Hobbits Across America

Frodo stepped into the casino slowly, swishing his hips as he walked. Every head in Caesar’s Palace turned as he made his way to the bar. “One cosmopolitan, please.” The bartender handed him the bright pink beverage and winked.


“Always a pleasure to serve you, Mr. Baggins,” he crooned.


Frodo woke up. He was still in his trailer 30 miles outside of Las Vegas. The Ramblin’ Palms Trailer Park wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was home. He had just taken a really nice nap. He had to attend his friend Ronaldo’s party in a few hours. Maybe he’d meet some wealthy cowboy who would carry him into the sunset, he thought. More likely, though, he would spend the night in some corner sipping at his rum and coke nervously.


Frodo wanted to be more outgoing but he always found social situations incredibly awkward. He hadn’t been in a relationship for over two years and his last one ended in disaster. Frodo had found out that his boyfriend, Fred Burrows, had been cheating on him with none other than Trixie Malloy, the town slut.


Frodo shuddered as he thought about it. He walked over to the sink and splashed some water on his face. He smelled his armpits to see if they smelled alright and they did. He put on a white button-down shirt and some black pants. This had been his uniform when he worked at the Steak & Shake, and there was a grease stain near the bottom of the shirt, but it was still the nicest outfit he owned. He combed his hair and walked out to his car. It was a powder-blue 1984 Ford Meteor GL. He had gotten it as a graduation gift from his deceased grandmother who didn’t need it anymore now that she lived in a home. It still kind of smelled like old person.


Frodo had bought a pine tree-shaped air freshener to hang from the rear-view mirror but it only made it worse. He drove for about half an hour before he reached Las Vegas. The lights were beautiful, as always. He couldn’t park near the strip though because he didn’t want to spend very much money, so he parked off a bit and took the brand new elevated train. It was so futuristic!


“Frodo!” Ronaldo bellowed loudly. Frodo wasn’t used to attention being paid to him, so he sort of jumped. “Calm down, Fro,” Ronaldo said soothing, patting Frodo on the back. “You don’t want to have another accident, do you?”


“I guess not, Ronnie.” An accident was where all of Frodo’s awful troubles had begun. One day, while performing his famous stage show at the Stardust, a wealthy oil tycoon had spilled a margarita on the catwalk. Frodo slipped and, soon after that, he was waking up Sunrise Hospital.


“Son,” the doctor on duty had said. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but you’ll never be able to dance again.” Six pins in his leg and $34,000 in debt later — the Stardust didn’t have health insurance — Frodo returned home a broken man. He’d had to sell his fancy apartment on the Strip and, obviously, couldn’t keep his job. He’d always been taught to have a positive attitude, though, so when Fred Burrows had left his number as well as a generous tip at the Steak and Shake, Frodo began to think his life was going to turn around. Sadly, he was wrong.


“So, Frodo, what you been up to lately? Any of your old shenanigans?” Ronaldo bellowed.


“No, I’ve been pretty busy with work.”


“You work at a Steak and Shake. It can’t be that demanding.”


“Is that who I think it is?” Frodo almost whispered.


“What did you say?” Ronaldo boisterously asked.


“Is that Trixie Malloy?” Frodo was beginning to turn red, but not in a uniform manner. His face just looked extremely blotchy.


“Wait, I can’t see.” Ronaldo cupped his hands around his mouth. “Trixie, is that you?” he shouted across the room.


“No, don’t...” Frodo was cut off.


“Ronaldo, baby, I’ve been meaning to tell you what a wonderful party this was,” Trixie sing-songed as she waltzed over to where Frodo and Ronaldo were standing. She ignored Frodo’s presence altogether and positioned herself right in front of him, blocking off his access and sightlines to his beloved friend Ronaldo. She even spilled some of her strawberry margarita as she gesticulated wildly.


Before long Ronaldo had seemed to have forgotten that Frodo was still behind Trixie. Frodo shrugged and went back to his seat in the corner where he nervously sipped on his rum and coke, pretending that his hot date was in the bathroom or something and he was just waiting for him to come back.


Sooner or later, Frodo’s other best friend in the world walked up. This man was so interesting and important that Frodo was forbidden to ever call him by his real name, because compared to everyone else on the planet, Frodo was insignificant trash. Instead, he was known only as “Strider.”


“Hello, Frodo Baggins,” said Strider.


“Hey, Strider.”


“You look sort of glum today.”


“Oh, I do.” Frodo put on his fakest smile. “I’m not glum. I’m super happy.”


“Why so glum?” Strider was known for sneering a lot and also, really pressing the issue. That was why his four-month term as mayor of Reno had been so successful.


“Oh, Strider, it’s awful!” Frodo cried, finally breaking down. “My life is miserable. Ever since that awful accident, I can’t hold down a job, and Fred left me for Trixie Malloy! What am I going to do?”


“Well, I might be able to help you.”


“Really? I could really use some help.”


“Well, I have this friend...”


“A friend?”


“Yes. He’s a wealthy casino mogul, and he’s always been attracted to the biggest losers. I’m thinking about setting you two up.”


“Are you calling me a loser?”


“No, not exactly. But I think you may be his type.”


“Well, is he my type?”


“Frodo, your life is too pathetic to have a type. He’s not currently shacking with Trixie Malloy, and that should be good enough for you.”


“I guess you’re right.”


“Look, I’ll set it up. I’ll call you later with the details. Really, Frodo, chin up. Things will get better soon.”


“No they won’t. Nothing ever goes my way.”


“What about that time you were a successful dancer at the Stardust, and you were dating Fred Burrows? Things were totally going your way then.”


“Yeah, but they’re not right now, which is what most concerns me.”


“Well, we can’t have it all go our way every time. And also, what goes up must come down. Speaking of which, how would you like to give me oral sex under a table?”


Frodo didn’t really want to, but he checked his watch and realized that he’d only been at the party for eight minutes and he was already bored, lonely, and miserable. Plus, with this ungodly period of celibacy, he was really getting out of practice with the fellatio. He consented.


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A few weeks later, Frodo was dressed to the nines in his new tuxedo. Strider (who he later found out was married to a former topless dancer, who was suing him for emotional damages) had bought it for him on account of Frodo’s being so willing re: the blow job at Ronaldo’s party. Frodo wasn’t sure if he should consider a new tux to be part of a major life turn-around, but at this point his life was so miserable he would cling to whatever pathetic scrap of hope he found lying half-covered by muck in the city sewer.


Just then, a handsome man with what looked like real diamond cufflinks and a ridiculously theatrical cane came sauntering up to him. “Hello, sugar,” he said in a very think Southern accent. He was wearing a white linen suit and had the most amazing teeth. Frodo thought teeth were a huge turn-on.


“Are you my fairy godmother?” Frodo asked, immediately feeling stupid. The man in the white linen suit laughed.


“Shucks, no!” He laughed gracefully, covering his mouth with one of his hands. “I’m your date. Merry’s the name.”


“Uh, hi,” said Frodo, suddenly feeling like the miserable trash that he was. Merry just drooled hungrily at him. Merry had always had excessive saliva issues. His mother had called it his “wolf problem.”


Frodo felt a bit awkward. “So, Merry? That’s kind of a funny name. Merry like ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ or Mary like the virgin?”


“You’re a virgin? Yeehaw!” Merry began ahootin’ and ahollerin’ shamelessly.


“You’re not even listening to me.”


“Let’s just skip dinner and go up to the hotel!”


“Um, but I’m hungry?” Frodo half-asked.


“Yeah, hungry for some lovin’!”


“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this, Merry.”


“I’ll give you 10 bucks.”


“It’s a deal!” Frodo smiled awkwardly as Merry pinched his butt.


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Frodo stumbled back into his trailer the next morning feeling absolutely awful about himself. His new tuxedo was in shreds and so was his confidence. That was the last time he would ever go home with anyone who offered to pay him. Oh, the shame! Still, Frodo had given Merry his number and told — no, begged — him to call. “Maybe I’m destined to spend my life with that insanely creepy little man,” Frodo thought. “Or maybe I’ll slip on my way into the bathroom and blissfully die.” Unfortunately, Frodo didn’t fall, despite the fact that he was wearing his slipperiest socks. “Gosh darnit!” he thought. “Cheated by death again!”


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Frodo was asleep naked in his second-hand La-Z-Boy, with the TV blaring The Price is Right, when the phone rang. “Plinko! I win showcase showdown!” he yelled, but then he realized it was just the phone ringing. “Oh,” he said drearily. “Hello?”


“Sugar, it’s last night’s date. How y’all doing?”


“There’s only one of me?” Frodo asked. He might be a pathetic waste of life but he had graduated third grade, so he know that ‘y’all’ was plural.


“Sounds delicious.”


“Not really.”


“Well, I had a lovely time yesterday.”


“Yeah, so did I,” Frodo lied, even though his rug burn was still bleeding.


“What do you say I come pick you up?”


“Um. I guess that would be all right.”


“Good, I’m outside your door, y’all.” Merry started hootin’ and Frodo heard it through the aluminum can-thin walls of his trailer.”


“How did you find my trailer?” Frodo asked, suddenly fearing for his life.


“I followed you home yesterday. Now come outside. I’m horny.”


“I don’t know about this. This is a little creepy, even for me.”


“I’ll give you $11 this time.”


“It’s a deal!” Frodo yelped as he jumped up, slammed down the phone and raced to the door. He opened it up to find that Merry had brought company. “Who’s this?” Frodo asked, a bit taken aback.


“Frodo, meet Pippin,” Merry said as he groped Pippin’s breast implant.


“Merry, I know I said I had fun yesterday, but I was lying. You’re an awful person, and sex with you was painful and humiliating.”


“Physically painful, or emotionally painful?” asked Pippin.


“Sort of both,” Frodo confessed, eyeing the dead geranium on his “porch,” which was really a wooden plank on cinder blocks.


“Awwwwwww,” said Pippin enthusiastically. “That’s my Merry!”


“YEEHAW!” crowed Merry.


“So, like, what are you?” Frodo asked the erstwhile Pippin. “Are you a boy, or a girl, or a what?”


“A girl,” Pippin said coyly.


“A biological girl?”


“Why don’t you take her for a test drive and wager a guess?” Merry said. Pippin giggled awkwardly.


“Ew, that is sick.”


“There’s good money in it if’n you guess correctly!” Merry said, pulling a gun out of his holster and firing it off aimlessly.


“How much money?” Frodo asked suspiciously.


“How much money you need?” Merry asked. Pippin had gone cross-eyed.


“Look, who the hell are you?” Frodo whined. “Why is this happening to me? Why does everyone think I’m just some cheap toy who can be used and abused and treated like garbage?” Frodo broke into messy tears on his astroturf lawn.


“Merry, he seems really upset,” said Pippin. “Maybe we should try to help him.” Pippin sidled over to Frodo and put one arm and one incredibly droopy breast around him. Frodo shivered and pulled away. “Get away from me! I’m leaving!”


“Merry, I don’t think he likes me,” Pippin said as he/she teared up.


“By the way, can I have ride?” Frodo half-whispered.


“No!” Pippin and Merry shouted in unison as they turned around in a huff and stomped off toward Merry’s Cadillac Escalade.


Frodo turned around and ran into his trailer. He was in tears. He pushed some old magazines and a dirty bowl that still had some Easy Mac crusted on it off the kitchen counter. A cockroach scuttled away.


This disgusted him, so he crawled into bed and picked up the phone. He punched in some numbers.


“Las Vegas County Prison, may I help you?” a nasally voice on the other end answered.


“I need to talk to my uncle Bilbo!” Frodo wailed.


“Is he a prisoner at this here establishment?”


“Yes, he’s in for drug possession.”


“Well, he has to call you. You can’t call him. Also, looking at this list, his phone privileges have been revoked. Seems he has gotten in a little scuffle with one of our guards, Gandalf.”


“No! That’s awful. I really need to talk to him.”


“Well, sorry dear. I can’t help you. You can always come down to the prison and visit him.”


“Yeah? And how am I supposed to do that? My car broke down.”


“Not my problem.” With that, the phone call was over. Frodo heard a loud click and let out a giant, over-emoted sigh.


Frodo walked outside miserably. His whole life was falling apart! He had no idea why -- he’d never done anything to deserve this cruel fate, except maybe for run over a gypsy, who was also a witch. But surely it couldn’t have been that. Who cares about gypsies?


Frodo knew what he had to do. He’d get in his car, and drive down to the casinos, and put all of his life’s savings on red. Or maybe black. Whatever, like it mattered. Either he was going to strike it rich once and for all, or he would shoot himself in the face, just like the hobo who sat outside work always suggested when Frodo didn’t give him a nickel.


Downtown, Frodo shuffled miserably into the nearest casino. He rolled up to the roulette table and the attendant, a straw-haired man with his sleeves rolled up, smiled at him. “Evening, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Care to play?”


“Yes,” Frodo said sadly. He placed his money on the table.


“That’s an awful lot of money, sir,” said the casino guy.


“It’s my life’s savings,” Frodo muttered.


“That’s not a lot of life’s savings at all.”


“Look, do you want my $540 or not?”


“What’s your name?” the attendant asked.


“Isn’t it against the rules for you to ask?” Frodo replied.


“No. It isn’t. I’m just curious.”


“Well, it’s Frodo.”


“Well, Mr. Frodo...”


“No! Frodo’s my first name. What’s yours?”


“Sam. Sam Gamgee,” Sam replied. Then he whispered, “It’s my first day working at this here casino.”


“Oh, I can kind of tell.”


“Really, Mr. Frodo.”


“Yeah. I used to work at a casino. I was a big success.”


“Were you a blackjack dealer? I always thought they were so glamorous.”


“No, I was a showgirl. But a boy, you know.”


“I’ve never seen a male showgirl. Why do you say used ‘ta?”


“Well, I had a bit of an accident, and now I can’t dance any more.”


“That’s a sad story, Mr. Frodo. So, now you’re here gambling your life savings away?”


“Well, yes. It’s reached that point, if you know what I mean.”


“My boss would probably fire me if I told you this, but I think you’re making an awful mistake. You need this money.”


“No. I don’t. I just need to know if I someone is on my side.”


“I’ll be on your side.


“But you don’t even know me,” Frodo said rationally. “For all you know I’m an alcoholic homosexual who gambled his life away at the track, and rapes puppies.”


“Are you?”


“No, yes, no, and sort of.”


“Well, that’s good enough for me,” Sam shrugged. “You seem decent enough to me, and I was an Eagle Scout, which is highly reputable.”


“Well, Sam, what time do you get off?”


Sam checked his watch. “About forty minutes from now. If you wait in the lobby and don’t spend your life’s savings I’ll be happy to buy you a drink after my shift.”


“I think I would really enjoy that.”


“So would I.”


THE END