Lord of the Tinklenberg

hobbit-1.jpg

Yesteryears ago, when the world fell asleep to the hum of incessant bloviating, the Dark Lord Architect assembled his greatest weapon. He fused together opposing forces in the hope they would inspire both terror and comfort. His device combined the good-natured eyes of a mother with the sick twisted views of a Klan member, and the Machiavellian mind of a pale minority whip with the everlasting smile of a Miss Universe contestant.

It was his greatest invention. When he unleashed it, the humble Northern Earth crumbled before her polished gaze. It put them into a hypnotic trance. They gradually began to trust the weapon as a sister, and sat in awe as she battled for the little guy, the everyman, the Joe Six-plumber, on Larry King Live.

It Northern Earth, the period will forever be known as the era of the Bachmann.

(OK. I seriously can't keep a straight face writing this horrid imitation of the legendary J.R.R. Tolkien. But I got this far, so I guess...)

But while this weapon grew, and convinced the gullibles that gayness is some sort of infectious disease, a kind old hobbit by the name of Elwyn Tinklenberg, descendant of the great adventurer, Newly "the noble" Tinklenberg, felt the dark clouds circling around his humble abode. The flat-ice rink he helped to create began to warm and split beneath his exposed feet. It was as though a great fissure opened up, unleashing this mad and demented spirit loose in his backyard. Something had to be done. This vile creature must be slain.

Only he didn't know how or if a small hobbit could vanquish a powerful ring-wraith? This creature did the dirty work of the Dark Architect himself; she had even kissed its first offspring. And then there was her smile. It reached from St. Cloud to Woodbury. A polished set of molars that were once thought only to exist at Hawaiian Tropic competitions. The creature was seemingly unstoppable.

But Tinklenberg went about it the best way he could: cheery humor and a bright green t-shirt of armor-- it's tight enough to show off his old man breasts.

(Couldn't find out how to say "old man breasts" in Elvish. My bad.)

The weapon didn't think much of his challenge and acted to ignore the hobbit. It was a mistake. For the hobbit didn't quit. He walked on, quietly and sure footed. Or maybe he just rode the light rail. Doesn't matter, he didn't quit. And continued to walk right up to the edge of Mt. Doom...

Then came the eucatastrophe. The moment when one thinks that all is lost, but in fact, all is actually won. And it happened way off in the land of Hardball, where the ruler goaded the creature to stretch beyond the bounds of normal logic. She connected herself to a former beast that ran beyond his leash. A drunk dude from Wisconsin named Joe.

Her gaffe created an upsurge of support for the hobbit. Almost magically, knights and elves from around the globe began to aid in his quest. One could almost hear the scream of eagle somewhere in the distance.

(Or maybe that was Bachmann screeching at the RNC for pitting her up against Matthews?)

The noble hobbit was at the edge of victory. And the creature soon found her friends vanishing all around her. It was a cruel nightmare. But not all her power was lost, and she continued to fight on... but when she looked upon the little old hobbit he appeared different than before, slightly taller, stronger and

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