SlashTASTIC!
[The scene: A glorious summer's day. The Slashtastic Four are sat on a beach, accompanied by some of their fellow slash heroines. All around are bottles of wine, packets of chocolate, bowls of ice cream, plums, plates of chips. Demelzagirl has found a green salad and is laughing at it. Somewhere in amongst all this a hobbit is having his feet tickled.]
Narrator: Watch as the Slashtastic Four prepare themselves for another mission ...
Gloria [reclining in a large bathful of chocolate mousse, glass of red wine in her hand]: Oh, we're not planning on going anywhere.
Narrator: What, no badly written fics to be corrected?
Lobelia: Sorry, no.
Narrator: No girls projecting their own emotional states onto Viggo or Orlando?
Demelza: There might be, but frankly my dear, we don't give a damn.
Lady Moonray: We're just going to stay and indulge ourselves to the max, aren't we darlings?
The Slashtastics: Oh yes indeedy!
Narrator: So where am I going to find exciting comedy tales to enthral and amuse the reader?
Gloria: Somewhere else, darling, somewhere else.
Demelza: Try Lord of the Swings!
[Viggo and Orlando surface from the chocolate mousse, take deep breaths, and dive again.]
Narrator: Oh ... I see ... well, moving swiftly on.
[The scene shifts to an inn in Hobbiton. Samwise Gamgee is drinking with his friends.]
1st Hobbit: Arrmmmrrruuurr.
Sam: You moight well say that, Roy Tucker, but let me tell you, things 'as been a whole lot better since there's been Mr Stroider in charge down at Gondor.
2nd Hobbit: Ooarrooarooarr.
Sam: Never moind that, Ed Grundy. 'E gets results, and that's all as matters.
3rd Hobbit: Eegoram barm biddle!
Sam: Don't you talk to me in a pseudo-rural accent, John Archer. Oi won't 'ear a word said against the quasi-mediaeval anglocentric patriarchy, not 'ere in 'Obbiton Oi won't.
Ed Grundy: Ere, that's your Mr Frodo, ain't it?
Sam: Oh, bloody 'ell.
[All the hobbits look downcast and stare at the table. Frodo walks over nervously to them.]
Frodo: Ah, Sam, there you ... are. Indeed. Well, fancy just happening to run into you ... here ... in your favourite pub ... with your friends ... Jolly good! So how's ... how's Mrs Sam?
Sam [mutters]: She's fine thank you sir.
Frodo: Jolly good ... er ... Jolly good ... again ... er ... well, I suppose ... I suppose I'd best be off. Oh, and Sam, er, ... if you could have a look ... at the drainage in the lower field?
Sam: I'll do that, sir.
Frodo: Right ... good.
[Frodo shuffles nervously away. As he leaves, the main door burst open. Two heroically-clad figures burst in.]
Pipsqueak [for it is indeed he]: Hold, wrongdoers! I am Pipsqueak!
Monkeyslag: And I am Monkeyslag, the Golden Wonder!
Both: WE FIGHT CRIME!
John Archer: You'll be wanting the Assault and Battery down the road then. This is the Fallowhide and Firkin.
Pipsqueak: Sorry, wrong pub.
Sam: You know, them masked 'eroes looks strangely familiar.
Roy Tucker: Never moind thart, tell us about the Black Roiders who say "Ni".
Sam: Ah, well, you see ...
Narrator: But that must remain a story for another day.
Sam: 'Ere, Oi 'adn't finished talkin'.
Narrator: Oh shut up. If you're going to get bolshie like Demelza's characters, I'll feed you to the Black Dragon of Walthamstow.
Sam [mutters]: Just 'cos 'e wants to be back in the chocolate mousse with the Slashtastic Four.
Narrator: Shush!
Sam: 'Ere, I've just realoized! You 'ave no idea 'ow to end this, 'ave you?
THE END