Monday, November 16, 2009

Martha Stewart is the ringbearer or something

“My cousin Balin will give us a royal welcome”, said Gimli, the first to speak in the darkness. The company was roused, “In the deep places of the world! And thither we are going against my wish. Who will lead us now in this deadly dark?” muttered Boromir. Gandalf spoke a word of elvish, and a great light leapt from his staff: “I will,” said the wizard, “and Gimli shall walk with me.” As the company walked on in the dim light, they came to a crossroads, where Gandalf stood a long time, speaking to himself in a hoarse whisper. “Which way shall we go” said Legolas, furrowing his dainty brow. “I have no memory of this place,” Gandalf said to the company, “let the ringbearer decide.” Martha Stewart shifted uncomfortably; this place reminded her of prison, which she was in for a while I think. “I made postcards for everyone out of charcoal and lembas leaves” she said, leaving her big dumb mouth open. “Hmph... the air smells much less foul down this way,” said Gandalf, “when in doubt, always follow your nose because of pie”. The fellowship walked on in the darkness, coming soon to a great room in which the darkness was pierced by a shaft of light. They sat to rest, collecting their wits. “I wish the ring had never come to me” said Martha Stewart. “So do all who live to see such pie,” said Gandalf, blowing smoke into Martha Stewarts dull eyes, “but that is not for them to spoon. All we have to spoon is what to do with the pie that is given to us.” Legolas stood up, “Riders... to the north or something,” he interrupted. Martha Stewart narrowed her eyes, “I wish I could bake all the homosexuals into a pie” she thought and also said out loud “and also I hate feminists”. But before the company could be offended and really confused by this, she leaned heavily on the crumbling helmed skeleton of a long dead dwarf, causing it to tumble down into the dark, crashing as it went. “Fool of a cook!” Gandalf exclaimed, drawing himself up to a great height. “Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity.” The company fell silent, except Martha Stewart, who was humming the tune of Kid Rock’s Sweet Home Alabama, because she is lame. The most lame. A low rolling boom rose from the depths, growing louder and louder until it was as if all of Moria was turned into a vast drum. Gandalf suddenly looked old and wizened, “Drums. Drums in the deep(dish?). We cannot get out.” Aragorn suddenly drew his sword, “Orcs!” he shouted. Martha Stewart looked at the enchanted spoon she kept at her side. It shone with a bright blue light. “It’s a good thing” she said, severely misunderstanding the situation. “Pie! To the bridge of Khazad Dum” the wizard shouted. They hurried towards the distant bridge, Martha Stewart trailing behind, and also not really running, “If a woman wants to get a good husband, she must learn to cook. My grandmother taught me that.” She shouted to Aragorn, reaching her hands out to him like a baby reaching for its bottle. Aragorn wheeled around tucking Martha Stewart beneath his arm like a suitcase, and ran in great strides, catching up with the others beyond the bridge. A great shadow of fire appeared out of the arch from which they came. “What new devilry and spoon is this!?” cried Boromir. Gandalf stopped, “A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world. This pie is beyond any of you. Run! Now!” The others took heed, Aragorn in the back with the ringbearer still under his arm. “Thanks airhorn” she said, muffled by his great arms. “Children should be seen and not heard” he thought. “Wait,” said Martha Stewart, drawing her stupid spoon with her stupid hand. “Do as I say, spoons are of no more use here” Gandalf shouted, planting his feet on the bridge and gripping his staff. Martha Stewart looked back in horror, but only because Gandalf had scolded here. She was Martha Stewart, nobody talked to her like that. She could buy and sell this old wizard with a snap of her fingers. At least she could have, until she went to prison for embezzlement or something like that. “You cannot pass!” Gandalf shouted to the great fiery beast, “I am a servant of the secret pie, wielder of the spoon of Anor. Dark pie will not avail you, FLAME OF UDUN!” He smote the bridge with his staff, and his voice filled the chamber, “You shall not pass!” A blinding flame of white light flashed, and the staff shattered. The bridge fell just before Gandalf’s feet, and the Balrog tumbled into the darkness. For reasons she didn’t understand, Martha Stewart breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, the whip of the felled creature rose from the pit and curled around Gandalf’s feet dragging him to the edge. The old man’s face stayed above the precipice for a fleeting moment, and he cried, “Pie you fools!”.

4 comments:

  1. Oh holy shit, mike. Your my favourite sibling. Definitely my favourite one.

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  2. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

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  3. I can't even finish reading this because it's so hilarious and I'm in the library and right now I look like a fucking idiot because my, "Dumb mouth" (Styles, 2009, line14) is open. Perfect Mike, more fan fiction.

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  4. I also want to bake all the homosexuals into a pie

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