Monty Python: The Return of the King
Monty Python: The Return of the King
By James Haines (aka: Hstaphath)
Monty Python: The Return of the King
Scene 7: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol
Monty Python: The Return of the King
Monty Python: The Return of the King

Narrator: Following Gollum up the treacherous secret path of Cirith Ungol, Frodo and Sam climb up endless broken steps and past yawning chasms until finally reaching a cleft between two jagged peaks at the very summit of the Ephel Duath.

Gollum: (mumbling to himself) Yesss... so close now, ssso close.
Narrator: Spending the night in the sparse shelter of a narrow crevasse overlooking the ghastly city of Minas Morgul, Frodo wakes in good spirits despite the increasing heaviness of his burden. The creature Gollum is also in surprisingly good humour now that he has his charges in the jaws of his carefully planned trap.
Gollum: Soon, Preciousss, soon you will be Smeagol's again and the nasssty sstupid hobbitses will be dead—Gollum-gollum!

Frodo: Good Morning, Sam.
Sam: Good morning, Mr. Frodo. Can I help you with anything before we get going again?
Frodo: Ah, thank you, yes.
Sam: How can I be of service?
Frodo: Well, I was sitting over by the edge of the cliff just now watching a horde of orcs issue forth from Minas Morgul and I suddenly came over a trifle peckish.
Sam: You're in a bit of a strange mood today, I see. Peckish?
Frodo: Aes medi, as Elrond's folk would say.
Sam: What?
Frodo: 'Ee, ah wor 'ungry-loike!
Sam: Ah, you mean you're hungry!
Frodo: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself that a little something nibbly might do the trick. So, I curtailed my surveillance activities, sallied right over to my trusty manservant, and wish to negotiate the receiving of some fortifying consumables.
Sam: Come again?
Frodo: I want something to eat from the food bag.
Sam: Oh, I thought you were complaining about Gollum's soprano solo.
Frodo: The Valar forbid that I ever be one to refrain from any manifestation of the Euterpean muse!
Sam: Sorry?
Frodo: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
Sam: (sighing) Oh, so he can go on singing, can he?
Frodo: Most certainly! Now then... something to eat, my faithful companion.
Sam: (rummaging through his backpack) Certainly, Mr. Frodo. What would you like?
Frodo: Well, eh, how about some lembas.
Sam: I'm, afraid we're fresh out of lembas.
Frodo: Oh, never mind, how are you on cram?
Sam: I'm afraid we haven't had any of that since Bree. We'd have to detour way up to Dale to get some fresh.
Frodo: No matter. Well, freshly-buttered teacakes then, if you please.
Sam: Ah! Wouldn't that be nice... haven't seen one of those since Bilbo's birthday party.
Frodo: It's not my lucky day, is it? Aah, crumpets?
Sam: Sorry.
Frodo: muffins?
Sam: Normally, Mr. Frodo, yes. Today... not likely.
Frodo: Ah, scones, then?
Sam: Sorry.
Frodo: Penguins? Those scrumptuous, funnily named biscuits covered in mouth-watering chocolate we got from the McVitie homestead?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Any jam tarts, per chance?
Sam: Sadly, no. Those would be a rare treat!
Frodo: Hobnobs?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Ginger nuts?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Chocolate Digestives?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Shortcake?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Cream crackers?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Turnovers, iced buns, fig newtons, cornish pasties, pork pies, doughnuts, chocolate eclairs, viennese whirls, eccles cakes, danish pastries?
Sam: Er—no.
Frodo: Anchovy fritters, perhaps?
Sam: Ah! I have some fish, yes.
Frodo: You do?! Excellent!
Sam: Yes sir, Mr. Frodo. It's... ah, it's a bit raw, like...
Frodo: Oh, I don't care at this point.
Sam: Well, it's very raw, actually.
Frodo: No matter. Fetch hither the poulet de la mer! Mmmwah!
Sam: I... think it's a bit more raw than you'll like it, Mr. Frodo.
Frodo: I don't care how bloody raw it is, hand it over with all speed!
Sam: Oooooooooohhh!
Frodo: What now?
Sam: Gollum has eaten it.
Frodo: Has he?
Sam: Yesterday.
Frodo: Bakewell tarts?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Cheesey Wotsits?
Sam: No, and I might add that no one even makes those anymore.
Frodo: Crisps?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Lemon meringue?
Sam: No, Mr. Frodo.
Frodo: You—you do have some food left, don't you?
Sam: Of course! It's my job to manage the provisions, after all. We've got—
Frodo: No, no... don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
Sam: Fair enough.
Frodo: Uuuuuh, twinkie?
Sam: Yes?
Frodo: Ah, well, I'll have one of those!
Sam: Oh! I thought you were talking to me. Twinkie pie, that's what the hostess at the Prancing Pony called me.
Frodo: Shortbread?
Sam: Uh, not as such.
Frodo: Ummm, sponge cake?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Pork scratchings?
Sam: Nope.
Frodo: Hornburg crunchies?
Sam: What?
Sorry, just teasing you. Mince pies?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Custard pies,
Sam: No.
Frodo: Apple pies,
Sam: No.
Frodo: Any kind of pie?!
Sam: Not today, no.
Frodo: It's not much of a ration supply, is it?
Sam: Finer than anything in the Shire!
Frodo: Samwise, please explain to me the logic underlying that statement?
Sam: Well, my provision bag is so well organised!
Frodo: It's certainly unencumbered by any eatables, my lad...
Sam: You haven't asked me about Jaffa cakes, Mr. Frodo.
Frodo: Would it be worth my while?
Sam: It might be...
Sam: Told you.
Frodo: (slowly) Have you got any Jaffa cakes?
Sam: No.
Frodo: Ah! Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me, my trusty companion—
Sam: Yes, Mr. Frodo?
Frodo: Have you, in fact, got any food left whatsoever?!
Sam: Yes.
Frodo: Really?
(long pause)
Sam: No, not really, Mr. Frodo, sir. No.
Frodo: You haven't.
Sam: Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time to avoid telling you.
Frodo: I'm sorry, Sam, but I'm going to have to throw you off the cliff now.
Sam: Right-o, Mr. Frodo. It's a fair cop.
(Frodo tosses Sam down the dizzyingly steep stairs of Cirith Ungol)

Frodo: What a senseless waste of time... and life.

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