The 'Just when you thought it was safe to read Tolkien again'

Menopausal Kamikaze Llama Epilogue (and invasive post-mortem)

Llamas, although not known to be carnivorous, do indeed have bloody dreams of devouring chunks of raw, red meat. That is why it is never suggested that one wake a sleeping llama, particularly if said llama is a middle-aged female at the outset of her cria-bearing (cria being a llamalette, if you will) years, whose lusty husband left her for a cute little alpaca in Rio de Janeiro. So, while Mr. Llama cavorts about Mardi Gras in his Jaguar with that wanton slut of a wooly camelid, Mrs. Llama plots her revenge.

***WARNING: DISTURBING SCENES OF LLAMA VIOLENCE NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH THE SEASICK LLAMA AND THE DRUNKEN PORTUGESE SAILORS FOUND IN CHAPTER THREE. FOR THE SAKE OF THE LLAMALETTES, WE SHALL FOREGO THE MAYHEM AND MUTILATION AND OFFER IT TO YOU LATER IN AN EXTENDED BLUE-RAY DVD SET…AND NOW, BACK TO OUR STORY, 'The Huánuco', WRITTEN BY JRR TOLKIELLAMA, AUTHOR OF 'The Sillamarillion' AND 'The Llama of the Rings'***

With a great sense of relief, Bilbo Baggins found himself at last on the stoop of his beloved hobbit hole at Bag End. Reaching for the bright brass knob of his round, green door, Bilbo was disturbed to find that it was locked (locks, of course, not having been invented until John Locke's discourse on 'tabula rasa' in the 17th century). With a good deal of indignance, the hobbit banged on the door. After a lengthy silence, Bilbo could hear the flap-flap-flap of bare feet on a stone floor.

"'Ooo is it?" a rather perturbed voice came from beyond the door.

"Let me in!" Bilbo cried.

"The estate sale aint startin' 'til noon," the voice replied, "coom back then!"

"Estate sale?" Bilbo muttered, suddenly noticing the boldly painted sign that detailed the particulars of the event:

ESTATE SALE FOR THE BELONGINGS OF BILBO BAGGINS, DECEASED
12:00 Noon, Saturday, Promptly
Presented by Messrs. Grubb, Grubb & Grubb, Auctioneers Extraordinaire
Partial Listing of Items –
Leather Club Chair (fumigated)
Incomplete Sets of Glasses (chipped) and Plates (cracked)
One Llama (stuffed)
Diaries, Manuscripts and Letters of B. Baggins (great for lining birdcages)
Several Casks of Dorwinion Wine…

Bilbo's ire grew as he read the listing of all his personal effects. Banging on the door once again, the hobbit yelled, "Open up – open up this instant! It is I, Bilbo Baggins!"

There was an angry grunt from behind the door, and it opened a crack. A pair of bloodshot eyes peered out of the shadows. "Bilbo Baggins is dead! Bleedin' demised, he is! Now go 'way!"

"Nonsense!" Bilbo growled. "I am not dead, demised, or deceased. Now, open up and let me in!"

"Not by the 'air of my chinny-chin-chin," replied the old hobbit hag, who did indeed have several stiff grey hairs jutting out from a bulbous brown wart on her chin.

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!" Bilbo cried in recognition. "I should have known. Look here, this is my hobbit hole and I demand you let me enter this instant!"

"You…demand?" Lobelia spat as she looked the hobbit up and down with a great deal of distaste. "You aint Bilbo Baggins – 'ee's dead. 'Ee was eaten by dwarves last Spring."

"I…I am Bilbo Baggins and I did not get eaten by dwarves," Bilbo replied angrily. "Look, I am your cousin, surely you recognize me?"

Lobelia looked Bilbo up and down once more, and said flatly, "No…no, you aint Baggins. Bilbo 'ad a wooly hide, a long neck, banana-shaped ears and walked on all fours -- but 'ee didn't 'ave a dorsal hump loike them other camel species."

"But, you've just described a llama," Bilbo hissed. "I am not a llama, I am Bilbo Baggins."

"We'll just see about that!" Lobelia growled and cried out, "Otho! O-T-H-O!"

There was the sound of rustling paper and a grunt from further down the hall, then the padding flap-flap-flap sound of bare feet on stone. A distinguished Hobbit suddenly appeared at the door. He was wearing a green velvet smoking jacket and had a red fez angled jauntily on his round head. Clearly agitated, he puffed on his clay meerschaum with great gouts of smoke rising at intervals like a steam engine. "See here, Lobelia, what's all this caterwauling about?" the gentle-hobbit barked. "You've gone and interrupted my tea once again!"

"Your blinkin' tea be damned!" Lobelia shot back, "this blighter is demandin' to enter, says 'ee's Bilbo Baggins!"

"Preposterous!" Otho huffed as he puffed, "Baggins is dead -- eaten by dwarves last spring, he was."

"Oh, for the love of...Otho, I am not dead," Bilbo said between clenched teeth. "I was not eaten by dwarves and I am not a llama."

"Well, anyone in their right mind can see you look nothing like a llama," Otho replied peevishly, "even though you lack a dorsal hump. But that merely proves you cannot be Bilbo Baggins, as he clearly resembled a llama."

"Or p'raps a vicuña or alpaca – there a might bit smaller than llamas," Lobelia said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Lobelia dear, I do believe you are right," Otho said with a warm, husbandly smile.

"Look, there are no llamas in Middle-earth, so this entire discussion is ridiculous!" Bilbo shouted.

"Pffft!" Otho snorted. "Just because Tolkien didn't mention llamas does not mean they do not exist in Middle-earth."

" 'Ee ne'er mentioned bowel-movements either," Lobelia retorted, "but 'at don't mean I 'aven't shook loose an 'ealthy one ev'ry now 'n' again."

The thought of Lobelia shaking loose a healthy one made Bilbo cringe. "This is getting us nowhere," he finally sighed. "I'll just have to seek a legal remedy for this situation, and have you forcibly removed!"

"I'll 'ave to seek a legal remedy for this 'ere situation, blah-blah-blah," Lobelia mocked. "Get off me stoop, ye bleedin' fraud, a'fore I sic the Bounders on ye!"

"You, sir, are an impostor! There are laws against impostoring, I'll have you know!" Otho added indignantly and, without further ado, the indignant couple slammed the quaint round green door in Bilbo's flushed face.

Dejectedly, the defeated hobbit walked slowly down the rustic slate path that led from Bag End down the hill passed Bagshot Row to the gravel road below. To his surprise, Bilbo saw a friendly face coming up the path. "Bawdy…Bawdy Brandybuck!" Bilbo cried with relief on seeing the comely hobbit-maid. "Oh, it's good to see you! It's Bilbo, I've finally returned from my quest."

"Oh…Bilbo…hello," Bawdy said hesitantly in obvious embarrassment. "You've…you've been gone for so long."

"Well, I am back," Bilbo replied happily. "I've dreamed of seeing the 'winsome, sultry face' you would be doing for the flashback sequences. It kept me going on the long, hard road."

But Bawdy gave her 'forlorn, teary-eyed face', which was not seemingly appropriate for a script that included her as the hobbit's 'contractually obligatory Hollywood love-interest'. "Oh, Bilbo," Bawdy repeated, "you've been gone for so long."

"Yes, you've already said that," Bilbo said in annoyance. It was then that Baggins noticed the decided bulge of Bawdy's burgeoning belly. "Bawdy…you…you're pregnant?"

"Yes…yes, I am," Bawdy answered with a tinge of sadness. "And…I am married now."

"Married! to whom?" Bilbo growled in growing fury.

"To Hamfast Gamgee – you know, the good old Gaffer."

"You got knocked up…by the Gaffer?"

"Oh yes," Bawdy answered with surprising zeal, "he can really handle a hoe -- in a gardening sense, you know."

"But…"

"If it's a boy, we shall name him Samwise. Aren't you excited for us?"

"Bleedin' delighted," Bilbo grumbled.

"And we should like to have you as Sam's godfather, seeing as you're the Gaffer's employer and all," Bawdy gushed, totally oblivious of Bilbo's perplexed frown.

"Yes…certainly…Samwise…hoes," Bilbo mumbled distractedly. "Well, I really must be going, Bawdy, take care," he added as he started down the path once more.

"It was wonderful seeing you again, dear Bilbo," Bawdy said, waving. "Oh, and Bilbo…"

Bilbo turned and Bawdy continued, "After the baby arrives…come up and see me…you know, for old time's sake." She winked and Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but he merely shrugged and shuffled sadly onward.

And so, the maddeningly meandering parody lists to its foundering conclusion with nary a hint of joy or hope for the downtrodden hobbit. What, did you expect a happy ending? Pffft! Look, it's not like this is a fairy tale, particularly in this post-modern, angst-ridden, psychology-driven literary era. It's a wonder Tolkien got published at all. Now sod off, there aint nothin' more to see 'ere.