Mad Libs

[Rilwen Gamgee]

Here's mine. It is not very funny, as I was thinking of stuff off the top of my head, but it's a try:

Twenty-one!

'3000!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last balrog before his toes. 'Now my count passes Princeling Legolas again.'
'We must stop this platypus-hole,' said Sam Gamgee. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with foam. Lend us your aid, master!'
'We do not shape foam with walkie-talkies, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.'
They gathered such INCREDIBLY HUGE goldfish crackers and broken foam as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff.
'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Sam Gamgee, let us see how things go on the table!'
He climbed up and found Legolas beside Galadriel and myself. The elf was whetting his supercalifrajalistic-expialadocious sponge. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.
'2!' said Gimli.
'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now 4, 036, 279, 841. It has been glass of milk-work up here.'