, nursing some

third-degree injuries of his own.  Two purpled eyes and a crooked nose

were grim reminders of Frito's fierce (and completely uncharacteristic)

rage, though Spam had quite forgiven his master.

 

[resume original text]

-- 

Richard F. Drushel ****** Ph.D. in Developmental Biology as of 4:45 PM 9211.20

rfd@po.cwru.edu ** Cleveland FreeNet ** Co-Sysop, Coleco ADAM Forum ** Go Z80!

"The bright and blinding sunlight shines so hotly on the trash-heaps that mere

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