Gandalf: Denethor, the orcs are going to attack Minas Tirith.
Denethor: Humph.
Gandalf: They’re at your doorstep.
Denethor: THEY ARE?! *Starts shouting commands to servants*
Gandalf: I didn’t mean that close, silly.
Denethor: *Calms down* Oh. You think you are wise, Mithrandir, but for all you subtleties you have not wisdom.
Gandalf: That is seriously offensive, young man.
Denethor: I don’t care.
Gandalf: Rohan will help. I’ll go light the beacon.
Denethor: Hu-uh.

Gandalf: Okay, Theoden. Let’s go see Sarumon after we bury the dead dudes.
Theoden: You mean after y’all bury the dead dudes. I’m not doing that.
Gandalf: Lazy one.
*They bury the dead dudes*
Theoden: Okay, we’re off for Isengard!
Legolas: *Mounts horse* *Pull Gimli up behind him* Ride with me, for Isengard.
Gimli: Okay.
*They go to Isengard*
Pippin: Oh, hi! Nice to see you again! Treebeard the Ent is taking over management of Isengard.
Gimli: What are you doing smoking?
Merry: That’s what hobbits do best.

Gollum: Okay, Master, we’re on our way to the creepy Dead Marshes!!!
Frodo: That sounds ominous…
Gollum: It’s because it is, Precious.
Frodo: I see.

*Dead Marshes*

Sam: Their’s a bunch of creepy dead faces in the water….
Gollum: Yeah, those are dead orcs and elves and men. They had a big battle a long time ago.
Frodo: I thought they looked pretty cool myself. *Walks over to edge of water and dives in*
Sam: Mr Frodo!
Gollum: *Pulls Frodo out* That was stupid, Precious.
Frodo: Thanks a lot.

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers: Part One

Part Two

The Lord of the Rings: Shortened Version: Part One

Frodo: *Is reading*
Gandalf: Hullo, Frodo!
Frodo: Hi. It's been a long time. *Hops in wagon*
Gandalf: It has indeed!
Frodo: You know that you're a peace disturber, right?
Gandalf: This kind of peace? *Holds up index and middle finger*
Frodo: No, stupid. Just...The...peace..kid of peace...Anyway, you've been officially labeled that. We made it all official. We wrote it down and even had the President sign it!
Gandalf. Of course. My mistake.

I plop down in front of my computer; placing my hands on the computer and type for several minutes, the silence broken solely by the tapping of my keys.
Resting my chin on my hand, I scroll down the page, reading what I have written. Muttering to myself, I delete several lines and try to mash these jumbled letters and words into sentence fragments, then sentences, then finally something worth showing. At last I decide it is good enough and start to leave, I hover between leaving and staying, finally raising the mouse and in one, hard stroke deleting everything I had just done.