Once upon a dark and stormy night four soggy hobbits wandered into a smoke-filled pub. The air was thick with smoke, and the smoke smote their little hobbit lungs.::cough!::cough!::they hacked in in synchronous unison. "Mr. Butterbur," Frodo croaked," could we have 4 pints in the non-smoking section?" "EH? The WHAT?", sputtered the barkeep, genuinely confused. "We don't like the atmosphere in here, (cough! gag!) and that guy over there in the corner smoking hasn't taken his eyes off me since we got here!" "The Non-smoking section's outside behind the dustbin!" cackled a red faced patron named Ferny, with an ugly leer, that exposed his rotting teeth. "Well, I like THAT," said Pippin. "and we were told that the Prancing Pony was a respectable establishment!"
The tall, darkly shrouded man in the corner grinned from beneath his hood and blew a series of smoke square-riggers in the direction of the four newcomers. "Eh?" said the barkeep again "did you say Prancing Pony? Butterbur? You've got the wrong place! That 'ere over in the corner is some actor, Ian Something-or-other, and I think he likes you, is all! By the way, this ain't the Prancing Pony, it's the Galloping Gelding. I'm Wheatman Betterbar, and the Prancing Pony's across the street and three doors down." "Oops!" said all four hobbits meekly, as they all scurried hurriedly toward the door," We'll just...uh... go look for that non-smoking section now......"
The hobbits finally found the "right" pub, the dark-clad actor turned his attentions to the charming Mr. Ferny, and they all lived happily ever after... until the end of their days....sort of. THE END. (mercifully!)