Narrator: Finally reaching the eastern edge of the
Old Forest, our stalwart band from the Shire has entered an ancient
and haunted region of burial mounds known as "The Barrow-Downs." Having
missed the chance to pass through the downs during daylight due to
a poorly timed afternoon nap, an eerie cold fog now rolls in across
the downs. One by one... the hobbits become separated in the silent,
heavy mists.
Frodo: Sam! Pippin! Merry! Come along! Why don't
you keep up?!
(from some place a far way off to the east, so it seems... there is
a distant cry, "Hoy! Frodo! Hoy!")
Frodo: Sam! Where are you?! Pippin! Merry?! Come
along!
Narrator: Climbing up a hill-top, Frodo sees a great
barrow looming open before him. Near the entrance is the dark cloaked
figure of what appears to be a rather attractive young elf maiden...
her ears distinct even in the gloom. Turning to Frodo, her eyes are
very cold as though lit with a pale light that seems to come from
some remote distance.
Frodo: Hello? Can you help me? I've lost my friends
and—
Narrator: Her beautiful ghostly face smiles as a
strong soul-chilling grip seizes Frodo. The icy touch freezes him
right down to his "Fruit-of-Thy-Looms" and he remembers no more.
Frodo: (weakly) Hello? Where am I?
Mercé: Welcome, gentle halfling. Welcome to the Barrow
Anthrax.
Frodo: The Barrow Anthrax?
Mercé: Yes, it's not a very good name, is it? Oh,
but we are nice and we will attend to your every, every need!
Frodo: You are an underground colony of elves?
Mercé: We are a what?
Frodo: Elves. One led me here.
Mercé: Oh, but you are tired and you must rest awhile.
Jen! Kel!
Jen and Kel: (appearing as if out of thin air) Yes,
O' Mercé?
Mercé: Prepare a pyre for our guest.
Jen and Kel: Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Mercé: Away! Away, varletesses. The beds here are
cold and hard and very, very lonely, I'm afraid.
Frodo: Well, look, I—I, uh—
Mercé: What is your name, handsome sir?
Frodo: Frodo Baggins... of the Shire.
Mercé: Mine is Mercé. Just Mercé. No other names
are necessary anymore... oh, but come.
Frodo: Look, please! In all seriousness, where is
the elf who led me here?
Mercé: Oh, you have suffered much. You are delirious.
Frodo: No, look. I saw her! She is here in this—
Mercé: Mr. Frodo! Surely you would not be so ungallant
as to refuse our hospitality?
Frodo: Well, I—I, uh—
Mercé: Oh, I am afraid our existence must seem very
dull and dead compared to yours. We were but eight score young blondes
and brunettes, all between sixteen and twentynine-and-a-half, cut
down and laid to rest in this barrow with no one to protect us. We
here in this grand and stately barrow are the wives and harem of the
King of Arthedain. Unfortunately, that poor sod Arvedui not only messed
up his rights of succession, but went and got himself killed somewhere
up north with the snow-dwellers of Forochel... leaving us with not
even a male guardsman for company! Oooh, it is a lonely state of non-existence
and now you and your three companions are here and we are just not
used to having such handsome males to tend to... or any males
for that matter. Nay, nay. Come, come. You may lie here. Oh, but you
are exhausted!
Frodo: No, no. Well, I guess I do feel a bit worn.
Mercé: Oh, you must see the embalm... errr... healers
immediately! No, no, please! Lie down.
[clap clap]
Freya: (two more, rather scantily-clad girls, appear
as if from nowhere) Well, what seems to be the trouble Ma'am?
Frodo: They're healers?!
Mercé: Uh, they—um, er, have a basic medical
training, yes.
Frodo: B—but—
Mercé: Oh, come. Come. You must try to rest. Freya!
Fliss! Practice your art.
Fliss: Try to relax. Gosh! You're a big, strong chap
aren't you?
Frodo: Are you sure that's absolutely necessary?
Freya: We must examine you and get you into this
nice white robe.
Frodo: Hey! Watch where you're... there's nothing
wrong with that!
Freya: Please. We were professionals.
Frodo: Look! This cannot be. I at least need to find
Sam, Merry, and Pippin!
Fliss: Lay back down! At once you naughty boy!
Frodo: Torment me no longer. I must find my friends
and I must find the elf who guided me here!
Mira: There aren't any elves here.
Frodo: I have seen her! I have, I have seen one!
[clank]
Frodo: I saw her at—
Girls: Hello, what's this then?
Frodo: Uh—Oh! Mmmm...
Girls: Hello, Hello. Hello. Gosh, you do
seem to be responding well to treatment.
Frodo: Whoooa! It was good to be the King!
Freya: Shall I rub the lube—um...herbal salve
on his—um—er—
Fliss: No me! Me first!
Frodo: Uh—ngghh—groan...
Girls: Oh! What a big boy your are!
Narrator: Amid the spirits of some of the most beautiful
female beings Frodo has ever beheld, he spots his relaxed and helpless
companions.
Frodo: Sam! Merry! Pippin!
Sam: Hoy Mr. Frodo, sir! Miss Mercé said you were
getting a massage... oh, these girls are so lovely...
Merry: Hey Frodo, the girls say they are going to
teach us something called "tupping!"
Pippin: I have no idea what that is, but I really
think I'm going to like it! You don't mind if we stay a bit, do you?
Frodo: Mercé!
Firiel: No, I am the spirit of Mercé's identical
twin sister and the head wife, Queen Firiel.
Frodo: Oh, well, excuse me, I—
Firiel: Where are you going?
Frodo: I must find the elf maiden! I have seen her...
here at the entrance to this barrow!
Firiel: Oh, no. Oh, no! Bad, bad Mercé!
Frodo: Well, what is it?
Firiel: Oh, wicked, bad, naughty Mercé! She has been
dressing up in her science fiction costume again which, I have just
remembered, makes her ears elf-shaped. It's not the first time we've
had this sort of problem with her. She carries on about being a Romulan,
or Vulcan, or some other such rot.
Frodo: That was Mercé?! It wasn't a real elf?
Firiel: Oh, wicked, bad, naughty, evil Mercé! She
is a bad disembodied entity and must pay the penalty and, here in
the nether world, we have but one punishment for genre cross-dressing...
you must tie her down over a crypt and spank her.
Girls: A spanking! A spanking!
Frodo: You can spank a ghost? Let alone tie one down?!
Firiel: Oh, my dear sweet innocent Frodo, not only
is the answer to both questions very much "yes," but also—well...
let's just say we take things to a whole different level here!
Frodo: (blinks a few times while his mouth is hanging
open) Uhhh...
Firiel: So, you must spank her well and, after you
have spanked her, you may deal with her as you like... and then spank
me.
Stefi: And spank me.
Aylee: And me.
Kimmi: And me.
Firiel: Yes. Yes, you must give us all a jolly
good spanking!
Girls: A spanking! A spanking! There is going to
be a spanking in the old barrow tonight!
Firiel: And after the spanking... the oral sex.
Girls: The oral sex! The oral sex!
Frodo: Well, after what an utter disappointment Tom
Bombadil's turned out to be, I'm sure we could stay a bit long—
Tom Bombadil: Frodo Baggins!
Frodo: Oh, hello.
Tom Bombadil: Quick!
Merry: What?
Tom Bombadil: Quick!
Pippin: Huh?
Tom Bombadil: Frodo called my name and I am here
to rescue you. You are all in great peril!
Firiel: No, they aren't.
Tom Bombadil: Silence—foul, deceased temptress
of the unwary!
Pippin: You know, she's got a point, I didn't like
the look of that rash one bit...
Tom Bombadil: Come on, I will sing the verses that
will cover your escape!
Frodo: Look, we're fine... just a bit pale is all.
I really didn't mean to call for you, I was just saying it out of
hand, sort of, and—
Tom Bombadil: Shrivel like the cold mist in the
morning sunlight! Warm the heart and the stone, bane of the barrow
wight!
Girls: No, please!
Merry: Now look, I can tackle this lot single-handed!
Firiel: Yes! Let him tackle us single-handed!
Fliss: Yes! Let him tackle us single-handed! And
then spank us!
Girls: Oh spank us! Spank us!
Tom Bombadil: No, Merry, come on!
Pippin: No! Really! Honestly, I can cope. I bet I
can handle this lot easily.
Firiel: Oh, yes! Let him handle us easily.
Girls: Yes, let him handle us easily!
Tom Bombadil: Out among the living lands, Go far
beyond the burning sands...
Frodo: Please! I can overcome them! There's only
a hundred-and-fifty of them!
Firiel: Yes! Yes, he will spank us easily! We haven't
a chance.
Girls: We haven't a chance. He will beat us easily—
Tom Bombadil: Feel the shining golden rays, warm,
true, and bright!
[BOOM]
Firiel: Oh, shit!
Tom Bombadil: (singing the limerick all-together
now)
Shrivel like the cold mist in the morning sunlight!
Warm the heart and the stone, bane of the barrow wight!
Out among the living lands,
Go far beyond the burning sands,
Feel the shining golden rays, warm, true, and bright!
Narrator: With an earth shattering rumble, the great
barrow mound splits open to the full onslaught of a noon-day sun.
The enchanting ghostly maidens of Arthedain disappear as but cool
wisps of mist on a hot sunny day.
Tom Bombadil: You called for me just in the nick
of time. You were in great peril.
Frodo: Well, I don't think I was.
Tom Bombadil: Yes, you were. You were all in terrible
peril.
Frodo: Look... let us go back in there and face the
peril.
Tom Bombadil: No, it's too perilous.
Merry: It's my honour as a Brandybuck to sample as
much peril as I can.
Tom Bombadil: No, you've got to get to Bree. Come
on!
Pippin: Oh, let us have just a little bit of peril?
Tom Bombadil: No. It's unhealthy.
Frodo: I bet you're gay.
Tom Bombadil: Ummm... no I'm not!
