Superfriends Of The Ring

MEMO

RE: Bulbo’s Book May Not Have Been Entirely Accurate

From: Galadtameecha, Elf Queen and Owner, Elf Resorts International

To: The Allies Of Goodness


The world is changed, and nobody likes change.

I can feel it at the water cooler, I can smell it in the break room. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. Let me explain.

It seems that in his book There Goes My Back Again (published in the Uttermost North as The Wobbit), the former contractor/thief Bulbo Bunkins may not have expressed two key concepts of the book with complete accuracy. This has created great confusion and must be addressed.

In case any of us are unclear about these concepts (I here address myself to the Wizard and Project Manager Pantsoff, in the unlikely event that he is actually reading this memo), let me be specific.

First of all, the ring that Bulbo “won” from the creature Gol-Gol is not a run-of-the-mill Ring Of Invisibility, such as you or I might swap for a Holocaust Cloak or a Wheelbarrow. It is, in fact, the most powerful and evil object in Little Earth.

It seems like it was only yesterday that the Really Great Rings were forged. Three were given to the Elves, of course, because they were the best rings available at the time. Seven were given to the Dwarves, because the great fathers of the dwarves, the creators of the song “Heigh Ho,” also numbered seven. Nine were given to the Kings Of Men, because the Queens Of Women felt the rings were too gaudy.

But they were all of them bamboozled, for another ring, a really REALLY great ring was made. In the land of Bordor, in the fires of Mount Dum-da-dum-dum he created it. The Lord and CEO of Bordor Enslavement, Banking And Destruction, Smoron contracted the forging of a super-ring to control the others. Into it he poured his impatience, his pettiness and his will to grow his corporation through acquisition. He could never have afforded to forge it in Bordor, so instead hired a skilled craftsman from the Uttermost South who did brilliant work at a very competitive rate. The ring was named after this craftsman: The Juan Ring.

One by one, the freedom-loving lands of Little Earth were either destroyed or bought out through the power of The Ring, but there were some who insisted on negotiating better deals. A Nearly Last Alliance of Elves and Men, who were to be allied many more times in the future as The Allies Of Goodness, marched against the Axis Of Evil.


For more of the same, http://bagginsbirthdaycountdown.blogspot.com/2011/10/superfriends-of-ring-prologue-to.html

That was great, Paul! I especially love the "Axis of Evil" bit. I'd love to see more if you're interested in posting it here!

It's like inviting a vampire into your house, like I always say. I'd love to post more!

I always wonder why the spiders and giants didn't show up at the Battle Of Five Armies...

-Paul

"There Goes My Back Again"

Hee hee - nice one, there goes my back-- hee hee

It's nice to take a break from the shameless self-promotion of The Wobbit (still only $3.00 on Amazon!) to do some actual writing.

Is there a Forumshire member from Deutschland? Because my statistics on Blogger indicate that a person or persons from Germany has viewed my blog TWICE! Is this anyone we know? An Odo Banks relative? Leopold Banks?

Who are you, German Wobbit reader?

-Paul

When Mr. Bulbo Bunkins of Bug End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a brunch of special magnificence, no one expected that such a wealthy wobbit would only offer a cash bar.

Bulbo was very rich and very peculiar, and regarded by his neighbors as “queer.” Sixty years earlier he had taken a contract job as a consultant which had, against all odds, won him a fortune. Even more annoying to his neighbors was the fact that he seemed to stop aging. At ninety he was much the same as fifty. At ninety-nine he looked fifty-one. At one-hundred-one he looked forty-nine. At one-hundred one he looked fifty again. At one-hundred-ten people began to say he’s had some work done, but they secretly thought he has a portrait in his basement that ages instead of him. This was ridiculous, because he lived in a basement apartment underneath a beauty salon, and any magic portraits would have to be hidden somewhere else.

“It will have to be paid for,” they said. “He must be using some expensive vitamin therapy for the super-rich, because his diet is horrible and he gets no exercise. Mega-doses aren’t natural, and trouble will come of it!”

But so far, trouble had not come. Although he was cheap by nature, Bulbo had always tipped generously and bribed freely just so his neighbor wobbits would leave him alone. He remained on visiting terms with his relatives (except, of course, the Snackbag-Bunkinses) and was adored by the local riff-raff for his well-publicized but surprisingly rare acts of charity. Like most Dorks (the family on his mother’s side) he had no close friends until his younger cousins were old enough to join him for late nights of role-playing games.

For at least two more jokes, visit http://bagginsbirthdaycountdown.blogspot.com/2011/10/long-expected-brunch-part-1-from.html

Promo endured twelve years of combined birthday parties, not realizing that Bulbo had something quite exceptional planned for when Promo turned thirty-three, his wobbit “coming of age”. Bulbo was going to be eleventy-one, a clearly Dorkish way of saying one hundred eleven. (The Old Dork himself had only reached 130 due to a raw diet and hyperbaric therapy) 111 is a very respectable age for a wobbit, since they tend to die in middle-age from “death by misadventure” or from illnesses caused by poor personal habits.

In anticipation of the coming event, tongues began to wag in Wobbiton and Buythewater, like the tails of so many animal-shelter dogs. Local wobbit Ham Sammich, known as the Grasper, took this as an opportunity to share his anecdotes about tending the gardens at Bulbo’s condo. Bunkins had purchased his apartment below Virginia’s Beauty Parlor when he became rich. Trying to live up to his new role of “job creator,” he hired Sammich as gardener, primarily because it meant his new servant would never have any duties inside the condo.

Sammich, who Bulbo employed without benefits, was a dreadful old bore. He was old, but actually younger than Bulbo, but because of Bulbo’s mysterious eternal middle-age, Sammich acted like his cranky grand-dad. The Grasper attributed his own long life to avoiding work and drinking beer, and did both regularly at a small inn called the Ivy Drip. He was addressing a small audience. Small even for wobbits.

“I swear,” slurred Ham, “tha’ Misser Bulbo’s all right!” Bulbo indulged Ham’s belief in his own genius at growing rutabagas. “Master Hammich,” Bulbo would often say, “you’re awesome at growing rutabagas!” But Bulbo wasn’t around at the moment.

“Sure, Bulbo’s all right,” said Daddy Shortlegs (a neighbor of the Grasper), “but who’s this young Promo Bunkins that lives with him? Bunkins or not, he’s really a Buckiebrand from Buckie Hall, where folks are so queer.”

For more pandering to my friends from Scotland (and to read the rest of the postings so far) please visit:

http://thewobbitaparody.blogspot.com/

-Paul

Outside of Bulbo’s condo behind the beauty salon, he and Pantsoff sat smoking their pipes. It was a filthy habit Bulbo had picked up on their project with Borin Oakmanfield and the dwarves, and he had trouble quitting it, somehow. He blew an expert smoke ring that rose away over the garden that Ham and his son Sham Sammich tended for minimum wage. Pantsoff blew a series of rings that linked together to spell out Pantsoff The Wizard, your one-stop project management solution! As the cloud drifted, it flashed different colors.

“I think I need a holiday,” said Bulbo.

“A holiday from what?” said Pantsoff. “You haven’t done a day’s work since the Oakmanfield Project!”

“A vacation, then. You know, my plan, my secret plan. At the party, with my little joke.”

“The one about the elf and his proctologist?”

“No,” said Bulbo. “The one where I disappear from my own party and leave the bar bill for the Snackbag-Bunkinses.”

“Ah,” said Pantsoff. “Not much of a joke, really. More of a prank. Who will laugh, I wonder?”

The next day more carts rolled up to the beauty salon. There might have been some grumbling along the lines of “Shop locally!” or “Support small businesses!” but that very week orders started pouring out to community merchants, requiring Bulbo to pay the Wobbiton sales tax. Deliveries were made of bulk-package hors d’oeuvres, boxes of wine, countless rolls of crepe paper decorations and every cheap party commodity you can imagine.

Before long, invitations began pouring out. The service at the Wobbiton post-office became even slower than ever, and the one in Buythewater township simply closed until vagrants could be rounded up to help. Bulbo blamed these “guest workers” for the low volume of RSVPs. In fact, his pre-stamped response cards reading Thank you, I shall certainly come, with one guest were mostly sitting on kitchen counters and dining room tables from Bug End to Bugger Heights. Bulbo was never to get an accurate headcount.

Looks good, Paul! I'd love to see more.

Thanks, Eldo! I just have to pick up the pace a little. I don't get a lot of comments on my blog, so I appreciate the people of Forumshire's willingness to speak up.

Despite our natural shyness. (Which emoticon indicates sarcasm?)

-Paul

I'll be a happy Fjordlandian when you finish this book By the way, I got a little suggestion of my own: don't kill Pantsoff the way Tolkien "killed" Gandalf in Moria - Pantsoff is too awesome for that (I won't be upset if you do it the way Tolkien did it, mind, I'd rather you do it your way If this book turns out to be half as good as The Wobbit I won't have a thing to complain about )

Thanks, Ringdrotten!

As for the "death" of Pantsoff, I haven't thought that far ahead. It will be tough to have so much parody to write without him. But I do have my famous "no favorite parts omitted" pledge to consider.

Now that you mention it, I think I was going to give him some awesome last words like "Flee, you fowls! Phooey!" or "This balrog wieghs a ton!" or "I wish I hadn't stuck around gloating after he fell!" or "Right now, I wish he DID fly."

I have a lot of writing to do before I get to that scene!

I'm sure whatever you come up with will be great

Have you seen the new Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock Holmes movie yet? Or are you a Jeremy Brett purist? He was so good! I like RD Jr, but his is a not a very authentic portrayal. What with the kung-fu and all. But fun!

I was thinking I might give it a go, even if I hated the first. This time I'll know not to expect a Sherlock Holmes story, so at least I won't be pissed of this time around. We'll see, maybe

I loved the first RDJ Holmes movie (as Ringdrotten knows ) but I was disappointed by the first. There were a number of supporting characters from the first that I enjoyed a lot who barely appeared (one was killed off before the opening titles had finished). The story also tried to cram way too much into two hours and didn't give Moriarty (whose actor did a great job of villaining it up, I thought) nearly enough screentime.

On the other hand, Downey Jr. and Jude Law still have great chemistry (better than any of the romantic pairings, and the second film certainly upped the ante in implying that Holmes and Watson are gay, compared to the first movie where I thought the relationship was portrayed more as a close friendship/'bromance') and as a fan of the first movie it was certainly fun to see Holmes back in action. There was way too much slow-mo, but there was an interesting take on Holmes' fight-anticipation skills at the climax.

Also, both of you guys (Paul and Ringdrotten) still need to vote in the Forumshire elections!

Glad you enjoyed it, Eldo And sorry about not voting. I was going to do it when I got home, but then I lost my internet connection

Sorry to hear about your internet troubles Ringdrotten, those used to plague me quite regularly and I couldn't stand it. Thank you for standing for election and participating in the debate!

Two young wobbits watched Pantsoff's fireworks with great interest. One took a quirky little bite out of the fried pickle he was holding as he glanced about suspiciously. The wobbits ducked into the fireworks tent. A skyrocket exploded overhead, the sparks spelling out "Shop in Wobbiton and save! Paid for by the Wobbiton Chamber of Commerce." The second wobbit, who somehow looked even stupider than the one holding a fried pickle, grabbed a nearby rocket.

"No, no!" said the pickle-wobbit. "Big one! Big one!" The stupid wobbit picked up another rocket so fanciful-looking that it seemed hazardous to launch. "Well? Stick it in the ground!"

"Stick what in the ground?" said the stupid one.

"The skyrocket of course! What did you think I meant?"

"I don't know. Whatever." The stupid wobbit stuck it in the ground. "Got a match?"

"Yeah, your face and my butt!" the first wobbit said, gesturing grandly with his pickle. "Ha! Really though, I don't, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you have a match? Because I don't! Come on, dude!"

"No, I quit smoking. Well, now what do we—Youch!"

Both wobbits suddenly found themselves getting terrifying wedgies. Behind them was a bearded old man. He was twice their height, which gave him excellent leverage as he pulled higher and higher on the waistbands of their undies. Soon they were standing uncomfortably on tip-toe, as he addressed them each.

"Mariellen Buckiebrand" he said to the one with the pickle. "And Paraffin Dork. I might have known. Were you really going to set off a skyrocket inside a tent? A tent with clearly posted signs reading 'No Smoking'? A tent filled with fireworks, 190-proof Dwarven Everclear, and Southron-made flammable children's sleepware?"

To see the rest of this exciting excerpt, visit my blog! http://thewobbitaparody.blogspot.com/

Well done, as usual, Paul. It's nice to see that Superfriends is moving along. I had been wondering how it was doing a few days ago.

Slow going on The Superfriends Of The Ring, Book One: The Wobbit's Return, and not for any particular reason. I just
haven't settled into the regular writing groove I had going in 2010 when I was on unemployment. Ah, good times.

Pantsoff and the two young wobbits returned to the party looking for table space that would allow the three of them to sit together. They walked past many Bunkinses and Boffos, and also many Dorks and Buckiebrands. There were various Blobbs (relations of Bulbo's grandmother) and Slobbs (connexions of his Dork grandfather who insisted on spelling "connexions" with an "x"). There was a selection of Churroses, Bulgers, Buttcrunchers, Craphouses, Widebodies, Hornhonkers and Smellfoots. The Snackbag-Bunkinses were not forgotten, and could not be, since they were rude even by wobbit standards. Oboe and his wife Earlobia hated Bulbo and liked Promo even less, but they knew if they didn't attend they would be openly lampooned by Bulbo in his inevitable after-dinner speech. Pantsoff was looking forward to it for some reason, but the wobbits he was dragging along, Mariellen and Puppy, would have chewed their own legs off to escape.

Bulbo was about to begin. His guests were all groggy from too many fried cheese curds, or on a post-sugar buzz crash from too many deep fried Twinkies, or geezed from too much bulk-purchase beer. They were still eating and drinking, of course, and would continue to do so as long as there were tater tots and box wine within arms reach.

Bulbo's table was in front of the Party Tree, which was festooned with toilet paper, conveniently close to the Party Latrines. The dwarves that dug them insisted that they be behind the head table to keep the run-off away from the pig-roast area. This had seemed like a smart approach until the wind shifted earlier in the afternoon. Bulbo stood up and cleared his throat.

"Stand up!" shouted a Heckler. The entire Heckler family had come all the way from distant Bugford Falls to eat Bulbo's free food.

"He is standing up!" shouted another. This is how all wobbit speeches begin.

To read the rest of this exciting scence, visit my blog: http://thewobbitaparody.blogspot.com/

This is beginning to sound suspiciously like jam, Mr Wobbit...


{{{What Orwell? Must you continuously interrupt? .... ... Oh....}}}


"spam" Mr Wobbit -- spam!