Yet More Ads of Middle Earth
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And now on with the ads!
(Shot of an Orc, with Mount Doom spewing out lava in the backround.)
Mordor! Our Black Gate is guarded by more than just Orcs!
(Bird’s-eye view of cave trolls grunting and heaving and dragging the Black Gate open.)
Mordor! Where the Great Eye sees all!
(The Eye of Sauron crackles and glowers from Barad-Hur. At the base of the fortress, an Orc sells postcards.)
Where evil does not sleep!
(A disco/casino hewn out of rock. Eight of the Nine dance around to Seventies disco music, while the Witch King of Angmar plays the slot machines.)
Orc: (cheerfully, flinging his arms out wide)
And the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume!
(Another Orc stumbles past, choking and clawing at its throat.)
This Midsummer, make it Mordor!
Witch King of Angmar: (voiceover)
Paid for by the Mordor Tourism Board.
(On the fields around Minas Tirith, a ferocious battle rages between the soldiers of Gondor and a huge army of Orcs. Pan up the white tower. Denethor is anxiously scanning the horizon with a huge telescope.)
Where in Mordor are they?!
Éomer: (dramatic voiceover)
Men of Gondor! Don’t expect any help on Saturdays!
(Théodred and Éomer stand back to back, arms folded.)
In this week’s issue of… ‘Rohirric Stallion’ –
Shadowfax gives us an exclusive interview about what it’s like to be the Lord of all Horses!
We count down the top five Breeds of Steed…
Éomer: (jauntily pointing a finger at the camera)
And Bill the Pony gets an extreeeeme overhaul!
Sam: (offscreen and horrified)
Bill! What have they done to you?!
(Closeup of the magazine cover, with ‘Rohirric Stallion’ in bold type, and a picture of Shadowfax’s head.)
Rohirric Stallion! Out NOW!
(Gimli is standing next to a stone staircase, not too dissimilar to the stairs near the bridge of Khâzad Dum.)
Dwarf staircases! Built to last!
(He starts smacking the handle of his axe into the side of the staircase. Abruptly the steps crumble and bury Gimli under a ton of rubble. An arm and a leg protrude from the mess. They twitch a bit.)
(The Council of Elrond. Sam has just put his foot down and joined the Fellowship. Merry emerges from behind a pillar and runs towards the group.)
I’m… (He breaks off, looking perplexed at his use of the singular pronoun.)
coming too. You’ll have to tie me… (He looks around in puzzlement, then shrugs his shoulders.)
up in a sack to stop… me.
Eight… (Now it’s his turn to look puzzled.)
companions. (He continues on uncertainly.)
Very well, you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.
(As the members of the Fellowship all scratch their heads, the picture freezes. Pippin walks into shot.)
Pip: (to camera)
Is your quest missing something? Maybe YOU need (points at camera)
(Cut to Pippin standing proudly behind a desk.)
Just phone Rent-a-Twit now, on 1800-7682-8948, that’s 1800-RNTA-TWIT. We can match any hero, heroine or protagonist with the perfect bungling, annoying, or smart-alec sidekick, guaranteed to provide much-needed humour in those tense moments!
(Cut to a large green ogre sitting on a stool in front of Pip’s desk.)
I’m on a quest to get my swamp back… (He scratches the back of his head and shrugs.)
but something doesn’t feel quite right…
(Pip goes out through a back door and comes in a moment later with a donkey.)
Hey, hey, hey! Whatchou think you’re doing, puttin’ that ol’ bridle on me? I’m gon’ kick yo’ ass fo’ dat! Kick yo’ ass all West Farthing style!
(Cut back to Pip, sitting on his desk.)
So just phone Rent-a-Twit now, or drop by our Hobbiton office, to find that missing element of your quest!
(The phone on his desk rings. Pip half turns to reach it, leans too far, and tumbles off the desk and out of shot.)
(Galadriel sits in a darkened room. The wall behind her is covered in thick drapes. Her magic mirror is in front of her.)
Galadriel: (in spooky, dramatic voice)
Love! Money! Happiness! Doom! Contact the Lothlorien Psychic Network, to find out what the future holds for you…
(Cut to the outside of Galadriel’s tent. Boromir emerges, bawling hysterically, and runs past Frodo, who is sitting on a stool, shivering. Grima shuffles into shot, slips Frodo a card, and mouths, “ White Hand Hypno-Therapy.”)
(The Men of Rohan mosh madly in a hideously uncoordinated way. Théodred crowdsurfs by the camera.)
If this is you… then you need (rapturously)
Captain Haldir’s School of Modern Dance!
(Cut to Galadriel and Celeborn dancing the tango.)
We offer expert lessons in all modern and popular forms of dance!
(Elladan and Elrohir demonstrate a complicated hip-hop routine. Cut to Merry and Pippin, demonstrating traditional hobbit table-dancing. Cut to Legolas, suggestively peeling off his shirt to stripper music.)
Enrol with us today, and in six weeks we guarantee you’ll go from this…
(Éowyn and Faramir are trying to waltz.)
Éowyn: (getting more and more annoyed)
Faramir: (getting more and more flustered)
… to this!
(Starwipe to Éowyn and Faramir, waltzing perfectly… except now Éowyn is leading.)
(Gimli jumps up and down on a table until it breaks.)
… to this!
(Starwipe to Gimli, dancing on the table in true hobbit fashion. Merry and Pippin applaud.)
(The Men of Rohan, led by their king, are once again moshing away.)
… to this!
(Starwipe to the Men of Rohan engaging in a spot of Morris dancing. At the edge of the shot, Théoden is crouched in the corner, sobbing quietly.)
We accept all students, no matter how big, small, good or evil!
(A Balrog and a cave troll dance wildly together.)
I am on fire, and I dance!
So come down to Captain Haldir’s School of Modern Dance (shot of the School itself)
in the heart of beautiful Lothlorien forest! (sighs in ecstasy)
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.