More Adverts of Middle Earth
Rated 15s (R) for implied nudity, innuendo and some violence.
Disclaimer: LotR characters belong to J.R.R Tolkien. Any original adverts ripped off – er, paid tribute to – were all thought up by extremely creative people (don’t sue) who aren’t me. Any song lyrics contained herein were all penned by talented, wonderful musicians, who also (please don't sue!) aren't me.
Feedback: Feed the Wulf! email@example.com
And now on with the ads!
(Théoden, King is relaxing in the bathtub, and looking especially blonde and butch.)
Are you young and pretty? Are you interested in caring for someone in his autumn years? Do you despise people who sell their stories to newspapers for large sacks of gold? (eye twitches once or twice)
If the answer to all these questions is ‘yes’, then I want to hear (points at camera)
from you. I’m now recruiting royal personal assistants.
(Someone bangs on the door.)
Théodred: (slightly muffled)
Dad, I need a wee, really soon!
Yes, just a minute!
Éowyn: (also slightly muffled)
Are you making another one of your pervy 'recruitment' ads in there?
Éomer: (somewhat more muffled)
Bet he’s ‘polishing the crown jewels’ again…
(Théoden glares at the door, then turns back to the camera.)
If you’re interested, just call 1-800-5464-8436, that's 1-800-KING-THEO, and apply now. Blondes, brunettes and redheads will all be considered.
(A large Dwarf mine, buried deep in a mountain. Seven Dwarves toddle along with pickaxes on their shoulders.)
Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go… (all whistle tunelessly)
Hi ho, hi ho…
Young Dwarves these days have no appreciation of real music…
(They pass a large quarry filled with cranes. ‘Sonne’ by Rammstein starts up. Pan down through layers and layers of rock. In an underground cave, a Balrog’s trying to sleep. But he can’t, because of all the drilling, clanking and German industrial heavy metal filtering down from above.)
Dwarf infestation got you down? Just call White Hand Pest Control on 1-800-9483-4263, that’s 1-800-WHTE-HAND! (The Balrog lumbers to the palantir and gets dialling.)
Our teams of Orcs and goblins will have those pesky Dwarves cleared in no time!
(The sounds of a ferocious battle echo through the rock. The music cuts off abruptly and there is silence. The Balrog smiles and climbs into bed.)
So remember to call White Hand Pest Control on 1-800-WHTE-HAND for all your pest control needs.
(voiceover, speaking quickly) We don’t do bands of heroes.
Gandalf: (voiceover, dramatic)
Out now, from Istari Records… (A CD swishes onscreen from the right)
Songs of Middle Earth! Featuring such artists as… Arwen Undomiel!
(Cut to Arwen beside a mighty river, wearing a dark green dress. It flutters in the breeze.)
Aragorn of Gondor, will you marry me, Aragorn of Gondor, will you marry me, Aragorn of Gondor, will you marry me, will I carry your three children?
The illustrious Lord Celeborn!
(Cut to Lothlorien. As Celeborn sings, Haldir and his warriors dance behind him.)
Elvish Warriors: (sing)
You’re a long way from ho-ome…
Celeborn: (sensuously running one hand from his waist, up to his chest)
Welcome, to Lothlori-e-e-en…
The Three Hunters and Boromir!
(Cut to a concert hall. Legolas is at the front, pouting into the mike and playing the guitar. Behind him, Gimli is seated at the drum kit, Boromir is playing the Horn of Gondor, and Aragorn on keyboard completes the quartet.)
It’s not the way you lead me by the hand into the bedroom…
Gimli: (sings in a high, melodious voice)
Ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-AH-ah…
(Boromir plays a trumpet solo on the Horn of Gondor.)
The House of Eorl!
(Théoden stands on stage at Helm’s Deep Arena, playing a left-handed, seven-string guitar. Théodred is also playing guitar, Éowyn is on bass, and Éomer is on the drums.)
My lovely horse, running through the fields…
Faramir of Gondor!
(Close-up of Faramir, holding microphone.)
Oh father, pleeease, give a little respect, give a little respect, to-o-o-o meee!
(Cut to Denethor, who snorts in derision and has some more wine.)
Merry and Pippin!
(Pip and Merry stand back to back in front of a heavily graffitied wall.)
Sit back, rap attack, don’t take no flak,
Rhyme in time to the rhythm of the track,
(They spin and high-five.)
So many lyrics, we’re frightened to use them!
The Dark Lord Sauron!
(Cut to the Eye of Sauron at Barad-Hur, with the Nazgul dancing in front of it.)
Just call my name 'cos I'll hear you scream!
The Nine: (shout)
And Frodo Baggins!
(Frodo gazes down at Mordor.)
I can’t do this all on my own, no I know, that I’m no… Superman.
(Sam comes up and touches him on the shoulder. Frodo directs a soppy smile at his best friend/secret crush.)
All these fabulous hits can be yours, for a mere 19.99, that’s 19 pieces of gold and 99 pieces of silver! (Cut to all the featured artists tuning their instruments, practising their scales, etc, except for Arwen and Aragorn, who are busy eatin’ the faces off each other. Elrond suddenly storms on-screen, pulls Aragorn away from Arwen and starts shouting at him. We don’t hear what he says because Gandalf is still wittering on.)
Order now, and you’ll also receive a free cloak emblazoned with the band logo of your choice! (Elrond grabs Théoden’s guitar and smashes it across Aragorn’s head. Théoden socks Elrond in the jaw. Elladan and Elrohir leap on top of Théoden. Éowyn jumps into the fray, brandishing her bass. Denethor throws a goblet of wine into the melee.)
For an extra five gold pieces, you’ll also receive a copy of ‘Magic Moments’, the new spoken-word album by… well, me! (Gimli joins in the fight, which is now ‘Elves vs. Mortals – this time it’s PERSONAL!’. Sam scoops Frodo up in his arms, while Merry and Pippin hop around, trying not to get hurt. Sauron finds it all delightfully amusing.)
Order now, on 1-800-4788-4487, that’s 1-800-GR8T-HITS (Gollum lollops into shot and starts destroying things.)
and own ‘Songs of Middle Earth’ today!
(Shot of one of the Nazgul on horseback, standing on the crest of a hill. Dramatic music plays.)
Witch King of Angmar: (voiceover)
When you need something right away…
(The wraith turns his horse and heads down the hill, away from us.)
…you need a delivery service that's dependable, trustworthy… and undead.
(Close-up of black horse's legs, galloping in slo-mo.)
Whether on land, or in the air…
(A wraith on a Fell Beast swoops majestically past the camera. Small white writing appears on the bottom of the screen, proclaiming, 'We don't do water.')
… our couriers won't stop hunting for what YOU need.
(The Nine gallop down a country road at night. A local peasant steps out in front of them, holding a lantern.)
'Ere! There's a toll -
We cut down on red tape…
(The lead wraith chops the peasant's head off.)
… and no package is too big… or too small.
(A wraith presents a small brown parcel to Sauron. Sauron unwraps the paper, opens the box within, and holds up the One Ring, an unholy gleam in his eye.)
Call the Black Riders now (The Nine are lined up on a hill, astride their horses. They hold up their swords.)
on 1-800-9255-7427, that's 1-800-9BLK-RIDR. Faithful servants of evil since the Second Age.
(Frodo stands in a dark room, with a spotlight on him. He's wearing a shirt of mithril and a pair of breeches. Gimli stands behind Frodo, and a little to his left.)
Mithril armour! (He hefts up a huge axe and slowly draws it back.)
(Gimli swings the axe as hard as he can, straight into Frodo's back. The poor hobbit flies forward and hits the camera, then collapses backwards. Pan down to show Frodo lying on the floor, groaning. Gimli nudges him with his foot and turns him over. The mithril shirt is completely undamaged.)
(A young man of Rohan slices and dices his way through a quintet of ferocious Orcs. He lops the head off the last one and then pulls off his helmet, revealing a mane of blonde hair.)
Éowyn: (for it is she!)
Ho, sisters! Are you tired of being left on the sidelines while the (her face twists in contempt)
men get to have all the fun? (points blood-stained sword at camera)
Then enrol in the Shieldmaiden School of Kick-Ass today!
(Cut to Éowyn fighting a gang of Uruk-Hai.)
We'll teach you advanced fighting techniques - and sassy quips!
Éowyn: (as she decapitates the last Uruk)
Heads up, gruesome!
(A field. Théodred wanders into shot.)
And we're proud to cater to the little folk!
Théodred: (to someone offscreen and to his right)
(Rosie runs towards him, head down, and headbutts him in the crotch. Théodred collapses in agony.)
Théoden: (offscreen, annoyed)
Well, that's the end of *our* bloodline…
(Cut to Arwen, standing in a forest, with a sword over her shoulder. There is a white horse behind her.)
Thank you, Shieldmaiden School of Kick-Ass! Finally, *I* can do some rescuing!
(She mounts the horse and gallops away, leaving Glorfindel lying on the ground, tied up and gagged. Back to Éowyn.)
So come down to Edoras and sign up now! (The Witch King of Angmar swoops down behind her on a dragon. Éowyn casually tosses the sword behind her, stabbing the Witch King right in his non-face. He falls off the dragon, clawing at the sword. The dragon careens out of control and flies offscreen. We hear an explosion.)
It'll change your life!
(Aragorn, Legolas and Boromir are standing side by side in a white room, wearing nothing but crisp, white little briefs.)
Aragorn: (with stubble set to 'Manly')
Legolas: (looking good, like a wood Elf should)
Boromir: (smirking sexily)
And I'm Boromir.
All: (pointing at camera)
And we want to hear from YOU!
Call the Fangirl Hotline now, on 1-800-SEXY-BOYS, and talk to YOUR favourite heartthrob!
(Faramir is sitting naked in a chair, with a telephone strategically placed over his unmentionables.)
Faramir: (to caller)
…just a smile, baby. Just a smile…
We've got all the rugged, manly men you want…
(Shot of naked Éomer, from the waist up, also on the phone.)
All the hot, lithe Elves you could wish for…
(Haldir lounges in a green inflatable chair, nattering away on the phone, with only a matching cushion to protect his modesty.)
And for all you hobbit lovers…
(Frodo, wearing naught but his skin, blushes and giggles into the telephone receiver. The camera cuts back to Aragorn, Legolas and Boromir.)
We guarantee that all our employees are the genuine article - no Dwarves or old men pretending to be hot young studs -
(A goblet of wine smashes into the wall by his head.)
Yeah? Well we're going to set up our own chat line!
And busty serving wenches!
To the Prancing Pony!
(Legolas directs a glare at someone offscreen and to his right, before combing his hair and checking it for wine stains. Aragorn turns to the camera and forces a smile.)
Call any time, day or night - we're always standing by to take your call.
Boromir: (with frozen smile)
As long as Arwen doesn't get jealous and shut us down again.
Aragorn: (discreetly elbowing Boromir)
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.