Hobbits Across America

Frodo skipped gaily towards the Bowling Green, Kentucky Interplanetary Spaceport. He was wearing a jumper made primarily of silver and gold lamé interspersed with isosceles triangles of different neon polyesters. “Sam, do you like my space-traveling outfit?” Frodo crooned, sticking his neck out pathetically and exposing the tattoo of unicorn on his right clavicle.



Sam looked over at his ridiculous companion. “Frodo, you look like something out of one of those horrible science fiction movies from the 1980s. Are those shoulder pads?” Sam was wearing much more sensible clothing: an olive green polo shirt with denim overalls, and Birkenstocks.



“Yes, Sam. As a matter of fact they are. Is there something wrong with that? Am I too much man for you now?” Frodo started sashaying with his shoulders as he said that.



“Look, let’s just get on this spaceship. I can’t wait to get to our resort on Deinonychus VII. It’s going to be so nice to get away from the city for a while.”



By ‘the city’ Sam meant Yonkers. Sam and Frodo lived in a small condo which was in the latest fashionable neighborhood for men of their persuasion to live.



“I don’t understand why we can’t just beam to Dino-cock-us 6 like we beamed to Kentucky. This whole spaceship thing seems so superfluous,” Frodo uttered without pausing in between words.



“First of all, it’s Deinonychus VII. And we can’t ‘beam’ there because it’s too far away. Also, who calls it ‘beaming’ anymore? Most people call it transporting.”



“Whatever. How long is this little cruise going to take?”



“It takes four days. Quarters are pretty cramped, so you have to promise to do your best not to get on my nerves. Okay, Mr. Frodo? Are you even listening?”



“Sorry, I was reading this brochure for liposuction. Did you know they can beam it right out of you for four easy payments of $29.99? Amazing! Maybe you should consider it. I think you gained some weight after that Christmas dinner my cousin Folco threw.”



“Frodo, you have to listen. Nobody’s getting any liposuction, not me, not you, not your cousin Folco. We’re going on vacation, and everyone knows you lose weight when you’re on vacation. Besides, I think this extra weight looks kind of good on me.”



“Are you serious, Sam? Extra weight looks good on nobody. Not no one, no how. Oh, look, we’re here at the spaceport,” Frodo announced, flipping back his feathered locks.



It was true, they had reached the gate of the spaceport. A big sign read, “Welcome to the Bowling Green, Kentucky Interplanetary Spaceport Y’all!” over a map of Kentucky.

.

“Sam, can I ask you a question?” Frodo asked.



“Proceed,” Sam answered impatiently.



“Why is the Interplanetary Spaceport located in Bowling Green, Kentucky?”



“Well, it’s very simple. I once read an historical article about it. In 2234 when they decided to centralize all of the spaceports into one large spaceport they had a big fight over where it would be located. The only fair solution, a committee of idiotic politicians decided, was to have a raffle. Every city in the world put their name into this raffle and a computer picked one at random. For some reason, Bowling Green, Kentucky was the winner.”



“Oh, I guess that makes a lot of sense.”



“Not really, if you ask me.”



“No one’s asking you, Sam. Now let’s find our ship. Oh, look, it’s over there.” Frodo pointed to a shiny saucer-shaped ship to their left. There was a desk in front of it with a ticket agent at it. The electronic sign over the desk said “Deinonychus VII.”



Frodo and Sam had already checked in online so they were able to bypass the inordinately long line for the ticket agent (three people and a poodle) and board the ship directly. They quickly found their quarters. Frodo sighed loudly.



“What?” Sam said as he turned around, “Is it not what you expected?”



“It’s so small!” Frodo announced. “It must be only two meters squared!”



Sam looked puzzled. “Meters? Have you been reading those history books again? Nobody’s used the metric system in over 100 years.”



“Look, I can’t keep up with all of these newfangled changes. Are we really expected to stay in here for four days? This will be worse than that time I was arrested for prostitution and had to spend a night in the big house!”



“You never told me about that!”



"Yes, and I never will."



"Oh, Jesus," Sam sighed.



"What? You're one to talk, Sam. Jesus was defeated by the Space Vikings over half a century ago. Now it's illegal to say his name."



"Not in space."



"We haven't left space dock yet," Frodo observed.



"Oh yeah. Well, I promise not to use 'Jesus' if you tell me your prostitution story."



"Look, Sam, it was a few years back, I was in college, and I was dating Ronaldo. Remember him? You knocked out three of his teeth?"



"Yeah, I remember."



"Well, it's part of a chapter of my life that doesn't make me happy to reminisce about. I'm with you now, and that is all that matters."



"Are we really going to have this conversation again?"



"Yes."



"No way, Jose. Tell me about your days as a ho!"



"Never!" Frodo began to bat at Sam with his small, girlish hands. "Ahh!" he screeched.



"What?"



"You made me chip my green nail polish!"



"Sorry."



"You'd better be!" Just then, the holo-door bell-replicator buzzed. Sam and Frodo both froze.



"Come in!" they chimed in unison.



"Hello, gentlemen," a diminunative little fellow rang. "I'm your ship's purser, here to welcome you to first class."



"This is first class?" Frodo guffawed. "Shit, what does steerage look like?"



"Look, don't get sassy with me," said the purser. "This flight is two tickets away from being cancelled. It's not like Denennyfuckus II is a swinging joint destination or anything."



"That's not the name of the planet," Sam bitched.



"Look, I don't care what it is." The purser perked up: "Call me if you need anything!"



"What did you say your name was?" Frodo asked.



"Pippin."



"Hey, Pippin?" Frodo hey-pippined. "Would you care to join us in a hot sticky threesome?"



Sam gasped in surprise.



Pippin replied confidently, "Oh, I'm totally in. You two are totally hot, and what else is there to do on this slave ship? I mean, come on!"



Frodo looked at him expectantly.



Pippin looked back at him, "Oh, you mean right now? Can't, honey — I've gotta meet all the other sexy couples on this here ship. Look, you two are totally my faves, so I'll be back here as soon as I can. Is that all right?"



"Splendid!" explicated Frodo. Sam was just standing there slack-jawed. Pippin flipped his curls seductively and left, slamming the door behind him.



Sam stood up, throwing Frodo's needlepoint off of his lap. "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" he shouted.



"Shhh! That hottie'll hear you," Frodo shushed.



"Frankly, I don't care if he does."



"Look, I'm trying to spice up our love life. I think it needs some spicing up. Don't you?"



"No! I don't. We have sex at least five times a day and it's perpetually the best sex either of us has had. I mean, come on, admit it. And isn't this something, perhaps, we should have discussed before you went ahead and made a fool of us?"



"Look, Sam, you're gonna like it. Trust me. I've been in tons of threesomes before, and let me tell you, they're like the best thing ever."



"I'm just not sure I'm comfortable with..."



"We're on a cruise. Throw your inhibitions aside," Frodo commanded gallantly.



"This isn't a cruise, Frodo. It's a god-forsaken hellhole. I mean, has the S.S. Fuck Me even left port yet?"



"No, it hasn't."



"Yeah, well, we've been on this ship for 18 seconds and you're already looking for other people to have sex with."



"I can see we're not going to be getting along for a little while," Frodo chartered. "I'll be in the replimat. Come find me when you're looking for a little love."



"With you, or with a stranger?"



"Toodles," was Frodo's only response.



~



At replimat, Frodo took a stool at a table all alone by himself in the corner, which he thought was the location with the least possibility of being seen by anyone. He flipped through the menu. "Can I help you?" asked a tall, dark individual whose nametag said "FARAMIR."



"I'm pissed at my boyfriend," Frodo moaned. "Can you change his mind about having group sex with anonymous strangers?"



"I don't think so. I'm just here to take your order."



"Okay. How does this work?"



"Well, you tell me what you want, and I punch it in on this little pad here, which sends the order directly to the replicator, which turns excess molecules just sitting around on the ship into your food."



"Where do you find excess molecules?"



Faramir shrugged. "Don't ask me. I have no idea, and we probably both don't want to know. Anyway, after your food is created, I'll bring it to you, you'll eat it, and I'll bill your room. Capisce?"



"I miss Sam!" Frodo wailed.



"Ugh, forget this shit," Faramir exclaimed, slagging off.



"Okay! Okay! I'll order!" screeched Frodo as Faramir tried to make his escape.



"What would we be having this evening?" Faramir replied, surprisingly formal.



"I want spaghetti and meatballs, hold the meatballs."



"I'll see what I can do." Thirty seconds later Faramir returned with a plate of spaghetti. "Here you are. That will be $6.99"



"Just bill it to my room," exclaimed Frodo, throwing the plate of spaghetti into Faramir’s face and running away at top speed. He burst into his quarters to find Sam reading on the bed. "SAM! I hope you don't like to eat, because we totally can never go back to that cafeteria."



"It's called a mess hall. And why?"



"It's a long story."



"Did you throw food at the waiter again?"



"I just can't stop myself. I get so stressed in these situations."



Sam thought for a moment. “I'm going to take a sonic shower and when I get out you'd better be in your sling."



"Yes, master."



~



The next morning, Frodo woke up bright and early. "Come on, Sam! If we both get dressed and make it to the mess hall by 05:30 hours, we get 5 quatloos off our breakfast tacos!"



"Breakfast tacos?"



"Yes, that's what people eat in the future!" Sam didn't budge. "Come on, Sam! Stop being a lazybones and greet the morning! Mr. Sun is smiling down on you!"



"I don't know what 'sun' you're on about, but we're in outerfuckingspace, here. 'Morning' has no meaning. I'm going back to sleep."



~



Frodo pouted as he sat at his breakfast table all alone. He really hoped Sam had some kind of aneurysm in his sleep and died. Then, at least Frodo would get to buy a whole new mourning wardrobe.



"Good morning, sir, what can I get you for ... oh." Faramir paused. "You're not going to throw your food on me again and run away like a maniac, are you?"



Frodo's bottom lip quivered, and then he burst into tears. "Why wouldn't Sam come to breakfast!" he sobbed. "Why doesn't he love me anymore?"



"I'm really not qualified to answer these questions at ass-crack in the morning, sir."



"All right, just bring me a Bloody Maria," Frodo ordered, the official name of the Bloody Mary having been changed in 2049 when Puerto Rico took over the globe officially.



Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Frodo saw a happy-looking couple dressed in what looked like pajamas walk into the mess hall. They looked kind of sexy, so he sidled over to their table and plopped down his Bloody Maria. "Mind if I join you, gentlemen?" he asked in his most sultry tone.



"Not at all. But I should make it clear that only Geordi here is a man. I am an android," the pale-faced pajama-wearing person said.



"Oh, whatever. As long as you’re fully functional," Frodo retorted.



"And anatomically correct," the android responded.



"Sorry about my friend. He's not good at these social situations. You'll get used to him. My name’s Geordi, and this is Data."



"Geordi? That's a funny name. I really shouldn't talk. My name's Frodo. Now that's a weird name," Frodo said, staring at Data's crotch.



"So, I bet you're wondering about this VISOR I'm wearing?" Geordi offered.



"Um, no," Frodo said, still mesmerized. "I was wondering what Data meant by anatomically correct ... inch-wise of course."



"I have 10.5 inches," Data said.



"Wow! So what do you two say about a threesome? I'm already so horny being on this ship a total of twelve hours."



"Geordi?" Data asked.



"Yeah, sure. Let's go to our suite." The three got up.



"Suite?" Frodo whispered to himself. He had hit the jackpot.



~



At the sexy duo's even sexier suite, Data sat down at the grand piano and began to play a soothing rendition of Handel's "Fireworks Music." Geordi offered Frodo a drink. Frodo asked for a cherry phosphate with Romulan Ale in it. Geordi made two, one for himself and one for Frodo.



"What, you're not going to offer any booze to your friend over there?" Frodo wanted to know.



"Do you have any idea how expensive these minibars are? I'm not wasting any open alcohol on that stupid robot," Geordi sneered.



"I am an android," Data corrected, playing happily, although he didn't have emotions.



"Yeah, I see." Frodo nodded in approval.



"So, Jordan, what is it that you do?" Frodo asked.



"My name is Geordi."



"Oh, right."



"I'm an engineer."



"Is that anything like a plumber?"



"Somewhat."



"I always wanted to have sex with a plumber!"



"Well, Frodo, what do you do?"



"That's really not important." Frodo slyly covered up.



"No, I think it is," Data chimed in, "If you were, let us say, a prostitute, it would be prudent for us to know that information."



Geordi looked appalled, "Frodo, he didn't mean to insinuate that you are a 'lady of the night.' I think his manners chip may be malfunctioning. Let me take a look at that." Geordi walked over and pressed a point on Data's head. A panel of hair lifted up. It was kind of Alfalfa-esque.



Frodo gasped. "Ew. That is so not sexy."



"Sorry," Geordi apologized, "This will only take a moment." Geordi took a pen and started sticking it around in Data's head, which was filled with flashing lights for some reason. "There we go. Good as new."



Data's eyes flashed at Frodo. "Do you care for some oral sex, sir?" he asked politely.



"Do I ever!" Frodo relinquished.



"Yeeha!" Geordi careened.



~



Meanwhile, Sam was busy reading the Salt Lake City Register in his room. Ever since the New York Times had imploded after endless scandals with reporters making up stories, the Salt Lake City Register had risen to become the world leader in news. Why? Nobody knows.



'Where's Frodo?' he thought to himself, scratching his knuckles fervently. His stomach was growling so he went to the mess hall to both look for Frodo and get some food. 'I'm killing two birds with one stone!' he thought, secretly very proud of himself.



At the cafeteria there were only a few people. He saw a waiter and flagged him down. "I'll have steak and eggs benedict. It's my favorite," Sam informed the waiter, "And have you seen a dainty little, um, man with longish curly black hair and piercing blue eyes?"



"Yeah, he was here about an hour ago. He left with Stevie Wonder and his toy robot."



"I see," Sam ululated.



~



"Here's your steak-and-eggs benedict," Faramir intoned, slamming a plate of food down in front of Sam. "For the love of god, please don't throw it at me."



"Now, why would I do that?" Sam asked suspiciously.



"I don't know. It's been an odd day."



"Did a man dump a plate of food on you?"



"He might have."



"Was he extremely, um..." Sam paused to think. "Homosexual looking?"



"He looked a few testicles short of male, if that's where this is going."



"That's my boyfriend, Frodo. Listen, I am so, so sorry about him. He gets really crazy on these interspace flights," Sam lied, excluding the part where Frodo was crazy all of the time. "Is there anything I can do? I just feel awful."



"Yeah, you can keep him out of here when I'm working."



"When do you work?"



"From 4 a.m. to 7 p.m."



"My god, that's the worst thing I ever heard."



"Yes, the future is sure terrible now that they've abandoned all labor-rights laws and unions."



"I see." Just then, a gold-lame blur rushed into the mess hall and attached itself to Sam's waist.



"Sam!" it cried.



"Ah! God, get it away from me!" Faramir screamed girlishly.



"Oh, it's just Frodo," Sam said. "And he's not eating anything to throw at you, so don't worry."



"Um, I'm going over here now." Faramir inched slowly away.



"Sam, I cheated on you with a robot," Frodo confessed. "Do you think that makes me robosexual?"



"Actually, he's an android," Faramir added from a distance.



"Oh, well. Then, no. You have to be into robots to be robosexual," Sam soothed, petting Frodo's wet hair. "You slept with an android. That's totally different."



"Is there a difference between robots and androids?" Frodo asked.



"I think androids are fully functional, and robots aren't," Sam pondered. "But you'll have to consult the encyclopedia for that one."



"Oh, whatever. Who even cares anymore? Let's go play shuffleboard in the holodeck like normal people."



"Fine," Sam concluded. They left the table with only a few measly dimes as tip.



~



Nine rousing rounds of holo-shuffleboard later Sam and Frodo retired to their cabin for some post-holodeck sex. "Oh, Sam," Frodo moaned, carefully unzipping his space-outfit.



"Frodo, are you wearing space-underwear too?"



"Of course I am, silly. All the cool people are wearing it ... in space. At least that's what the clerk at H&M told me."



"Whatever, just take them off and never wear them again."



"No underwear. Ooooh! Kinky!" Frodo growled seductively and pounced onto Sam. A tussle ensued which of course ended in Frodo pinned to the ground taking up the rear.



After their little coital session Frodo took out a cigarette from the pack of Marlboro Reds he had in his space-purse. Sam took a long drag on his Virginia Slim. "I swear, they took all the fun out of cigarettes," Frodo whined.



"Why?"



"When they made them good for you."



"Oh yeah, that."



"Anyway, I'm hungry. Let's go get some post-coital flapjacks."



"Why is it always breakfast food with you?"



"Does it really matter? We're in outer space."



~



When they arrived at the replicatorium there was a new waiter. "Thank god," Sam slurred.



"Hi, my name is Eowyn. Can I get you anything to start off with?" the waitress said as she seated the happy couple.



"Yes, I'll have some flapjacks," Frodo lilted.



"And I'll have baby-back ribs, and a side salad," Sam announced gruffly.



"Oh, a manly man," Eowyn chided expertly. Thirty seconds later she returned with their food.



"Anyway, Frodo, I've been meaning to ask you something," said Sam to a busily munching Frodo.



"Oh?" Frodo said, eyeing the ketchup. "Oh! You want to ask me to marry you?" his voice raised in pitch.



"No!" Sam shot back. "That's not it."



"You don't want to marry me?" Frodo teared up. A temper tantrum was on its way. Sam knew he needed to diffuse it, and quickly.



"I wanted to ask you if we could visit the official Deinonychus VII Intergalactic Portrait Gallery."



"Um, why?"



"I hear they've just unveiled a new portrait of G. Gordon Liddy," Sam noted. G. Gordon Liddy was the 47th and 51st president of the U.S. and, furthermore, his quiches eventually ended world hunger.



"I guess," Frodo sighed. "You know, did I ever tell you that my mother was a Liddyist?"



"Why, no." Sam was amazed. "I thought your mother was an Abortionist."



"Well, her father was a strict Abortionist, but her mother was a Liddyist, and I think when Mama grew up, she so resented Grandpa that she left her Abortionist path behind her. Wow, I can't believe I'm telling you this."



"So, can we go to the portrait gallery?"



"Only if you promise not to wear you Speedo out in public any more."



"Not even on Speedo Day?"



"Especially not on Speedo Day."



"Oh, fiddle."



~



On the way back to the cabin, Frodo and Sam ran into Data in the turbolift. "Deck four," said Data upon entering. "Oh, hello, Frodo. Who is your companion?"



"This is my boyfriend, Sam."



"Greetings, Sam. I am called Data. Your boyfriend and I engaged in sexual relations which were mutually satisfactory. You see, I am programmed in over 204,000 methods of—"



"Okay, that's enough," Frodo grimaced. "Turbolift, just let us off here." The doors opened, and Frodo pulled Sam onto the strange deck.



"Farewell," Data said as the doors shut in his face.



"Um ... what deck are we on?" Sam pondered.



"The pleasure deck!" a bearded man in full showgirl attire announced, spinning roulette wheel and dealing both of them a hand of blackjack. "I'm Saruman, and I'll be your pleasure coordinator this evening.



"I thought it was morning." Sam resuscitated.



"It's always evening on the pleasure deck, silly," Frodo chastised.



"I didn't even know this rust bucket had a pleasure deck!" Sam gamgeed.



"Well it does, you two," Saruman interrupted. "Can I interest you in some holodeck time? It's only $20 an hour."



"Yeah, what the heck," Sam agreed, to Frodo's surprise. Normally Sam was such a stingy bastard, but he had had his favorite breakfast just a few minutes before so he was in a good mood. "Any new programs?" he asked the ridiculous hostess.



"As a matter of fact, we just received a new program. It's called 'The Shire.' I'm afraid it's not very exciting. It's more of a relaxation thing. Think English countryside meets bucolic paradise in New Zealand."



"Sounds boring," chimed Frodo.



"Sounds perfect," overrode Sam, stuffing $40 into Saruman's brassiere.



~



Sam puffed on his pipeweed in the study of Bag End. 'Ah, this is the life,' he thought to himself. He heard a knock on the door. 'That must be Frodo.'



Sure enough, there was Frodo, dressed up in a French maid's outfit. "I'm here to wash the windows, or something," Frodo role-played half-heartedly.



"Ah. Good, they're very dirty. Just like everything else in this house ... including me..."



"Have you been a dirty boy?" Frodo said, waving the ostrich feather duster he had in his hand seductively.



"I sure have," Sam said, as he eyed the unicorn munching on the front lawn.



Just then, a loud siren began to blare and a light began to flash. "Ahhhhhhh!" Frodo cried, tearing the little white lace frill out of his hair. "It's the apocalypse!"



"It's not the apocalypse," said the leader of the cleaning squad that was climbing out of the fire place in orange jumpsuits. "We just need to sweep up the place every day at 6:30."



"It's not 6:30!" Frodo sombered. "You're all interrupting our lovemaking!"



"Oops," said the lead cleaner fakely. "Did we do that again?"



"What is this?" Sam cried. "Get out!"



"Okay, fine, We're going." Thirty men in orange jumpsuits filed back into the fireplace, one by one.



"Okay, Sam," Frodo threatened. "That had better be the last nearly crazy thing that happens in this retarded program."



"Okay, okay. Let's hitch up the wagon and ride into town."



~



In the holographic town, Frodo and Sam stopped at the Twig and Berries. They took a table near the window and sat down. "So," said Sam anxiously. "When we gonna have sex?"



"Wasn't I the one who wanted to have sex earlier on?" Frodo asked.



"Um, I think you just wanted to have a three-way. Anyway, we're here now. Get me an Amstel."



"Okay," Sam shuffled away, pulling up his lederhosen as he walked. While Frodo was alone, a mysterious stranger sat down at the table with him.



"Greetings," said the stranger.



"Hi," said Frodo.



"I am called Fred Burrows. I come bearing a message from your Uncle Biblo."



"That's a stupid name," Frodo duhhed. "I don't have an Uncle Biblo."



"He sends you this Ring of Power," said Fred, offering Frodo a ring.



"What am I supposed to do with this?" Frodo asked.



"Destroy it!" Fred exclaimed menacingly.



"Wait a minute," Frodo retorted, "you're giving me this ugly-ass ring, and I'm supposed to destroy it? Look, why don't you just destroy it? It needs to be put out of its misery."



"Because you are the only one who can do it. You and the fellowship must go to Murdron and throw it into the fiery pits of Thunder Mountain."



"The fellowship?" Frodo asked, confused.



"Of course. You, Sam, and the seven dwarves: Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Bashful, Sleepy, and Dopey." Fred replied. Just then seven short and stocky (and extremely unattractive) men popped out from behind some barrels of ale.



"Um, I'm not sure I want to do this. Sam!" Frodo called.



"Yes, my delicious turtledove?" Sam sputtered, bringing Frodo an Amstel and a cup of extra-salty bar peanuts.



"What are these dwarfs--"



"Dwarves!" Grumpy corrected, waving his fist in Sam's face.



"Excuse me, but I received a terminal MA in English at the University of Lexington. I think I know what the plural of 'dwarf' is," Frodo toodle-pipped.



"Fred, tell him he's wrong," Sleepy whined.



"You're wrong," Fred Burrows incanted, waving his arms around mystically.



"No, I'm not! Sam, tell them I'm not wrong!"



"He's not wrong," Sam affirmed half-heartedly.



"Well, I think we're going to have a problem here," Fred Burrows magicked. "Now, step aside for the entrance of the nine Blue Riders of Glussex!"



"Um..." Frodo and Sam slurred in unison.



"You must fight them with your powers!" all seven dwarfs enthused together.



"What the fuck is this?" Frodo asked.



"I think you've got to use your ring," Sam suggested.



"Wait! Your musn't use the ring!" Fred wavered.



"It's 'mustn't,' with a T," Frodo yawned.



"Holodeck, end program." Sam wheezed.



Suddenly everything went blank. Sam and Frodo were left standing in a black room with yellow duct tape making a grid pattern on the wall. "Wow, that was like the worst program ever," Sam, said.



"Yeah, these holodeck programs have been steadily decreasing in quality for years. It's like they ran out of ideas after they did ‘Harry Potter and the Secret of the Moonstone Papaya.’ "



"That was a great program."



"Yeah. Let's use up the rest of our hour and three minutes on that. Holodeck, play file ‘Harry Potter and the Secret of the Moonstone Papaya.’ "



Sam and Frodo were suddenly thrust into the depths of the Hogwarts Castle, deep in the crevices of Snape’s musty office.



~



Two hours later, the dynamic duo had finished the holodeck program. "Man, that was weird," Sam stuttered.



"Yeah, I wish we were on a ship that had some decent holodeck programs, instead of these awful budget reject B-movie programs." This lat bit of Frodo's diatribe was directed at Saruman, who was busy stuffing his brassiere with tissues.



"Look," Saruman sniffed, "as the pleasure deck coordinator, I hand-picked all of these programs, and I think they're great. If you don't enjoy Moonstone Papayas, well then I don't know what type of people you are. Harrumph."



"Ugh, let's just spend the rest of this voyage having sex in our cabin like normal people," Frodo told Sam.



"Agreed," Sam boomed back. They both approached the turbolift merrily. Unfortunately, there was a big “out of order” sign on it. "Perfect, just perfect," Sam announced.



"Look, if I stay on this pleasure deck another minute, I think I might burst."



"Yeah, just like the seams on Saruman's brassiere," Sam shot back wittily.



"Very funny, Sam,” Frodo said matter-of-factly as well as sarcastically. “We're taking the jet-freeze tube."



"Fine." They both crawled in. It was a small confined space that required Sam to stare at Frodo's ass for the entire journey up six decks.



~



Frodo crawled out of the tube. "Are you there yet?" he screamed down at Sam.



"My god," Sam drawled. "You don't have to yell, I'm right here." He climbed out of the tube too. "So, what's on the agenda for this evening? I was thinking first I'd fuck you, then I'd wash my hair, then I'd do it again."



"Why not fuck me while I wash your hair?"



"That's a little abstract even for me," Sam sniffed.



"Oh, please," Frodo said, punching in the access code to the door to their cabin. "You're the least abstract person I know."



"Explain."



"Once I asked you to bring me a screwdriver, and you brought me a screwdriver."



"What's the problem?" Sam asked, entering the cabin and taking off his Jetbootsu.



"I wanted a drink, Sam, not a fucking tool."



"Well, excuse me for being literal."



"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee," Frodo touted. "Just shut up and fuck me already."



"Will do!"



He did.









THE END YO