The Gobfather, Goblin King of the Moisty Mountains

The Gobfather, Goblin King of the Moisty Mountains
from The Wobbit A Parody

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Friday, April 20, 2012

The Wobbit In The News

Mild-mannered financial reporter Lou Carlozo wrote this excellent piece for Reuters Wealth about The Wobbit. Discover the story behind the Tolkien parody!

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

International Updates

German Readers
Hörbuch Hamburg, the German audiobook company, has just purchased the rights for The Wobbit! German friends, be on the lookout for this surefire hit in November 2012!

New Zealand Readers
When you see Peter Jackson or any of his crew, be sure to mention that The Wobbit A Parody is only $3.00 on Amazon! And ask about a two-film tie-in as well.

United Kingdom Readers
Thanks for your continued support on Amazon.UK! Since my publisher in Munich put together an audiobook deal, I'm now looking forward to their negotiation of the English language rights for The Wobbit in hardcover.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

#11 Promo's Afterparty (from The Superfriends Of The Ring)

Promo came in soon afterwards. He glanced about the condo and then quietly asked "Is Uncle Bulbo gone yet?"

"Yes, at last," said Pantsoff. "I thought he'd never leave. Oh, he left something for you." He handed Promo the inter-office envelope. 

"Don't bother unwinding the string. Inside is his will, his trust documents, and his tax records. I think he left you his ring, too."

"Oh, great," said Promo. "How long do I have to keep that stuff? Five years? Seven years? Forever? I hate filing." He stopped complaining for a moment. "You said his magic ring is in there too? Cool! I'll never have to pay a cover charge to enter a nightclub again!"

"Promo, you've inherited Bulbo's fortune, so stop thinking small for a change. Actually, don't think about the ring at all. Just put it away. Keep it secret, and keep it safe!"

Later that night, the last remaining guests were removed, some in wheelbarrows by gardeners looking for new income streams. A final handful of wobbits refused to get into the barrows under any circumstances, wheeled or otherwise, for fear of the dread barrow-wights. Librarians and middle-school teachers were brought in to explain the various definitions of the word "barrow," but when this didn't help, the gardeners left and movers with hand-trucks arrived. Thus accomodated, the final wobbits were carted off, standing upright in their hand-trucks and unworried by the possibilities of barrows or wights.

Night slowly passed, like unconscious wobbits in wheelbarrows. But finally, late the next morning, even the most unconscious of them were up and around again. They eventually gravitated to the Bunkins ancestral condo. When a sizable crowd had gathered, muttering questions about Bulbo and his whereabouts, Promo stepped out of the aluminium screen door and read a prepared speech.

"Bulbo Bunkins has left the building. He is leaving Wobbiton to pursue other interests. He's been under a lot of stress lately, and would now like to spend less time with his family. You are trespassing on private property. The Shirriffs will be arriving shortly. Unless your name is on the posted list, get the hell off my lawn." The crowd grumbled and dispersed grudgingly, leaving only those that found themselves listed. Promo called their names one by one, and handed out some deeply disappointing gag gifts, reading the labels aloud:

For BORA BUNKINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bulbo; on a flaming bag of dog crap. Bora's annual holiday letter was so self-serving that most of the Bunkinses quickly threw it away unopened. Bulbo hoped that the humor (or "humour" as the wobbits would say) of his gift would be appreciated by all.

For LADLELARD DORK for his VERY OWN, from Bulbo; on a flaming bag of dog crap. Bulbo was insecure as a writer, so he telegraphed his jokes by capitalizing the punchlines. Ladlelard never picked up after his dog, an immense dachshund. Immense, relative to a wobbit.

For PHYLO CHURROS, hoping it will be useful, from B.B. on a flaming bag of dog crap. Phylo enjoyed leaving flaming bags of dog crap at his nieghbor's front doors on All Hallow's Eve.

For the collection of OUZO BUTTCHRUNCHER, from a contributor; on a flaming bag of dog crap. Ouzo collected flaming bags of dog crap, and his collection was admired throughout Wobbiton. At least, by wobbits that liked that sort of thing.

For EARLOBIA SNACKBAG-BUNKINS, as a PRESENT;  on a flaming bag of dog crap. Bulbo had taken a lot of crap from her over the years, and now could return the compliment with impunity.

Bulbo had hoped to indulge his love of irony by selecting an individualized and truly insulting gift for each recipient. But as is so often the case, he waited until the last minute and then had to make do with whatever was at hand. He had been busy with the party, after all. At least the notes were personalized.

Despite the hostile nature of the gag gifts, Bulbo also had put aside a great many real gifts that were wanted and welcomed by poor wobbits from the bad side of Wobbiton. These wobbits were so poor they couldn't live in anything as nice as a hole. To many of them he gave bottles of fortified buckie-wine. No wobbits wear shoes, so even the poorest wouldn't want them, but many of them enjoyed the legwarmers Bulbo gave away. To the very poorest, most of whom were in his employ, Bulbo finally made payment for their unused sick days. This was in accordance with a decision made in arbitration years earlier that Bulbo had avoided paying out. When you're the richest wobbit in town, things tend to go your way. 

After everyone else left with their gag gifts, Earlobia Snackbag-Bunkins and her husband Oboe barged into the condo to hassle Promo. Their conversation was rather offensive. Perhaps not as offensive as a flaming bag of dog crap, but still offensive. They offered Promo unsolicited advice on planning a yard sale of Bulbo's belongings, hinting that they would take some of the hard-to-sell items off his hands if he asked them nicely. As they talked they poked around Bulbo's home office. Earlobia found a pile of musical items left behind by Borin & Company when they surprised Bulbo at brunch sixty years earlier. He had been meaning to return them, but kept forgetting. There were noseflutes, cowbells, some forgotten fiddlesticks, and a pair of spoons that Borin's nephew Bufu had played beautifully. 

Realizing they were not suddenly going to be offered some sort of settlement, Oboe tried a new approach. "This whole business stinks. And I'm not just talking about the gag gifts. The will says you're the sole heir, Promo? Sole heir, my Aunt Fanny! I demand to see the will!" Promo went to the mantle, got the red rope envelope and gave it to Oboe, who began unwinding the string.

"I'll be in the kitchen," said Promo. "Let me know when you've got that open."  He really wished he could vanish, and then he noticed that Bulbo's ring had mysteriously found it's way from the string-tied envelope into his pocket. He fidgeted with it for a moment, and then remembered why he came into the kitchen.

He started making some grilled cheese sandwiches for himself and Maryellen Buckiebrand. Mary was hanging around to avoid returning to Buckiebrand Hall, where it was his night to do the dishes. The two of them were done eating when Oboe called to them from the other room that he had the envelope open. It was a very long string, and the Snackbag-Bunkinses were almost as old as Bulbo. They did not benefit from the uncanny side-effects of a magic ring to keep them in perpetual middle-age, so they weren't as vigorous or as insulting as they had been in their prime. But they gave it their best.

"I'll be dipped!" said Oboe. "This will looks legit! Come on, Earlobia, let's get out of here. Curses, foiled again!" As they walked past the pile of dwarven musical accessories, Earlobia picked up a pair of claves and a few fiddlesticks.

"Just let him try to stop us!" she said to her husband. "We're old, and we're entitled, will or no will."

"And after waiting sixty years!" she said. "Fiddlesticks? Spoons! Let's take the spoons, too!" Loaded with musical knick-knacks, they stepped out of the condo and stumped off. They would have scuttled, like most wobbits, but for their advanced years. Earlobia stopped for a moment, trying to come up with a more memorable parting line.

Oboe turned to her and said "Forget it, dear. It's Wobbiton." 

As they continued to stump back to their own hole, they passed Pantsoff, who was heading towards Bulbo's condo. When he arrived there, he banged on the rattly screen door with his staff, which made the door even more rattly. 

"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!" he shouted as he opened the door.

"Thank goodness it's you, Pantsoff!" said Promo. Never before had anyone ever said that to Pantsoff. "I thought it was Earlobia back again to steal more of Bulbo's old junk. I was ready to use his ring to disappear! Hey, what else does it do, besides providing eternal middle-age and making you disappear. Could I use it to turn the Snackbag-Bunkinses into llamas?

"Easy there, junior," said Pantsoff. "All the facts aren't in on that thing. The last sixty years just haven't been enough time for me to research the ring fully. I keep scheduling time to work on it, and then something else comes up and then the research has to be planned forward a few more years. You know how it is. So, why is it that you had the ring in your pocket at all? Is that secret? Or safe?"

"Well, um, I..."

"Just as I thought. The ring is already calling the shots, just as it was starting to do with Bulbo. Didn't you notice the effect it had on him?"

"Yes," said Promo. "It made him invisible and very rich, and it kept him from ever getting old."

"No, I mean besides that," said Pantsoff. "Any mood swings, irritability, rashes, fevers, that sort of thing?"

"Not that I noticed." 

"Well, be very careful with it. Try not to wear it, or handle it, or look at it, or think about it too much. But make sure you always know where it is, secret and safe."

"Should Mary be hearing all this?" said Promo. "He's in the kitchen."

"Son of a—" said Pantsoff as Mary walked in. "Mary, from now on you have to keep it secret and safe, too. Understand?"

"Whatever," said Mary as he went to take a nap in the guest room.

"With all these side effects," said Promo, "isn't it kind of dangerous for me to keep it here."

"Oh my, no!" said Pantsoff. "No need to worry. Just as long as it's secret and safe, and you're not looking at it longingly or thinking about it."

"Great," said Promo. "Are you staying for dinner again?"

"I wish I could, but I can't. There's a guy I've got to talk to about this ring. Gotta run. You'll see me later, unless I see you first. Good-bye now. Bye!"

Promo saw him to the door. Pantsoff walked off at a surprising pace, but bent, as if carrying a great weight. Like a sack of gold coins, one of which was discovered to be missing the next day. Promo didn't see him again for a long time.

Keep coming back for more of Superfriends Of The Ring. To read my loving, insightful, full-length parody of The Hobbit,  order a copy of my eBook The Wobbit on Amazon for only $3.00:  

If you don't have a Kindle reader, you can download the Kindle app from Amazon for free and then read The Wobbit on your Mac, PC, smartphone or microwave oven.  Visit Amazon:

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Check out my Facebook page!

If you're enjoying my posts, please visit my recently redecorated Facebook page to see news, art and links related to Superfriends Of The Ring as well as The Wobbit A Parody.

And please, while you're there, be sure to Like the page. It's full of quirky fun Tolkien-related stuff, and I plan to more with it. Thanks for your support!

Monday, February 20, 2012

#10 Bulbo Finally Leaves Wobbiton

"You've left the party, Pantsoff!" said Bulbo. "The frozen Margaritas must have run out."

"No," said Pantsoff. "There was just no sense in lingering. Too many sloshed wobbits looking for fights as they staggered to their waggons in the parking lot. I'm at a point in my career where I can't be seen duking it out with someone half my height. Did you like my concluding fireworks?"

"I loved watching those rubes run for their lives!" said Bulbo. "But why did you add the popcorn effect to my disappearance? My relatives thought you turned me into Fiddle Faddle!"

"And then they gathered you up and ate you!"

"They like a good snack," said Bulbo. "But it spoils my joke if they suspect you of foul play!"

"Since when is disappearing a joke? I'd call it more of a stage illusion. It's also a great way of drawing attention to the ring you've kept secret since the SmithiBank gig at the Only Mountain. Bulbo, I never know what you're going to do next!"

"I'm going on vacation. I am old, Pantsoff. Not as old as you of course, but old. I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it. Come to think of it, I've known you for decades and you've been an old man the whole time. What's with that?" 

Pantsoff shrugged.

"Like I was saying, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean, like when I joined that yoga class by mistake. I need a change! I want to see mountains again, Pantsoff—mountains. I want to see them through a large window in a ski resort, as I sit in a recliner by a roaring fire, sipping mulled wine. I'll be able to finish the Deluxe Reissue of my book, with a new ending: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days." 

Pantsoff laughed. "That has to be an improvement over all the other endings you tried: After all, tomorrow is another day or Pantsoff, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, or That'll do, pig, that'll do. But nobody will ever read the book, however it ends. The excerpts you posted were horrible!"

"Promo read them, and he thought they were great!"

"He has to," said Pantsoff. "He's your sole heir. He doesn't want you to write him back out of your will."

"Good old Promo. You'll keep an eye on him, won't you, Pantsoff?"

"Yes, I will—two eyes, and a foot on his neck, as often as I can spare them. He's a tweenager, after all. If only I weren't so busy with my research on your ring. Say, where is the ring, anyway? We had a deal, you were to give it up."

"Oh, it's here," said Bulbo. "And Promo will get it with everything else: the condo, the rootball cards and collectibles, the investments with SmithiBank, and of course the silver, gold and all the jools."

"The what?"

"I'm sorry, the 'jewels.' Daddy Shortlegs long suspected I had them, but my stupid gardner has been denying it for years. I'm leaving him and his son to Promo, too. They'll be his problem."

"Yeah, that's great, Bulbo, but where's the ring?

"The what?"

"The ring!" said Pantsoff. "Where is it?"

"It's in an inter-office envelope right there on the mantle, you old idiot! What are you: blind or stupid? I swear, you are the most self-absorbed— oh wait. Here it is in my pocket. No offense, Pantsoff."

"None taken, half-pint. Now reach way up and set it on the mantle."

"Listen, you hulking geezer, where do you get off telling me what to do with my joolery?"

"Easy there, knee-high. Let's not get fussy."

"If I am it is your fault," said Bulbo. "It is mine, I tell you, mine! All mine! Bwa-ha-ha! My precious, I say, precious! Look at me when I talk to you, son! The precious is mine, I say, mine!"

"That voice! Where have I heard that voice?" said Pantsoff. "Now I remember! You sound exactly like the creature you 'won' the ring from, Lady Gol-Gol! And that's not meant as a compliment!"

"Here we go," said Bulbo.

"That's right! Let me tell you for the brazillionth time how potentially dangerous this ring is! Oh, and that 'stretched' feeling you mentioned? Probably caused by the ring! Look at the legal disclaimers for any magic ring, and you'll see things like 'May cause nausea, drymouth, night hysteria and certain sexual side effects. Not for use by pregnant women, pregnant dwarfs, pregnant elves, or pregnant wobbits. Stretched feelings may result.' Give up the ring, Bulbo!"

"Give it up to who? You?"

Pantsoff's eyes flashed above his menacing nose-hairs. The room darkened and he seemed to grow large, which is common when you try to stand up straight in a wobbit's rumpus room. Bulbo gaped at him and scuttled into a corner.

"Eek!" he said.

"Bulbo Bunkins! Do not take me for some conjuror of cheap tricks! I'm a wizard and a project manager, and my mystical Gannt charts all tell me that it is time for you to give up the ring!" The light returned to the room and Pantsoff appeared to shrink as he re-lit the lamps and sat down. Bulbo peeked out from behind the Lay-Z-Boy.

"Are you d-d-done?" he asked.

"Quite," said Pantsoff. "Now give us a hug!"

"Please, Pantsoff. Not in front of the dwarves." Three dwarves entered the room with Bulbo's baggage, parcels and paraphernalia. Bulbo quickly recovered from his fright at Pantsoff's cheap trick. "Well, I'm off. I hope there's a market for your research. Give my best to Promo."

"Guys, give us a minute," Pantsoff said to the dwarves, who discreetly took Bulbo's things outside. Pantsoff continued with Bulbo. 

"And the ring?"

"The what, now?"

"The ring," said Pantsoff, sighing. "It's still in your pocket."

"Ah, yes," said Bulbo. "So it is." He pulled out the red-rope envelope.

"Great. Is the ring in there, and is it the ring we're talking about? Why don't you open that envelope?"

Bulbo glared at him, and started unwinding the string that kept the envelope's flap closed. 

"Take your time," said Pantsoff.

Bulbo finally got the string undone. He opened the envelope, held it out at arm's lenght, and turned it over. A little while later, the ring dropped out to the floor. It landed with a strange "Ka-Boom" sound, and immediately lay flat on the linoleum floor.

"Whew!" said Pantsoff. "I'm glad that thing didn't bounce away or roll. I wasn't about to try to get it out from under your chiffarobe."

"It's a home entertainment center."

"Maybe a credenza?"

"Whatever," said Bulbo, as he opened his aluminum screen door for the last time and joined the dwarves in the Wobbiton darkness. They walked off, as Bulbo sang quitely to himself a reprise of an old song, not bothering to update the lyrics:

The show must go forever on 
so if there’s money to be made 
I’ll once more put my mailshirt on 
and kill a dragon again, someday 
Or else I’ll send a relative 
off to risk his limb and life 
To him my magic ring I’ll give 
and my magic Elf Army Knife 

Keep coming back for more of Superfriends Of The Ring. To read my loving, insightful, full-length parody of The Hobbit,  order a copy of my eBook The Wobbit on Amazon for only $3.00:  

If you don't have a Kindle reader, you can download the Kindle app from Amazon for free and then read The Wobbit on your Mac, PC, smartphone or microwave oven.  It's easy, visit Amazon now!

Monday, February 6, 2012

#9 Bulbo Packs His Things (from The Superfriends Of The Ring)

Every Bunkins, Boffo, Dork, Buckiebrand, Blobb, Slobb, Churros, Bulger, Buttcruncher, Craphouse, Widebody, Hornhonker, and Smellfoot began to talk at once. Mostly they were asking where the dessert carts and Elvish Coffee were. Everyone talked except Promo. He had enjoyed Bulbo's joke, but didn't say so or laugh out loud; he thought it was more of a publicity stunt than a joke. This was too bad, since Bulbo had intended to sneak out of town. To help still some of the controversy, Promo ordered that Pantsoff's huge supply of distilled spirits be quietly added to all punch, beer and wine. Given the appetite of the normal wobbit, many of them would forget about Bulbo's joke by morning, if they remembered the evening at all. Before a mickey could be slipped into his beer, though, Promo drained it and left quickly. He didn't want to have to dodge any of Pantsoff's final fireworks.

As for Bulbo Bunkins, you probably realize without being told that he had disappeared using the golden ring you're familiar with; the very magic ring that he had acquired on his journey with the Dwarves of Smithibank as detailed in his book There Goes My Back Again. After getting the wrong ring on the first try, he slipped it on his finger, disappeared, and was never seen by any wobbit in Wobbiton again, much like Hootie And The Blowfish.

He walked back to his below-ground condo, listening with a smile to the ka-booms of very low altitude fireworks and the shrieks of slow-moving party guests. Then he stepped down through the "al-u-minium" screen door into his home. He took off his tuxedo and put on a worn out dwarven cloak and some tattered corduroy pants so old the corduroy was worn smooth in many spotsHe pushed some old Smithibank t-shirts aside in a dresser drawer and found an Elf Army Knife with multiple tools and the traditional red handle. It was only a pocket knife, but for a wobbit it was the size of an average shortsword, or perhaps a very short longsword. Large as it was for him, it fit discreetly into a pocket of the ancient pants. 

He reached under his bed, not easy for any wobbit, and pulled out a hole-punched manuscript in a leather three-ring binder, which he put with some spare boxers, a few waistcoats and a swim suit into a large gladstone bag. Then he swore, dug his tuxedo pants out of the laundry hamper, and took his golden ring out of one of the pockets. It was now attached to a fine chain, an uncanny chain that had been mysteriously absent during his disappearing act at the party. He went to his desk and found an old bank envelope with a red string and two buttons on the back. He put in his ring with its chain, closed the flap and wound the red rope back and forth around and around and around the two buttons. It was a really long string, because the envelope was only for the most important bank business. It said so on the front of the envelope. He wound it some more around and around until he ran out of rope. The envelope was sealed. He swore again, unwound and unwound the string, removed the ring and chain, and found a pen and ink. On the front of the envelope in the "To" column he wrote Promo's name, and in the "From" column he wrote his own. The he put the whole thing back together and put it on the coffee table by his recliner. Then he picked it up and stuck it in his pocket. It was then that Pantsoff walked in.

"You've left the party!" said Bulbo. "The frozen Margaritas must have run out."

Keep coming back for more of Superfriends Of The Ring. To read my loving, insightful, full-length parody of The Hobbit,  order a copy of my eBook The Wobbit on Amazon for only $3.00: .  

If you don't have a Kindle reader, you can download the Kindle app from Amazon for free and then read The Wobbit on your Mac, PC, smartphone or microwave oven. Visit

Friday, February 3, 2012

#8 The Wobbit's Speech (from The Superfriends Of The Ring)

Pantsoff and the two young wobbits returned to the party looking for table space that would allow the three of them to sit together. They walked past many Bunkinses and Boffos, and also many Dorks and Buckiebrands. There were various Blobbs (relations of Bulbo's grandmother) and Slobbs (connexions of his Dork grandfather who insisted on spelling "connexions" with an "x"). There was a selection of Churroses, Bulgers, Buttcrunchers, Craphouses, Widebodies, Hornhonkers and Smellfoots. The Snackbag-Bunkinses were not forgotten, and could not be, since they were rude even by wobbit standards. Oboe and his wife Earlobia hated Bulbo and liked Promo even less, but they knew if they didn't attend they would be openly lampooned by Bulbo in his inevitable after-dinner speech. Pantsoff was looking forward to it for some reason, but the wobbits he was dragging along, Mariellen and Puppy, would have chewed their own legs off to escape. 

Bulbo was about to begin. His guests were all groggy from too many fried cheese curds, or on a post-sugar buzz crash from too many deep fried Twinkies, or geezed from too much bulk-purchase beer. They were still eating and drinking, of course, and would continue to do so as long as there were tater tots and box wine within arms reach. 

Bulbo's table was in front of the Party Tree, which was festooned with toilet paper, conveniently close to the Party Latrines. The dwarves that dug them insisted that they be behind the head table to keep the run-off away from the pig-roast area. This had seemed like a smart approach until the wind shifted earlier in the afternoon. Bulbo stood up and cleared his throat.

"Stand up!" shouted a Heckler. The entire Heckler family had come all the way from distant Bugford Falls to eat Bulbo's free food.

"He is standing up!" shouted another. This is how all wobbit speeches begin.

My dear Bunkinses and Boffos, he began again; and my dear Dorks and Buckiebrands, and Blobbs, and Slobbs, and Churroses, and Hornhonkers, and Bulgers, Buttcrunchers, Widebodies, Craphouses, and Smellfoots. "SmellFEET!" shouted an elderly wobbit. 

"Smell your own feet!" shouted another of the Hecklers.

Smellfoots, insisted Bulbo. Also my good Snackbag-Bunkinses that I welcome, Bulbo paused to do air-quotes, at last, back to my condo behind Virginia's Beauty Parlor. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday. I am eleventy-one today! One-one-one! Almost one hundred twelve! He went on like this for some time. It was all so pointless that even the Hecklers were speechless.

Like I said, Eleventy-one years, which is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable wobbits! Although when one is with my dear Snackbag-Bunkinses, eleventy one years seems like a very long time indeed. Tremendous outburst of approval.

I don't like half of you half as well as you might think, and I know less than half of what you think of me, which is how I like it. There followed a brief silence, broken when one confused wobbit yelled "He's a witch!" Nervously, Bulbo reached into his pocket, as if he was about to draw a gun and shoot his way out. But he had an even better exit planned.

Finally, he said, I wish to make a couple of announcements. Will the owner of the blue ox-cart please move it immediately, you're double parked. Also, I regret to announce that I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOODBYE!

Nothing happened. He looked panicky, patted his pockets, took a ring off his finger, and reached into his pocket again.

No kidding this time. I am leaving NOW, REALLY. GOODBYE!

He stepped down and vanished. There was a sudden flurry of fresh, hot popcorn falling out of air. The guests all took off their hats and held them up to catch yet more snack food for themselves. Then they noticed that Bulbo was gone.

"Finally!" a Heckler shouted. "I thought he'd never stop talking!"

Keep coming back for more of Superfriends Of The Ring. To read my loving, insightful, full-length parody of The Hobbit,  order a copy of my eBook The Wobbit on Amazon for only $3.00: .  

If you don't have a Kindle reader, you can download the Kindle app from Amazon for free and then read The Wobbit on your Mac, PC, smartphone or microwave oven. Visit