The Tobbit
A not so unexpected journey
'A flawless masterpiece of a shameless plagiarist ' The Kiwi Times
Now with a lot of tenses and prepositions and other weird stuff
A major success in the cinemas of Tasmania
This is a story of long ago. At that time the tenses and prepositions were (quite| slightly|kinda)(who cares?) different from ours today.
In a hole in the ground there lived a tobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with rat shit or other weird stuff, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it, it was a tobbit-hole, and that means comfort of a bus terminal toilet.
It had a perfectly round door, painted puke green, with a showy golden brass knob in the middle. The door opened to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel with hanging Hippie posters on the wall, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with second-hand chairs and a huge water pipe collection on a rack as the biggest attraction of this stall.
Because I'm not as talkative or talented as a certain guy named Tolkien and nobody is paying me to describe the tobbit-hole in detail, I want to get to the point: this was a really cool hole, it would remind one of a wonderful bach at the Golden Bay or an overly expensive apartment in a showy block of flats, if long ago things like this would have existed.
The said tobbit-hole was located under The Hill, as all the Japanese tourists, going to see Jackson's epic and overly expensive stage sets, called it, and several little doors opened out of it. Only the best rooms on the left-hand-side, like wardrobes, bedrooms, kitchens, dining rooms and a comfortable man cave, had windows, looking over the tobbit's garden and the meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.
This tobbit was a very well-to-do-tobbit, and his name was Sacklin. The Sacklinses had lived in the neighborhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them had enough money to frequently pay for some rounds of hooch in the pub, but also because they never had adventures worthy of a boring and overly lengthy trilogy.
The mother of our particular hobbit – what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits needs some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people, about half our height. They have no beards. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to drink as much of the local Mac's Gold they want, without suffering of any headaches on the other day. They are inclined to be fat in the stomach, they dress in bright and a little gayish colors(chiefly pink or purple); wear no shoes, because their feet grow natural leathery soles and thick brown hair like the stuff on their heads and little asses. Now you know enough to go on with.
As I was saying, the mother of this tobbit – of Dildo Sacklin, that is - was the famous Lasagna Fock, I still don't know why the fock (excuse me, if you want to hear a harmless and political correct story without swearing, read The Jungle Book) she was famous, maybe because she smelled fine. His great-grand-uncle Gaybock 'Bullborer' Fock was the tallest of all tobbits, he could even ride a push bike and milk a cat. He was also the inventor of the most boring casual leisure, named Golf nowadays... I' m tired of telling more of these dull family stories, which nobody wants to hear about.