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Synopsis

A quest, a war, a ring that would be grounds for calling any wedding off, a king without a kingdom, and a little, furry "hero" named Frito, ready - or maybe just forced by the wizard of Goodgulf - to undertake the one mission which can save Lower Middle Earth from enslavement by the evil Sorhed... Luscious Elfmaidens, a roller-skating dragon, ugly plants that can soul-kiss the unwary to death - these are just some of the ingredients in the wildest, wackiest, most irreverent excursion into fantasy realms that anyone has ever dared to undertake.

Excerpt

Chapter I:
It's My Party and I'll Snub Who I Want To

"The whole thing smells pretty queer to me," said Fatlip, as he inhaled the acrid fumes of his nose-pipe. "I'm meaning the way Mr. Bugger is throwing this big bash when for years he's not so much as offered a piece o' moldy cheese to his neighbors."

The listeners nodded silently, for this was certainly the case. Even before Dildo's "strange disappearance" he had kept his burrow at Bug End guarded by fierce wolverines, and in no one's memory had he ever contributed a farthing to the Boggietown Annual Mithril Drive for Homeless Banshees. The fact that no one else ever had either did not excuse Dildo's famed stinginess. He kept to himself, nurturing only his nephew and a mania for dirty Scrabble.

"And that boy of his, Frito," added bleary-eyed Nat Clubfoot, "as crazy as a woodpecker, that one is." This was verified by Old Poop of Backwater, among others. For who hadn't seen young Frito, walking aimlessly through the crooked streets of Boggietown, carrying little clumps of flowers and muttering about "truth and beauty" and blurting out silly nonsense like "Cogito ergo boggum?"

---

"This'll be one fireworks display they won't forget," cackled the ageing boggie to Goodgulf, who was puffing his cigar rather uncomfortably in a chair of tasteless elvish-modern. The floor around it was littered with four-letter Scrabble arrangements.

"I am afraid that you must alter your plans for them," said the Wizard, unsnagging a clot of tangled hair in his long, dirty-gray beard. "You cannot use extermination as a method for settling your petty grudges with the townspeople."

Dildo studied his old friend with shrewd appraisal. The old Wizard was robed in a threadbare magician's cloak long out of fashion, with a few spangles and sequins hanging precariously at the ragged hems. On his head was a tall, battered conical hat sloppily covered with glow-in-the-dark cabalistic signs, alchemical symbols, and some off-color dwarfish graffiti, and in his gnarled, nail-bitten hands was a bent length of silvered maggotwood that served doubly as a "magic" wand and backscratcher. At this moment Goodgulf was using it in its second office as he studied the worn toes of what in these days would be taken for black basketball sneakers. Hightops.

"Looking a little down-at-the-heels, Gulfie," chuckled Dildo. "Slump in the old Wizard racket, eh?"

Goodgulf looked pained at the use of his old school nickname, but adjusted his robes with dignity. "It is no fault of mine that unbelievers ridicule my powers," he said. "My wonders will yet again make all gape and quail!" Suddenly he made a pass with his scratcher and the room was plunged into darkness. Through the blackness Dildo saw that Goodgulf's robes had become radiant and bright. Odd letters appeared mysteriously on the front of his robe, reading in elvish, Will Thee Kiss Me in the Dark, Baby? Just as suddenly the light returned to the comfortable burrow, and the inscription faded from the conjurer's breast. Dildo rolled his eyes upward in his head and shrugged...

---

"We boggies are a hairy folk
Who like to eat until we choke.
Loving all like friend and brother,
And hardly ever eat each other.

Ever hungry, ever thirsting.
Never stop till belly's bursting.
Chewing chop and pork and muttons,
A merry race of boring gluttons.

Sing: Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble,
Gobble,gobble,gobble,gobble.

Boggies gather round the table,
Eat as much as you are able.
Gorge yourselves from moon till noon
(Don't forget your plate and spoon).

Anything edible, we've got dibs on,
And hope we all die with our bibs on.
Ever gay, we'll never grow up,
Come! And sing and play and throw-up!

Sing: Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble,
Gobble,gobble,gobble,gobble...."

Copyright © 1969 by Henry Beard

Copyright © 1969 by Douglas C. Kenney

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