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#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: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004ZR9ELK  

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! http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/

#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 spots. He 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: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004ZR9ELK .  

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 http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/

#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: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004ZR9ELK .  

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 http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/