'Epic' by Dave Weaver

The little band of travellers had taken many weeks and much adventuring to reach the magic city of Dunromin’ in the elvish kingdom of Ralph Lorien. Since bravely setting forth from the Inn of the Prancing Tony, through the Mines of Mariah whose ghastly whining tunnels could drive a man mad, it seemed they had been chased every inch of the way by gobbers, dorcs and the dark wizardess Sarapalin’s hideously pc new-men, not to mention constantly shadowed by the hideous half-human Schmichael. Now the four hobnobs, Frodo, Sam, Ant and Dec, stood in an antechamber just off the Great Conference Hall and Health Spa complex next to Legless the elf and his beautiful queen Gladrivel, the stature-challenged warrior Gimmie and the one they called Sharpe.
The hobnobs, elves, dwarves and men solemnly raised their weapons and made a pact. They would form a Fellowship, fully registered for charity status, to venture into the deadly lands of Murdoch and return the ring to the fires of Mount Doom plc® or die in the attempt!
As they so swore King Enron entered the room and saw the glittering ring hanging from Frodo’s neck. 
“I’ve got one of those upstairs,” he told them. “Hang on a sec’…”
There came the sound of much rumaging from above then he was back.
“Yeah, here we are. Got two actually, free with the Sun last month.”
“What about that ‘one ring to bind them all’ crap Gandalf told us?” Sam asked.
“More like one million. In fact, more like 36,468,367…”
“We get the point!” Frodo told him. “The senile old fool.”
“Well, you’re his carer, Master Frodo.” Sam said.
“So this is all my fault? And I told you not to call me that when we’re out with the boys.”
He looked around at the others. “Well I don’t know about you lot, but I’m off down the pub!”
“What about the other two books?” Gimmie asked.
“Sod ‘em!”
As the little group exited Enron turned to Legless. “Funny bunch.”
“Foreigners.” Legless slurred dismissively, cracking open another lager. “Are there any more crisps…?”