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Bored of the Rings: A Parody of J. R. R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, by Harvard Lampoon, Henry Beard, Douglas C. Kenney
Ebook Download Bored of the Rings: A Parody of J. R. R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, by Harvard Lampoon, Henry Beard, Douglas C. Kenney
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A quest, a war, a ring that would be grounds for calling any wedding off, a king without a kingdom, and a furry little "hero" named Frito, ready-or maybe just forced by the wizard Goodgulf-to undertake the one mission that can save Lower Middle Earth from enslavement by the evil Sorhed. Luscious Elf-maidens, a roller-skating dragon, ugly plants that can soul kiss the unwary to death-these are just some of the ingredients in the wildest, wackiest, most irreverent excursion into fantasy realms that anyone has ever dared to undertake.For everyone who has delighted in J. R. R. Tolkien's fantasy masterwork-or anyone who's just looking for a good laugh-Bored of the Rings is the "all-in-one-volume" comic extravaganza that will convince lovers and haters of fantasy that they've finally experienced it all, and that they'll never need to read another fantasy parody again.
- Sales Rank: #3419431 in Books
- Published on: 1976-03-16
- Released on: 1976-03-16
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 5.00" h x 1.00" w x 7.00" l,
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 160 pages
Amazon.com Review
Written in the gloaming of their college days, just before they started National Lampoon, Douglas C. Kenney and Henry N. Beard wrote Bored of the Rings. It's dated--references to Nixon, drugs, and consumer products circa 1969 crowd every page--but darn it, Bored of the Rings is still funny nearly 30 years later: "'Goodbye, Dildo,' Frito said, stifling a sob. 'I wish you were coming with us.'
'Ah, yes. But I'm too old for that sort of thing now,' said the old boggie, feigning a state of total quadriplegia. 'Anyway, I have a few small gifts for you,' and he produced a lumpy parcel, which Frito opened somewhat unenthusiastically in view of Dildo's previous going-away present [the ring]. But the package only contained a short, Revereware sword, a bulletproof vest full of moth holes, and several well-thumbed novellas with titles like Elf Lust and Goblin Girl..."
Place yourself in the hands of these professional humorists: you won't be disappointed.
About the Author
The Harvard Lampoon debuted in February 1876 and is the world's longest continually published humor magazine. Written by seven undergraduates and modeled on Punch, the British humor magazine, Lampoon alumni include comedians Conan O'Brien, Andy Borowitz, Greg Daniels, Jim Downey, Al Jean, and B. J. Novak.
Jim Meskimen is an accomplished actor, impressionist, and voice artist whose work has been seen and heard for thirty years. His television appearances include the acclaimed British comedy-improv show Whose Line Is it, Anyway? and his feature film debut was in The Paper, directed by Ron Howard, for whom Jim went on to work on four subsequent films.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
FOREWORD
Though we cannot with complete candor state, as does Professor T., that “the tale grew in the telling,” we can allow that this tale (or rather the necessity of hawking it at a bean a copy) grew in direct proportion to the ominous dwindling of our bank accounts at the Harvard Trust in Cambridge, Massachusetts. This loss of turgor in our already emaciated portfolio was not, in itself, cause for alarm (or “alarum” as Professor T. might aptly put it), but the resultant threats and cuffed ears received at the hands of creditors were. Thinking long on this, we retired to the reading lounge of our club to meditate on this vicissitude.
The following autumn found us still in our leather chairs, plagued with bedsores and appreciably thinner, but still without a puppy biscuit for the lupine pest lolling around the front door. It was at this point that our palsied hands came to rest on a dog-eared nineteenth printing of kindly old Prof. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Dollar signs in our guileless eyes, we quickly ascertained that it was still selling like you know whats. Armed to the bicuspids with thesauri and reprints of international libel laws, we locked ourselves in the Lampoon squash court with enough Fritos and Dr Pepper to choke a horse. (Eventually the production of this turkey actually required the choking of a small horse, but that’s another story entirely.)
Spring found us with decayed teeth and several pounds of foolscap covered with inky, illegible scrawls. A quick rereading proved it to be a surprisingly brilliant satire on Tolkien’s linguistic and mythic structures, filled with little takeoffs on his use of Norse tales and wicked phoneme fricatives. A cursory assessment of the manuscript’s sales appeal, however, convinced us that dollarwise the thing would be better employed as tinder for the library fireplace. The next day, handicapped by near-fatal hangovers and the loss of all our bodily hair (but that’s another story), we sat down at two supercharged, fuel-injected, 345-hp Smith-Coronas and knocked off the opus you’re about to read before tiffin. (And we take tiffin pretty durn early in these parts, buckaroo.) The result, as you are about to see for yourself, was a book as readable as Linear A and of about the same literary value as an autographed gatefold of St. Simon Stylites.
“As for any inner meanings or ‘message,’” as Professor T. said in his foreword, there is none herein except that which you may read into it yourself. (Hint: What did P. T. Barnum say was “born every minute”?) Through this book, we hope, the reader may find deeper insights not only into the nature of literary piracy but into his own character as well. (Hint: What is missing from this famous quotation? “A ______ and his ______ soon are ______.” You have three minutes. Ready, set, go!)
Bored of the Rings has been issued in this form as a parody. This is very important. It is an attempt to satirize the other books, not simply to be mistaken for them. Thus, we must strongly remind you that this is not the real thing! So if you’re about to purchase this copy thinking it’s about the Lord of the Rings, then you’d better put it right back onto that big pile of remainders where you found it. Oh, but you’ve already read this far, so that must mean that—that you’ve already bought . . . oh dear . . . oh my . . . (Tote up another one on the register, Jocko. “Ching!”)
Lastly, we hope that those of you who have read Prof. Tolkien’s remarkable trilogy already will not be offended by our little spoof of it. All fooling aside, we consider ourselves honored to be able to make fun of such an impressive, truly masterful work of genius and imagination. After all, that is the most important service a book can render, the rendering of enjoyment, in this case, enjoyment through laughter. And don’t trouble yourself too much if you don’t laugh at what you are about to read, for if you perk up your pink little ears, you may hear the silvery tinkling of merriment in the air, far, far away. . . .
It’s us, buster. Ching!
I
It’s My Party and I’ll Snub Who I Want To
When Mr. Dildo Bugger of Bug End grudgingly announced his intention of throwing a free feed for all the boggies in his part of the Sty, the reaction in Boggietown was immediate—all through the messy little slum could be heard squeals of “Swell!” and “Hot puppies, grub!” Slavering with anticipation, several recipients of the invitations devoured their little engraved scrolls, temporarily deranged by transports of gluttony. After the initial hysteria, however, the boggies returned to their daily routines and, as is their wont, lapsed back into a coma.
Nevertheless, jabbering rumors spread through the tatty lean-tos of recent shipments of whole, bewildered oxen, great barrels of foamy suds, fireworks, tons of potato greens, and gigantic hogsheads of hogs’ heads. Even huge bales of freshly harvested stingwort, a popular and remarkably powerful emetic, were carted into town. News of the fête reached even unto the Gallowine, and the outlying residents of the Sty began to drift into town like peripatetic leeches, each intent on an orgy of freeloading that would make a lamprey look like a piker.
No one in the Sty had a more bottomless gullet than that drooling and senile old gossip Haf Gangree. Haf had spent his life as the town’s faithful beadle, and had long since retired on the proceeds of his thriving blackmail racket.
Tonight, Fatlip, as he was called, was holding forth at the Bag Eye, a sleazy dive more than once closed down by Mayor Fastbuck for the dubious behavior of the establishment’s buxom “B-boggies,” who were said to be able to roll a troll before you could say “Rumpelstiltskin.” The usual collection of sodden oafs were there, including Fatlip’s son, Spam Gangree,1 who was presently celebrating his suspended sentence for the performing of an unnatural act with an underage female dragon of the opposite sex.
“The whole thing smells pretty queer to me,” said Fatlip, as he inhaled the acrid fumes of his nose-pipe. “I’m meaning the way Mr. Bugger is throwing this big bash when for years he’s not so much as offered a piece o’ moldy cheese to his neighbors.” The listeners nodded silently, for this was certainly the case. Even before Dildo’s “strange disappearance” he had kept his burrow at Bug End guarded by fierce wolverines, and in no one’s memory had he ever contributed a farthing to the Boggietown Annual Mithril Drive for Homeless Banshees. The fact that no one else ever had either did not excuse Dildo’s famed stinginess. He kept to himself, nurturing only his nephew and a mania for dirty Scrabble.
“And that boy of his, Frito,” added bleary-eyed Nat Clubfoot, “as crazy as a woodpecker, that one is.” This was verified by Old Poop of Backwater, among others. For who hadn’t seen young Frito walking aimlessly through the crooked streets of Boggietown, carrying little clumps of flowers and muttering about “truth and beauty” and blurting out silly nonsense like “Cogito ergo boggum”?
“He’s an odd one, all right,” said Fatlip, “and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there weren’t something in that talk of his having dwarfish sympathies.” At this point there was an embarrassed silence, particularly from young Spam, who had never believed the unproved charges that the Buggers were “scroll-carrying dwarves.” As Spam pointed out, real dwarves were shorter and smelled much worse than boggies.
“That’s pretty stout talk,” laughed Fatlip, wagging his right foreleg, “about a body what’s only borrowed the name of Bugger!”
“Aye,” chimed Clotty Peristalt. “If that Frito weren’t the seed of a crossbow wedding, then I don’t know lunch from din-din!” The roisterers all laughed aloud as they remembered Frito’s mother, Dildo’s sister, who rashly plighted her troth to someone from the wrong side of the Gallowine (someone known to be a hafling, i.e., part boggie, part opossum). Several of the members took this up and there followed a series of coarse2 and rather simpleminded jests at the expense of the Buggers.
“What’s more,” said Fatlip, “Dildo’s always acting . . . mysterious, if you know what I mean.”
“There are those that say he acts like he’s got something to hide, they say,” came a strange voice from the corner shadows. The voice belonged to a man, a stranger to the boggies of the Bag Eye, a stranger they had understandably overlooked because of his rather ordinary black cape, black chain mail, black mace, black dirk, and perfectly normal red glowing fires where his eyes should have been.
“Them what say that may be right,” agreed Fatlip, winking at his cronies to tell them a punch line was coming. “But them that say such may be wrong, too.” After the general hilarity resulting from the typical Gangree gaff died down, few had noticed that the stranger had disappeared, leaving only a strange, barnyard odor behind him.
“But,” insisted little Spam, “it will be a good party!”
To this they all agreed, for there was nothing a boggie loved more than an opportunity to stuff himself until he was violently ill.
• • •
The season was cool, early autumn, heralding the annual change in the boggie dessert from whole watermelons to whole pumpkins. But the younger boggies who...
Most helpful customer reviews
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
Brilliant
By iDave
Seems like people either love or hate this one. Most of the "haters" seem to be folks who consider LoTR to be their religion, or kids too young to get any of the 60's / 70's cultural references.
If you don't remember Moxie or Bromo-Seltzer, and have never heard of Harold Stassen or naugahyde, then you will probably have a hard time understanding most of the humor.
But if you love LoTR but don't worship it, and if you're old enough to get the cultural references, then you'll probably agree that this book is pretty damned funny.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
If you loved LOTR and over 55 this is side splitting humor.
By Dave K ... fantasy fan
This in my opinion is the best thing H-Lampoon ever did. I loved LOTR and this is such a parody of all the great thing characters you laugh yourself silly.
But be warned, if you are much younger someone born after 1960, much of the humor may be lost because things use names common in commercials of the 60's era. But this is pee-pants laugh out loud in public funny. But for those of old enough to "get" the references, it almost nostalgic.
If you're a bit of snoot - stay away. Go be profound somewhere else. If you enjoy the irreverent, have fun.
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
My original went AWOL.
By W. Abraham
I have been trying to locate a reasonably priced copy of this book for years - literally! Finally, after 43 years, they have reprinted it!!!
This is the book my in-laws used to quote snippits of! And for Christmas one year we gave my Father-in-law a corduroy thesaurus with dangling participles!
If you are a fan of Tolkien's books, will will laugh yourself silly over this irreverent parody. If you aren't a fan of Tolkien's books, you will still find humor in reading this book, especially if you are a Boomer, simply because of the dated references made into names and locations.
So travel through the Nagio Marsh and through the Evelyn Wood with boggies Frito Bugger, Spam Gangree, Pepsi and Moxie, Stomper the Ranger (Arrowroot of Arrowshirt), Goodgulf the wizard, Legolam, the elf and Gimlet the dwarf on their quest to throw the ring of power into the zazu pits of Fordor and destroy Sorhed's power once and for all!
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