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Lord of the Rings, as Written By Everyone Else
sn0rt writes "A thread on Straight Dope asks what would happen if someone else had written the Lord of the Rings. Reader submissions include Ernest Hemingway, Douglas Adams, Mark Twain, HP Lovecraft, ee cumings, Milton, Mickey Spillane, Danielle Steele, Ayn Rand(!!), Ray Bradbury, Gilbert and Sullivan and Tom Clancy. My favourite is Dr. Suess: 'Gandalf, Gandalf! Take the ring!
I am too small to carry this thing!' 'I can not, will not hold the One. You have a slim chance, but I have none. I will not take it on a boat,
I will not take it across a moat. I cannot take it under Moria, that's one thing I can't do for ya. I would not bring it into Mordor, I would not make it to the border.'"
It would have been filled with robots, lasers and naked babes ;o)
If Google really cared they would fix Android Chrome to reflow text, instead of discriminating
LotR by William Gibson. :D
No, Beowulf clusters can't imagine in Soviet Russia.
Ayn Rand?? Frodo would have been the bad guy for stealing someone elses hard worked ring. Regardless of whether or not it was used for evil.
* If Jon Katz had written it, he'd do a global replace of "Orc" with "Jock" and "Mordor" with "High School"
* If CmdrTaco had written it, it'd be called "Lodr of the Rnigs."
* Arwen would be played by Petrified Natalie Portman.
* There'd be a scene where Sauron looks up from admiring his shiny new gold toy and says to his nine best friends "Imagine if we had a Beowulf Cluster of this!"
* There'd be the Obligatory TokenRing Joke.
* The opening credits would be replaced by FR1ST PS0Ts
* The DVD would be released in "Page-Widening Spam" format instead of "Widescreen"
Many years ago there was a summarise the LOTR in 25 words or less...I think the winner went something like:
Shortarse kills dark lord by chucking ring down volcano. Local vagrant elected king.
Boring Old Fart (40, married, 3 kids...er no...make that 49, married, 3 grown up kids...it's been a long time)
the plebs have invaded the ivory towers and, gasp, have started enjoying themselves.
Why can't we go back to when it was mine.
I'd love to see your face when the first season of "The All New LOTR - Frodos Secret Diaries" starts on Fox.
There are places where the networks are not touching,and there are places where they are-Boeing's Lori Gunter
Whatever you do, don't send Arnie over as a (republican) goodwill ambassador...
The ring is destroyed, aw man now you ruined the last movie for me, completely...
Enig? Det alt for hot det smor!
Except of course there is no construct for "To Be" in Klingon. The linguist who designed it was a bit of a purist. Needless to say he had to do a bit of interesting work with the dialog to translate Hamlet's speach for the Undiscovered Country. LOL
"Learning is not compulsory... neither is survival."
--Dr.W.Edwards Deming
According to Illiad the story went like this [userfriendly.org]
"Learning is not compulsory... neither is survival."
--Dr.W.Edwards Deming
I'm imagining this book as written by a latter-years Robert A. Heinlein. You know, when he stopped writing quaint little "juvenile fiction" novels like Red Planet, Space Cadet and The Man Who Sold The Moon, and passed his "grim, gritty, post-future holocaust" novels like Stranger In A Strange Land and Starship Troopers.
No... I can imagine it as written by the dirty old sex-obsessed mathematician that wrote books like Number Of The Beast. You know the ones I'm talking about. Like a Harelquin romance novel but with mathematicians, so it was cool and all for us dorks in high school to flip through the pages in the prolonged periods of downtime that we had in our English 3 classes back in high school. Yeah, you know those interminable stretches of time when the teacher was forcing you to read Grapes Of Wrath in class when all you wanted to do was bury your nose into some Clarke or Asimov or even Niven.
So you'd sit there and turn the pages of Number Of The Beast slowly, your eyes darting up to your short, round, blonde teacher yammering away about the Joad family and their time in Needles (yeah, Steinbeck really made that fucking place seem just plain OMINOUS, really built it up to be about fifty thousand times more impressive than it really is. HEY KIDS! THEY'RE JUST FUCKING ROCKS!) between line breaks. Oh no, you're there reading a novel written by a man deep in the grip of senile dementia. One page will be discussing the six-dimensional nature of the universe, the next be describing in meticulous detail sex acts between two middle-aged paunchy scientists. Alternate universes, new positions... This book wavers between insanity and inanity.
Now... Imagine the Lord of the Rings written in that style... Of course, since women in Tolkien's universe are about as rare as dragons (and the menfolk would much rather quest after said scale-beast than spend some "quality time" with the comely lasses) there would be a marked increase of homoerotic tension in the novel, punctuated with page after page of lovingly-detailed discussion on the technology and mathematics of Sauruman's magic powers.
Couple that with some Ents and a few Orcs and a Goblin or three and we'll have the best goddamned novel ever written.
Why is it when I hit ^R that ZSH calls me a cocksucker?
As I stood at the window, gazing through the swirling fog, I observed a figure hesitating on the other side of the road. "A client, Holmes!" I exclaimed. "I have been expecting him," my friend replied, "tell me what you make of him".
"From his hooded cloak I deduce that he belongs to some religious order," I began, applying the deductive methods that I had seen Holmes so often display. "Evidently he is of great age, from the way he stoops almost to the ground as he crosses the street, almost as if he were sniffing a trail." But as he reached the house, he stood up with surprising vigour, and we immediately heard the ring of the bell. Moments later, the door to our room sprang open, and in strode the dark figure, his face completely hidden by his hood.
"Forgive me if I do not introduce myself," he said. "I have a task for you, Mr Holmes. A simple matter, no doubt, for one with your
abilities. My master - a foreign potentate, his name need not concern you - is the owner of an ancient piece of jewelry, which has been stolen. It has no intrinsic value - it is a simple gold ring - but it has great sentimental value to him. Find it, and you can name your price."
"Both your errand and your master are already known to me," said Holmes. He wrote a name on a sheet of paper and passed it to the visitor. "I have a number of other cases on hand at present, but I will look into the matter if I have time."
wrote it here's what it would probably look like.
Somebody asked for a legalese LotR:
Ring Bearer's License Agreement
Please read the following license agreement (hereafter referred to as "AGREEMENT"). You must accept the terms (hereafter referred to as "TERMS") of this license to bear the Ruling Ring (hereafter referred to as "RING") to the Crack of Doom in the land of Mordor (hereafter referred to as "DOOM").
GRANT OF LICENSE: This license grants you the right to bear RING to DOOM. You may bear RING only to DOOM, and any other land that is required to pass through in order to reach DOOM. Once you have reached DOOM, you agree forthwith to toss RING into the Crack that are found at DOOM. Any hesitation or deviation may be interpreted as a breach of TERMS, causing immediate and irrevocable termination of AGREEMENT.
LIMITATIONS OF LICENSE: This AGREEMENT does NOT grant you permission to allow others to bear RING, except where circumstances make such a transfer desirable. Such circumstance will be interpreted as a transfer of license, and the new bearer shall be bound by the TERMS put forth in AGREEMENT. You are further discouraged from wearing RING, except in circumstances where the protection and insight provided by RING are deemed useful in reaching DOOM. Under no circumstances are you permitted to transfer RING to one Sauron (hereafter referred to as "ENEMY") or any employees or representatives of ENEMY.
TERMINATION OF LICENSE: This AGREEMENT shall be deemed terminated under the following circumstances: (1) RING is tossed into the Crack found at DOOM; (2) Your death, and the death of all your companions; (3) Major deviation from the path to DOOM; or (4) RING is transferred, voluntarily or involuntarily, to ENEMY or an employee or representative of ENEMY. In the case of (4) with voluntary transfer, the Valar in the Undying Lands would like to have a word with you.
Life is like a web application. Sometime you need cookies just to get by.
I once read a book. It was about.... something. Had these characters in it and was set somewhere. I think it may be the one you're talking about....
--
As a matter of fact, I am a lawyer. But I play an actor on TV.
You are in an open shire west of a little, white house with a rounded front door. To the north stands your old pal, Gandalf.
> N
Gandalf appears glad to see you. "I am glad to see you," he says, "I hear you were given a ring. Could I see it?"
> I
You have:
Flask of ale
Bread
Contract for three movies
One ring to rule them all
> SHOW RING
I don't know which ring you mean.
> SHOW ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL
Who are you showing the ring to?
> SHOW ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL TO GANDALF
You are eaten by a grue.
LOTR by Jim Anchower: (The Onion)
Hola, amigos. How's it hangin'? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but there been all sorts of craziness going on.
First off, I get this new job as a gardener for this middle-aged short bastard-- Frodo Baggins. The work's pretty easy, and I can grow my own weed. I don't know what it is about the dirt in Hobbiton, but that's some sweet-ass green. Farmer Maggot grows the sh** bigtime and he's always up-in-arms about a couple of local peeps stealin' in. "It's good to share." That's what I always say.
Anyway, I guess it's not fair to call Frodo (FB, as I call him) a bastard. He tokes as much as I do. I thought I might be growin' it a little too pure though. FB was all talking about this tall dude named Gandalf and how he told him to hide this one ring of his uncle Bilbo's. So, he's layin' this weed-tale on me. I'm already high and am getting a secondary-high of FB's breath and I'm thinking, "Sh**, that little ring would buy me a nice little stash," I shook that off. That was the old, out-of-work Anchower.
There's this nice piece that works down at the pub. She's been eyeing the anchower package ever since I came growing. At Bilbo Bagins 111th birthday party last week, where he disappeared -- damn, I completely forgot that -- she was all over me. I don't even think she was drunk, and I know I wasn't hallucinating. I still have the bite marks to prove it.
Anway, this Bilbo guy gets up and, I know it's his birtday and all, and give this wack-ass four word speech and vanishes. I was thinking I was a little too high but everyone else was surprised, too. He hasn't been back since. That's cool, I have a good job, weed, and he had his eye on the pub-chick anyway. Sick old bastard. I gotta give the pops props, though, I saw him sporting 111-year old wood at the pub and I know that I'm gonna be just as nasty at his age. That'll be sweet.
And now I've got this terrible cross with Hunter S Thompson popping into my head.
"It was half way to Rivendell when the drugs began to take hold" Hunter S Tolkien "Fear and Loathing in Barad Dur"
Actually that whole thread has a couple of ideas in it. The root message has Ned Flanders as Tom Bombadil:
5) I concede to all those who said Bombadil was annoying in my last post. My memory of Tom Hey-ho-merry-dol Bombadil was far less hey-nonny-nonny-annoying than the actual experience of reading him. He ring-a-ding-a-dillo sounds like Ned-diddly-ed Flanders at a hey-doodle-hi-diddle-riddle-diddle-dee Renaissance Festival. And his "Hey, li'l dudes, that whole ring deal? 'tain't my prob-diddly-oblem" attitude nauseated me. The world's about to be turned into a giant Concentration Camp, and he's out prancing in the posies and unwilling to help? Feh.
#naabhaprzrag, #sverubfr-000, #agi-fcbafberq, negvpyr[pynff*=' negvpyr-ary-'] { qvfcynl: abar !vzcbegnag; }
http://home.nyu.edu/~amw243/diaries/
I think Merry's is particularly funny. They are more from the perspective of someone who's seen the movies but not the books, but still great.
I wanted to post this over there, but their server has succumbed, so...
True!--nervous--very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but
why will you say that I am mad? The ring had sharpened my senses--not
destroyed-- not dulled them. Above all was the sense of seeing in the
wraith world acute. I saw all things in the earth and under the
earth. I saw many things from the crack of mount doom. How, then, am
I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily -- how calmly I can tell
you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once
conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none.
Passion there was none. I loved the ring. It had never wronged me.
It had never given me trouble. For its gold I had no desire. I think
it was the eye! Yes, it was this! The one eye resembled that of a
vulture--a fiery red eye, with a dark shroud over it. Whenever it
fell upon me, my blood ran cold and so by degrees--very graduallyI
made up my mind to take the old ring to the crack of doom, and thus to
rid myself of the eye forever.
-- Opening section of The Telltale Ring, by Edgar Allen Poe
Cut that out, or I will ship you to Norilsk in a box.
A Nazgul screams across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. Down below, the hobbits work. The Shire twists and wiggles with the tiny shapes crawling across it's surface, with banners of white and red and green. Bilbo sits in the vaginal warmth of his End (his Bag End) and sucks of a dirty corn-cob pipe, listening to the the pads of leathery hobbit hooves against the earth, a whole dance number where all over the performers are drunk on some coconut-flavored drink and can't stay together. The erratic thumps of calloused soles on grassy ground plays a tune to which Bilbo in his reverie of pipe-weed and little invisible people can ponder like a hashishin marvelling at a knife while he drives it into the deep folds of date-nutured fat on a sultan's back.
Meanwhile, Frodo of the Baggins of the Shire is trying to belch the alphabet in the Green Dragon while a group of plastered but endearing hobbits watch his strained efforts at staying on his little pencil-legs like a whitecoated, bespectacled scientist watches a mantis devour its mate. A tired and grunt precede each haletosic syllable of his poorly crated abcadarium, at which he wobbles a little to the left and then to the right. The barflies keep watching.
Thomas Pynchon's The Lord of the Rings
One towel to rule them all...
Dyolf Knip
George W. Gandalf: "I would like to name Morder as an Axis of Evil. With the help of Elrond Blair and his elvish folks, and our superb strategory, we will not rest until Morder is defeated."
Ari Schriber-Baggins: "Sir, there's no oil in Morder? Hmm.. There must be oil in Isengard, Sir."
George W. Gandalf: "Like I said, the true axis of evil is Isengard. Our dispute with Morder can, and will be solved diplomatically."
</Political Rambling>
http://www.mathom.org/Musor/ttt_revisited.html
Caution, spoilers for the movie!
"Funny-like-midgets" is deeply ingrained in our society. It is typical heightism. Its hate literature. It should be stopped! Is it too late to change the title of The Two Towers (gee, wouldn't want to risk making a reference to the WTC in literature written before they were relevant) so that we're sensitive to the Height-Challenged? How about "Lord of the Rings 2: HOOORAY FOR SHORT PEOPLE"?
perl -e 'print $i=pack(c5, (41*2), sqrt(7056), (unpack(c,H)-2), oct(115), 10)'
TO: BAGGINSFRODO@THESHIRE.ME
FROM: SAURON@DARKLORD.ME
KIND SIR, PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF.
I AM SAURON JUNIOR, RELATIVE OF THE LATE DECEASED
SAURON, LORD. YOU WILL BE AWARE OF THE RECENT
TRAGIC EVENTS OVERTAKING OUR MIDDLE EARTH, WHICH I
CAN ASSURE YOU MY FAMILY HAS NO CONNECTION WITH.
HOWEVER, MY LATE DECEASED RELATIVE LEFT A LARGE
AMOUNT OF GOLD AND JEWELRY HIDDEN IN A DRAGON'S
LAIR. THE ESTIMATED VALUE OF THIS TREASURE IS
250,000,000 OLD SMEAGOLS. I AM SEEKING WELL
WISHERS WHO WILL HELP ME TO RECOVER THIS RIGHTFUL LEGACY,
IN RETURN FOR A MODEST 10% OF ALL
GOLD RECOVERED. PLEASE DO NOT INFORM THE
WIZARD OR HIS MINIONS OF THIS TREASURE OR THE
CONSEQUENCES WILL BE TRULY DREADFUL FOR YOURS TRULY.
ALL I ASK OF YOU IS THAT I CAN USE YOUR GOLD RING
TO PASS INVISIBLY PAST THE DRAGON STILL
GUARDING THE GOLD. ONCE I HAVE RECOVERED THE
RIGHTFUL GOLD AND JEWELRY I WILL DELIVER YOU
10% OF THE AFORESAID TREASURE AND OF COURSE
RETURN YOU THE RING.
I RECEIVED YOUR ADDRESS FROM AN ELF. PLEASE
CONSIDER MY REQUEST MOST SINCERELY.
Sig for sale or rent. One previous user. Inquire within.
You stand before the fires of Mt. Doom. Hot jets of glowing magma erupt on either side of you, searing your skin. The hair on your toes shrivels and disappears. Above you columns of black smoke billow into the sky.
>drop ringTo the north is a small rocky ledge above the fires. To the south is a path leading down into Mordor.
You find it hard to breathe here.
Which ring do you mean? The One Ring, or the Copper Ring of Gondor?
>onedropped
>waitTime passes...
>Take ringYour lungs begin to burn.
(One Ring) Taken.
>Drop ring in lavaWhich ring do you mean? The One Ring, or the Copper Ring of Gondor?
>oneThe lava has no good surface to put that on.
>yellAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!! Do you feel better?
>Drop one ring into firesYou begin to hack and cough from the hot searing fumes.
You are not close enough to the ledge to drop the ring into the Fires of Mt. Doom!
>LookYou stand before the fires of Mt. Doom. Hot jets of glowing magma erupt on either side of you, searing your skin. The hair on your toes shrivels and disappears. Above you columns of black smoke billow into the sky.
>NTo the north is a small rocky ledge above the fires. To the south is a path leading down into Mordor.
You double up with a choking spasm, hacking and coughing.
You creep out onto the rocky ledge. You look down into the fires. From here you can easily drop the One Ring and complete your quest. Your heart thrills with anticipation!
You fall to the ground in agony, clutching your throat. The fumes are too much and have overcome you. As you begin to black out, you think to yourself, "I'm sorry Gandolf. I failed. I failed."
******* You Have Died **********
You have earned 275 out 300 points earning you the title of Grand High Elf.
Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE, or QUIT?
>
Gondor... shit.
I'm still only in Gondor. Every time I think I'm going to wake up
in Mordor. When I was back in the Shire after my first tour it was worse.
I'd wake up and I'd be nothing.
I'm here a week now. Waiting for a quest. Getting softer. Every
minute I stay in this city I get weaker. Every minute Sauron squats in the
tower he gets stronger.
Each time I look around, the Spires of Gondor move in a little closer.
Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a quest, and for my sins
they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. It was a real
choice quest and when it was over, I'd never want another. I was going to
the worst place in the world, and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away
and over hundreds of miles of trails through blasted landscape like
a main circuit cable plugged straight into Sauron. It was no accident
that I got to be the caretaker of the Dark Lord Sauron's memory, any more
than being back in Gondor was an accident.
--
Elrond: Your mission is to proceed down the Anduin River in an Elvish
row boat. Pick up Sauron's path at the Falls of Rauros. When you find
Mordor, infiltrate Sauron's borders by whatever means available and
terminate the Dark Lord's Ring of Power.
Galadriel: Terminate the Dark Lord.
Elrond: He's out there operating with any decent restraint, totally beyond
the pale of Maiar conduct. And he is still in the field commanding orcs.
Celeborn: Terminate the Dark Lord with extreme prejudice.
Galadriel: You understand Frodo that this mission does not exist, nor will
it ever exist.
<b>TH3 l0RD 0F TH3 R1NGz -by Scr1pt k1ddy</b)
<br><br>
1t b3g4n w1th th3 f0rg1ng 0f th3 gr34t r1ngz. Thr33 w3r3 g1v3n t0 th3 3lv3z, 1mm0rt4l, w1z3zt 4nd f41r3zt 0f 4ll b31ngz. s3v3n t0 th3 Dw4rf l0rdz, gr34t m1n3rz 4nd cr4ftzm3n 0f th3 m0unt41n h4llz. 4nd n1n3, n1n3 r1ngz w3r3 g1ft3d t0 th3 r4c3 0f M3n wh0 4b0v3 4ll 3lz3, d3z1r3 p0w3r. F0r w1th1n th3z3 r1ngz, w4z b0und th3 ztr3ngth 4nd w1ll t0 g0v3rn 34ch r4c3. But th3y w3r3 4ll 0f th3m d3c31v3d, f0r 4n0th3r r1ng w4z m4d3.
<br><br>
1n th3 l4nd 0f M0rd0r, 1n th3 f1r3z 0f M0unt D00m, th3 D4rk l0rd s4ur0n f0rg3d 1n s3cr3t 4 m4zt3r r1ng, t0 c0ntr0l 4ll 0th3rz. 4nd 1nt0 th1z r1ng, h3 p0ur3d h1z cru3lty, h1z m4l1c3 4nd h1z w1ll t0 d0m1n4t3 4ll l1f3.
<br><br>
"0n3 R1ngz t0 rul3 th3m 4ll."
Hi people,
Here's my attempt at a BOFH Adaptation. I thought the ./ crowd might appreciate this more than the other people. It's also available on the bulletin board.
Ring Bearer from Hell ... adaptation from the BOFH -- The Bastard Operator From Hell)
(RBFH
We're out of food in the middle of nowhere-fucks-ville so I'm pissed. All we have left are these stupid elvish things. What the hell do they call them? To hell with it! They taste like fucking cardboard gone stale.
Being the RBFH, I'm at least able ot keep myself entertained. I slip the Ring on and give Gimli a huge wedgie. That'll keep me snickering for a couple hours. At least I won't have to listen to him go on about Galadriel. What a bitch! First we go blindfolded, then she nearly lets me fall into her fucking water bowl, Ring and all.
Aragorn decides to counsel with me. "We have a follower," he squaks.
"Oh" (thinking -- what the hell do you expect does he expect me to do it? You're the one that let him get away!)
"It's your decision, as the ring bearer: should we let him follow or try and catch the sneak?"
Just then Legolas starts talking like a typical know-it-all Elf. God, will he EVER SHUT UP?
"I don't think it wise for us to ignore him. He might try and sneak up on us while we rest."
I was getting so hungry. Those damn lembas or lambdas or whateverthehellthosethingsare suck. "Let's catch the slimey twirp," I announce. "I want some real food."
Gimli starts pulling at his pants. Maybe if he didn't spend so much time sitting on that axe of his, I think to myself and start laughing.
"What are you laughing at, halfling?" Gimli asks in front of the Company.
Aragorn jumps in. Damn. I thought I was going to have fun, for once. Gods, we all need a good hit from some sweet pipe-weed.
"Let's not fight. We have bigger challenges ahead of us. Now, the ring bearer has decided we shall catch him. But to eat him? Do you think Sam can do it?"
I have to hand it to the old man, Sam wasn't too bright. And he's no fun, either; I don't even have to do any work to make an ass of him. He's always talking about his Gaffer-this and Gaffer-that. Jesus. He's worse than Legolas.
>dummy mode on<
"Sam, do you think you can handle cooking the smelly thing? I'm fucking famished!"
Sam turns, "Oh master!" (fuck, I hate it when he pulls that shit) "Oh master I shall try my best to cook up something nice. Send Merry and Pippin to get some 'taters and veggies and we'll cook up a good stew."
"Sure thing" Now I wanted to shove Sting up his back-side for saying 'taters. *groans*
.... after they eat and the RBFH is on watch while everyone sleeps ...
Now what am I supposed to do? Everyone's sleeping. And fucking Gimli is being so loud I think the whole of Middle Earth can hear. This is so boring. I should have just given the stupid Ring to the smelly guy on the horse. I would have saved myself a whole lot of worthless time.
I figure I'll go down to the river and fill-up bottles of water, put them in Sam's backpack to weigh him down even more. The stupid moron probably won't even notice.
.... in the morning ....
So Sam gets up and I tell him that I've taken some of his weight and put it into my pack.
"Hey thanks!" he says.
What a moron. He will *never* learn. I think I'm going to cast him into Mount Doom when I have the chance.