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Chapter Text

Denethor stands next to a smoking barbecue grill wearing a chef's hat and apron. "Do you prefer your meat roasted? Do you love the taste of seared flesh? Then come on down to Denethor's Barbecue Pit for the meal of a lifetime!"

He removes the hat and apron, revealing a waiter's uniform underneath, and escorts a hobbit family to a table.

"We've got sizzling steaks, charred chicken, fried fish, toasted turkey! Try our special warg burger if you're feeling adventurous." Denethor grins. "Got any worthless second sons? Have him burnt to a crisp for only a dollar more!"

"Which is Denethor's grand idea of a joke, of course," says Boromir, popping out of nowhere. "Need a great place for fine food and comedy? Check out Denethor's Barbecue Pit!"

"I'm serious," says Denethor.

Boromir smiles and claps Denethor on the shoulder. "A man who's serious about his food. You won't find better than Denethor!"

"I mean it," Denethor growls.

Boromir gives a thumbs up. "Denethor's Barbecue Pit. A flavor your tastebuds won't regret!"

Denethor cackles darkly as he flicks a match onto his barbecue grill, which bursts into flames.

Chapter Text

"Hello there, I'm Bilbo Baggins!" Bilbo announces, seated in a rocking chair in front of his fireplace. "I'm eleventy-one but I look fifty. Want to know how?"

"I certainly do!" exclaims Gandalf. "Make these wrinkles and bags go away!"

Bilbo chuckles. "The solution is easy, you old geezer. Simply bathe yourself in Uncle Bilbo's Ring Rinse, the amazing remedy that makes you look years younger! Six weeks of this easy treatment and you'll never get called an old coot again!"

"Consult your doctor before using Uncle Bilbo's Ring Rinse," announces the unseen voiceover. "Side effects may include headaches, sensitivity to light, paranoia, multiple personality disorder, weight loss, and an urge to refer to this product as precious. Some addiction may occur. Do not use if you are power-hungry, suffer from OCD, have a history of drug use, or if you enjoy talking to yourself. If side effects occur, please toss into the nearest volcano."

"So buy Uncle Bilbo's Ring Rinse today!" says Bilbo. "To order now, call 1–800-OLDSUX."

"It's so… precious," coos Gandalf.

"That's 1–800-OLDSUX!"

Chapter Text

"What's that awful smell?" gasps a random elf in Rivendell.

"It's B.O.!" gags a second random elf.

A third random elf points to the man sitting in the corner. "I think it's coming from… Aragorn!"

Aragorn looks surprised. "Me?"

"YES!"

Suddenly, Legolas falls out of the ceiling and lands gracefully on his feet. "What's the problem here?" he asks.

"Aragorn has really bad B.O.!" wails Random Elf #1.

"I can fix that!" says Legolas. "What you need, Aragorn, is my personal brand of deodorant: Greenwood Fresh! Smell like the forest and never offend your friends again!"

He hands a stick of deodorant to an awestruck Aragorn.

"Greenwood Fresh! Now available in woodland pine and mallorn scents!"

Chapter Text

"Are you tired of second-rate rope that constantly frays and gives out?" Galadriel asks, standing tall and dignified beside her mirror. "Do you wish somebody would invent the perfect rope that lasts forever?"

"Oh, I do!" cries Sam. "I'd sell my own Gaffer for a good bit of rope!"

"Well search no more. Real Lorien Rope is the thing for you! It's stronger than a pack of trolls!"

Gimli uses the rope to climb to Galadriel's window and the rope breaks.

"Sturdier than an oak tree!"

Aragorn tries to heroically climb up a cliff and the rope breaks.

"Longer-lasting than—" Galadriel sighs and walks off the set. "I'm not getting paid enough to say this."

"You're not getting paid at all," Haldir reminds her from behind the camera.

Sam stares at Galadriel, stunned, then quickly composes himself with a smile. "Real Lorien Rope, wherever fine elven products are sold! Thirty-day guarantee or your money back!"

Chapter Text

"Being a lonely bachelor is tough," says Grima Wormtongue. "That's why I created this self-help video, Babes In Thirty Days! With this amazing video, you'll learn how to use thirty days' worth of stalking to win the love of your life. Just listen to these success stories!"

"I finally had to call the police to get rid of that pesky dwarf," says Galadriel.

"Ever since I filed that restraining order, I haven't caught a single glimpse of Aragorn," says Arwen.

"I've still got some pepper spray lodged in my eye sockets," complains Faramir.

Grima smiles proudly. "This video has touched the lives of millions! Order your copy today and prepare to follow your heart's desire—literally! Order in the next twenty minutes and you'll learn how I really earned the name Wormtongue."

Shadowfax grabs a copy and tramples it into the dust with his hooves. "Neigh!"

"So order Babes In Thirty Days!" says Grima, ignoring Shadowfax. "Call in the next five minutes and receive a free—"

Suddenly Eowyn comes over and kicks him in the crotch area. Grima crumples to the ground.

"Mommy…" he moans.

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"Are you tired of rude dwarves coming into your backyard and interrupting your parties?" asks Thranduil, reclining on his throne with a goblet of wine. "Worry no more! Simply use Dwarf-Be-Gone and the party will never end!"

"Dad, I want you to meet my new friend," announces Legolas, skipping into the throne room. "This is Gimli son of Gloin!"

Thranduil boredly sips his wine and sprays some Dwarf-Be-Gone at Gimli.

"It burns!" cries Gimli, running out of the room.

Legolas stares at his father. "Dad, that was uncalled for—OUCH! It burns!" He runs off as well.

"It effectively banishes all your basic pests," says Thranduil.

"Such as worthless second sons?" asks Denethor, with a strange gleam in his eyes.

"A single spray and you'll be rid of dwarves, orcs, hobbits, spiders, and yes, unworthy sons!" Thrnaduil casually refills his goblet. "Upgrade to Mithril Strength for five dollars more and repel unwanted guests within a hundred-mile radius. So purchase Dwarf-Be-Gone today and start partying harder!"

Chapter Text

Frodo is wandering the woods when he is seized by the urge to use the nearest bush. "Oh drat, not again! This is the third time I've had to go in the last hour!"

Boromir pops out of a clump of bushes with a bottle in his hands. "Do you have an overactive bladder?"

"Yes!" cries Frodo.

"Would you like to do something about it?"

"Yes!"

"Are you a Barbie girl?"

"Yes—I mean, no. Of course not!"

"Then you need… Thrice A Day!" Boromir announces. "One spoonful of this amazing remedy and you'll be heading for those bushes no more than three times daily! Voted best new product by the Steward of Gondor himself."

"He only did that to spite me because I said I hated it!" hisses a voice that sounds suspiciously like Faramir.

Boromir flashes a blinding smile at Frodo. "Thrice A Day! Because peeing less is more!"