Hobbits Across America

Frodo daintily sipped on his tea in the parlor of his wealthy uncle's Wilmington home. His pinky was, of course, raised ever so delicately. Laid on the table in front of him was the daily newspaper. Bilbo had left it for him. Frodo glanced at it, looking at the ads and skipping the news of the war that seemed inevitable. In Philadelphia important things were happening, things that would change not only Frodo's life, but the entire world. Frodo put down his china teacup on its saucer and picked up the paper. He walked over to the corner of the parlor where his canary, Ronaldo, lived in a gilt birdcage Bilbo had received as a gift from an important lawyer in Boston.

He placed the paper at the bottom of the cage and began to talk to his canary, "Hello, Ronaldo. How is my pretty little bird doing today?"

Ronaldo just stared at him blankly, cocking his head to one side slightly.

"Oh, I know. I'm not doing too well either."

"Frodo?" a loud booming voice behind him bellowed, "Are you talking to that silly little bird again?"

"He likes it, Bilbo," Frodo answered, turning around and facing his uncle. Bilbo always wore the drabbest outfits, Frodo thought. Some colorful silks would really do him well.

'Frodo, today is a very important day."

"Oh yeah, what's so special about July 4, 1776?"

"We have just received news on horseback from Philadelphia that a Declaration of Independence has been signed."

"Is that a good thing?" Frodo asked blankly.

"No, it's terrible. I work for the British, you dolt."

"Look, Bilbo, I don't care what you do for a living, as long as I keep getting to smoke these delightful cigarettes, drink this tasty tea, wear these colorful silks, and continue to receive all of these other luxuries I have been accustomed to."

"That's great, Frodo, but if you like those things you had better get used to keeping up with current events. Anyway, I'm off to the office. I'm going to have to maneuver quickly if we're going to survive this thing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Frodo called after him. He picked up a little bell and rang it. Frodo's personal manservant, Pippin, quickly scuttled into the parlor.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"I'm bored. Entertain me," Frodo commanded.

"Would you like me to sing you a song?"

"Yes please!" Frodo clapped with glee.

"This song is about my home, on Brandywine Creek in Pennsylvania."

"Oh, I hate Pennsylvania. They think they're such big shots over there. I don't want to hear this song anymore. Just dance for me like you normally do."

Just then Bilbo's butler entered the room with a calling card on a silver tray. "Mr. Baggins, a Mr. Samwise Gamgee from Philadelphia is here to call upon you," he drawled.

"Ooh, Philadelphia, how cosmopolitan," Frodo exhaled. "I just love people from Philadelphia."

"But!" Pippin started, but knew better than to correct Frodo.

The butler, a man named Burrows, continued, "He is waiting for you in the library."

Frodo turned around and started toward his bedroom. "Tell him I will be just one moment. I must ready myself," he called behind him. Butler Burrows conveyed his message to Sam, who had already occupied himself with a copy of "Plants and Flowers of the Orient: An Illustrated Edition."

~

Frodo was intrigued by that which he saw in the library, and to call Samwise Gamgee a "that" is quite unfitting, because Samwise was no "that" if Frodo Baggins had even seen one. Nay, he was rather a "who." With his dark blonde locks peeking out from under a tri-cornered cap and a musket under one arm, Samwise was the perfect picture of a minuteman.

"Mr. Gamgee, I presume?" Frodo said softly, not wishing to interrupt the handsome stranger.

"Mr. Baggins!" Gamgee shrieked, setting the book down on the crushed velvet ottoman in the center of the great library of Bag End. "I beg your pardon, sir. I was only pursuing a natural curiosity; I would kindly have requested to borrow your reading materials but you see, these are dire times, and I've been ever so occupied with the heavy matters of the day as of late."

Frodo stared at the soldier's broad chest, which even under a coat and shirt (and casket strap) seemed expansive and, verily, inviting to Frodo. "Oh," he said warmly. "Well, never mind. You pardon is granted."

"I thank you, sir," Gamgee said, bowing a little.

"No need for such formality!" Frodo cried, throwing his hands into the air. His shirt cuffs came down from under his jacket sleeves in voluptuous ruffles of finely-woven cotton, and these seemed to jump when he gesticulated, which Frodo did quite often and with a degree of abandon one might call "wild" or perhaps "reckless."

"It's on an urgent matter I've come," Sam continued, straightening his posture. "You see, it's about His Majesty."

"The King? Yes, I'm quite well aware of this Declaration. Make no mistake, I am perfectly neutral in this matter. I care little for the sovereign or his wills."

Frodo had meant that he posed no interest or inquiry into the nature of the conflict between the colonies and the mainland, but Sam surely took no heed to these implications and assumed, rather foolishly, that Frodo was inclined to dislike the king, and would make an easy case for conversion to the colonialist cause.

Frodo was still confused as to the soldier's purpose in his visit. "Why exactly are you here? Surely it wasn't solely to deliver the news from Philadelphia? You must have known that I would have received it from my uncle."

"Well, my motives in this visit are not entirely pure."

"No? Pray tell me what they are lest you forget again and begin rambling about the king."

"I have admired you from afar, Frodo: your dainty fingers, your sleek physique, and most importantly your ebony hair that cascades from your head like the Raymondskill Falls that I spent many a day at in my childhood." Sam beamed as he told Frodo this.

"Oh, you must cease such flattery; you're making me blush." Frodo picked up a fan from the credenza and ever so delicately used it to cool himself.

"I am off to fight in what many expect to be a short war, with the side of the colonies, our side, easily quashed. I do not want to leave for the battlefield without someone to come back to."

"And?"

"And I want that person to be you, Frodo."

"Oh, Sam! This is like some sort of fantasy," Frodo sputtered out, now practically beating the air with his fan.

"This is no fantasy, Frodo. These are dire times. All I ask for is a lock of your hair."

"My hair?"

"Yes, so that I may have a piece of you close to my heart at all times."

"But my hair is one of my best attributes. You said so yourself." Frodo was beginning to whine. "And now you want me to cut it off."

"Just one lock, maybe an inch."

"Oh, I thought 'lock' meant 'all.' I'm sorry, of course you can have an inch. I just hope it doesn't ruin my whole hairdo. This doesn't come easily, you know." Frodo picked up the little bell he had used to call Pippin earlier and rang it again.

Pippin came scuttling up behind them like a hermit crab without its shell. "Yes, sir, Mr. Frodo, sir?" Pippin asked, panting.

"Fetch me a pair of scissors," Frodo commanded haughtily.

Pippin quickly scuttled away, almost knocking down a bust on his way out. He quickly returned with a pair of gold-handled scissors on a silver tray. "Here you are, Mr. Frodo. Is there anything else you will be needing this very moment?"

Frodo looked at him with utter disgust. "No there is not, now rid us of your presence." Frodo picked up the scissors and brought it up to the back of his head, where he gently tugged at his hair before he used the scissors to cut off a piece. He took a pink silk ribbon out of his pocket (he always made a point of keeping ribbons in his pocket "just in case") and tied the lock with it. He handed it to Sam and in a low husky voice said, "Here, take this and be off to the battlefield. I do not want to keep you any longer from the cause of liberty."

~

A few weeks later, Frodo was taking his tea in the parlour with Bilbo whilst working on his needlepoint. Bilbo finished his honeyed cake and got up to amble into the kitchen. He glanced over Frodo's shoulder to see what his nephew was embroidering.

"Chastity is a Virtue?" he asked as the teacup clattered on his tray.

"It's going to be a pillow," Frodo nodded in agreement.

"Whatever," Bilbo said, continuing on to the kitchen. Just then, the door chimed and there came a knock.

"Pippin!" Frodo bellowed, tucking his flask under his thighs. It was unrespectable to drink in the comely light of noon. Frodo heard Pippin clamber toward the door.

"Mr. Frodo?" he asked succinctly, entering the parlour. "A messenger here to see you."

"I'll receive him in here, Pip, thank you," Frodo said slowly, fluffing his hair for maximum effect.

Frodo heard heavy footsteps approaching, and turned to see a boy of naught but 15 years of age. He looked travel-weary, as if he were tired to the very marrow of his bones.

"Mr. Frodo, I've come on urgent notice from the battlefield."

Frodo yawned. "Oh, there's been a battle, has there?" Frodo inspected the youth harder. His blonde hair reminded him of Sam, but this lad's gait was too light, and not nearly strident enough to match that of his would-be officer and lover.

"Yes, sir, a grave battle," Pippin interjected. "The colonies have lost the City of New York!"

"Pippin, I'll ring your bell when I wish for you to speak." Pippin lowered his head, dejected. "You're dismissed." Pippin shuffled off.

"Go on," Frodo urged the messenger.

"It's about Captain Gamgee."

"Been promoted, has he?"

"Yes sir," said the boy. "Post-humously."

"Is that quite honorable?"

"Well, that's one way of looking at it."

"Well, when can expect to be hearing from him?"

"I don't think you understand me, sir. He is dead."

"Dead? Oh! This is terrible tidings!"

"But a hero's death for sure."

"In Brooklyn?" Frodo asked doubtfully. After shedding a few tears he looked up at the pretty young thing in front of him, "What's your name, messenger?"

"Meriodoc Brandybuck, sir."

"Hmm, Merry ... I can call you, Merry, yes?" Frodo asked, not really caring.

"Well, actually, I would prefer if..."

"Merry," Frodo cut him off. "I need some comforting."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean." Frodo winked at him suggestively.

"Sir! If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting..."

"Yes?" Frodo said, unbuttoning his cravat while making little kissy lips.

"Then I'm totally into that!" Merry said, shucking his breeches with wild abandon.

~

After several hours of passionate lovemaking Frodo sent Merry back to the battlefield or wherever he came from never to hear from him again. 'Well, now what?' Frodo thought adjusting his spatter dashes. 'If I don't have a hot officer boyfriend to wait for, what is the point of living in Revolutionary Delaware?'

"Bilbo!" Frodo cried, grabbing his wide-brimmed hat and purple velvet cloak from the hat and coat rack in the front hall of the steely manse that was Bag End. "I'm off to market!"

"Good god, boy," Bilbo smarted, appearing from behind the corner that connected the kitchen to the front hall. "Whatever for?"

"Not to pick up tricks or anything," Frodo replied.

"A trick? What sort of devilry are you about now, boy?"

"I shan't be back in more than an hour. Farewell, uncle."

~

Frodo walked down the main road of town, sniffing the uncommon stench of the public. Wilmington had a sizeable plebian class, and Frodo thought they smelled a bit like livestock combined with curdled milk. "That reminds me," Frodo said to an ugly old hag on the side of the road. "I should make Pippin milk the cows."

He stumbled into the Twig and Berries, the town's premier drinking establishment for men of a certain type. To Frodo's surprise, it was full of British officers. "Hello hello!" one of them cried at him like a bit of rough trade. "Wot do we 'ave 'ere?"

"Oh my!" Frodo exclaimed, "There are so many hot sexy British officers here."

"There sure are!" exclaimed the same drunken brute.

"What's your name, stud?" Frodo asked.

"Me name's Aragorn."

"Where you from, Aragorn?"

"Bristol." Aragorn grinned, revealing a mouth with only about six teeth, and those six teeth all seemed to be pointing in different directions.

"Anyway, I'm going to go talk to that other guy over there," Frodo said, approaching a very tall officer with long brown hair. Aragorn had already stopped paying attention though.

"Do you want to buy me a drink?" Frodo asked coyly.

"Sure," said the man, his British accent a bit more refined than Aragorn's, "What will you be having then?"

"Madeira!" Frodo suggested.

"Barkeep, one Madeira for this fine-looking gentleman over here."

"Oh, please stop," Frodo flirted. "What's your name?"

"Lieutenant Boromir, at your service," Boromir said, removing his hat and bowing slightly to Frodo.

"Oh, a lieutenant. How wonderful. My name's Frodo."

"Where are you from, Frodo?"

"Why here in Wilmington, of course."

"Oh, you're not one of those bloody rebel spies are you?"

"No, of course not. I'm just looking for a good time like everyone else in the Twig & Berries."

The bartender brought Frodo his glass of Madeira. Frodo downed it in one gulp. "Mmm ... That was delicious."

"Do you want to come up to my room and taste something really delicious, Frodo?"

"Yes, of course." Frodo and Boromir went up the stairs to his room at the inn.
"Okay, yonder good fellow," Frodo said seductively, removing his waistcoat and lavender shirtsleeves. "Wouldst thou pleasure me like I've never been pleasured before but ought to be?"

"Nay," said Boromir. "You're under arrest."

"Crickey!" Frodo crowed, covering his perky and pertinent nipples in shame. "What for, kind sir?"

"Sodomy," Boromir said, "which implicates you as a rebel spy."

"I'm not a spy!" Frodo cried. "I'm merely a horny bugger! Please, sir, take pity on me. My lover was killed in the Battle of Long Island earlier this week, and I pray beseech you, take pity on this battered and worn heart."

"No, I don't think I shall," Boromir said kindly. "I'll take you to the stocks, though, and let the townspeople judge you. This lover of yours, was he a British officer?"

"No," Frodo said. "He fought under General Washington."

"So, conspiring with a rebel, eh?"

"No! I don't give a crap about the war! I like the king or the duke or whoever makes my life easier. But for the love of dickens, officer, don't take me to the stocks ... unless it's an erotic thing," Frodo quickly added.

"Hmmm..." Boromir thought for a moment. "A bugger looking to make good. Boy, I think I've got the perfect task to set for your sorry hide."

"Oh no! What wouldst though have me do?"

"Well, we British are actually in dire need of your assistance."

"I can't lift a musket to save my life!" Frodo pleaded. The last time he had touched a gun was at his uncle's hunting lodge in Roanoke. He was taking it out of the rack and broke a nail. It was very traumatizing.

"Oh, don't you worry your curly little head. I have nothing of that sort in mind. I have a much more devious plan for your hot little behind."

"Oh, stop." Frodo blushed.

"We need you to go to Trenton."

"Ew! New Jersey? I wouldn't be caught dead there!"

"Well, you'll be caught dead here if you refuse."

"Ah, I see. So what wouldst thou have me do in New Jersey?" Frodo shuddered.

"General George Washington has somehow managed to beat our troops back near Trenton. We need you to go there and seduce him."

"Seduce George Washington?"

"Yes, and then come back and tell us all of his secrets."

"I didn't think he swung that way. I mean, he's got that sexy wife, Martha or something."

"We have reports to the contrary, now be off with you. If we don't hear back from you before the end of the year I will personally find you and slice off your genitals."

"Eeep!" shrieked Frodo, scurrying away cupping the family jewels.

~

"Frodo!" Bilbo cried from his study. "What in the name of the Holy Father have you gotten up to now?" Frodo stopped in front of the door to his uncle's study, where the older man was diligently working on his memoirs.

"Nothing, Uncle," Frodo said shiftily.

"Don't 'nothing' with me," Bilbo said incredulously. "You've been scurrying around all day."

"Aye," Frodo confirmed, sliding the pack he was putting together behind a large potted palm in the front hall of Bag End.

"Whatever for, boy?" Bilbo got up and approached his nephew. "Are you planning on running away?"

"Aye," Frodo said glumly, nodding. "Of a sort."

"Whereabouts, lad?"

"To New Jersey."

"Ew!" Bilbo cried.

"I know," Frodo sniffed.

"Whereabouts in New Jersey wouldst thou go?"

"To the camp of General Washington."

Bilbo's eyes became red, and he flew into a murderous rage. "Thou art no nephew of mine!" he cried, smacking Frodo. "Heathenish traitor!"

"It's not like that," Frodo pleaded, widening his lashes and batting them to-and-fro like a wanton harlot. "I'm to be a double-agent."

"So," Bilbo said. "Working for the motherland, are we?"

"Indeed."

"In that case, my child—" Bilbo paused to salute his war-faring nephew. "God-speed. And God save the king!"

~
Bilbo arranged for Frodo to be taken to New Jersey in one of his carriages. When he was near Trenton he had to leave the carriage behind and walk on foot to George Washington's camp.

By the time he neared the camp he was all sweaty and disheveled. "Oh, piffle! How am I going to seduce George Washington looking like this?" Frodo said to the seemingly empty road.

"Seducing George Washington, are we?" said a voice behind a rock.

"Yes!" Frodo shouted back to a heavily ornamented woman who was revealing herself.

"Well," said the woman, "join the club."

"What's your name, you flimsy harlot?" Frodo asked her.

"My name is Trixie Malloy, and for your information I am a very highly paid prostitute, not some common street harlot."

"Whatever, what makes you think you can seduce George Washington better than me?"

"Well, for one, I'm not covered in sweat and road dust. Also, I think he'll appreciate my humongous bosom."

"Look, I'm sure they're all saggy once your corset is off. Besides, how can he resist these perky little buns?" Frodo pointed to his little butt, which was looking particularly perky today.

"Look, you little snot. I say we make it interesting."

"Yeah, how?"

"Let's make a wager: The first of us to sleep with George Washington has to do something really embarrassing."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, I can't think of anything. Can you?"

"Hmm ... Let me think. I'm sure I'll come up with something good." Frodo sat there pondering for a moment.

"Well?"
~

Frodo marched into that camp feeling very much large and in charge. He was getting ever so close to getting laid, getting the respect of the British army, and getting to give a sleazy woman of the night (although Frodo had met her in midafternoon) a makeover. He wandered up to the first person he saw, a young boy shining a musket while he sat miserably on a tree stump.

"Good day kind young fellow," Frodo demurred. "And pray tell what sort of day has it been for the infantry?"

"Couldn't say," said the boy. "I just shine the muskets. It's them officers you want to speak to."

"What is your name, boy?"

"Johnny Ragtoes."

"Well, Johnny, my name is Freddy Bolger, of Providence, and I've come on urgent business. I must see the general at once."

"The general? He doesn't see nobody, sir, from Providence or not."

"Oh, he'll see me. I've come with special news from the British. I'm a spy. A double agent, if you will."

"Aye aye! Johnny squeaked, running to alert his superior officer.

~

"So," said George Washington awkwardly as leaned over a very naked Frodo to put back in his wooden teeth. "Tell me about yourself."

"What's to tell?" Frodo replied itching his testicles. "Say, you don't have the syph, do you? That seems to be going around these days."

"Basic stuff," George Washington craftily evaded. "Like where are you from?"

"Delaware."

"Is that nice?"

"Not particularly. There's a lot of geese there."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." George and Frodo looked at each other.

"So, I'd probably meet with some of my lieutenants or something." George Washington stood up and put on his powdered wig. He also tried to put on his pantaloons, but he kind of stumbled trying to get his left foot through the trouser leg.

"So, you'll call me?"

"I'll send you a telegram or something. I think it's really best that Martha — I mean, anyone — not find out about this."

"But George!" Frodo cried.

"It's okay, Frodo, we'll always have New Jersey."

"Ugh, you can have New Jersey. I just want your loving."

"Sorry, babes," George Washington snapped. "I gots to be on my way. Toodles."

"Oh!" Frodo wailed to the rapidly exiting George Washington, "at least I won that awful bet with that awful woman." He pulled back on his various layers of discarded clothing. Once dressed he exited the tent and made his way to the outskirts of the camp where he found Trixie Malloy fellating a private. "Trixie!" he shouted, averting his eyes from the actual act.

"Can't you see that I'm busy getting to the top?" Trixie shot back.

"Look, the bet's over. It's makeover time."

"Oh shit. Well, let me finish my work here," she responded.

Just then the loud chirping of the New Jersey swamps was broken by musket shot. A murder of crows ascended from a dead oak. More shots were fired, and then the loud thunderous boom of a cannon.

Chaos soon surrounded Frodo, who was busy finding some sort of shelter. "Oh no! Not a battle! And I was having such a good hair day — well, wig day I guess," he grumbled to himself. Trixie was nowhere to be seen.

He found a big boulder and hid behind it. As the British overtook his position he curled into the fetal position, humming “Minuet in D” loudly to try and forget the battle around him. He felt a sudden bayonet jab at his shoulder. It was Boromir.
"Crikey!" Frodo yelped, massaging the fresh wound in his shoulder. "This is my best shirt! I mean tunic! I mean..."

"Silence!" Boromir commanded. "Cease this senseless prattle. Tell me, have you accomplished that which we sent you here to do? The service in the name of his Majesty and the Crown? Your duty to the empire?"

"If you mean, didst I have a sexual liaison with General Washington, aye," Frodo confirmed.

"How did it go?"

"How kind of you to ask!" Frodo gushed, fawning. "To be honest, it was mediocre. He didn't really put his all into it. Although I will admit, there is something attractive about the glamour of talking my way into the bed of the leader of the, um, rebel forces."

"No, you twit!" Boromir said, jabbing Frodo with his bayonet a second time. "I mean, what secrets have you learned about the general? What secret plots are the enemies of the Crown conspiring to enact?"

"Uh," Frodo said like an idiot. "Well, we didn't really discuss that. You know how it is, it was mostly panting, very little to do with business."

"You mean to tell me the British army sent you to New Jersey to engage in fornication with George Washington, and you failed to learn anything of import?"

"Well..." Frodo did not really want to admit that his visit to Washington's bed had been, at best, a failure, so he decided he had better make something up. "Ah, it's coming to me! I did learn something, something that will be of great use to His Majesty."

Boromir tapped his foot impatiently. "And that would be ... ?"

"Oh, just kill me now. I have nothing." Frodo batted his eyelashes foolishly. "I'm just a slut from Delaware."

"Well," Boromir sassed, "I must admit, I am a bit disappointed. Let's say you suck off me and my entire company and call it even?"

"Sounds like a deal!" Frodo grinned.

~

Things were going great for Bilbo. The British blockade had guaranteed that he was the only supplier of imported handkerchiefs in all of Delaware and his girlfriend turned out not to be pregnant after all, just really really late. That's all Bilbo needed was another bastard child begging for pennies on the Wilmington wharf.

"Bilbo!" Frodo shouted, opening wide the doors to his study.

"Oh, you're back." Bilbo said, barely glancing up from his important papers. "How was New Jersey?"

"Eh. It was okay. How are things here in Delaware?"

"Oh, they're pretty great. Things have been pretty quiet here without you."

"Yes, I suppose they would be. I'm so sick of this war. It's getting boring. Will it ever end?"

"I have a feeling it will end very soon."

"God, I hope so, this premise is really getting stale."

"I couldn't agree more."

THE END