By Golly I Think He's Drunk! (Finale)

Tim shook his head and let go of Everard's shirt.

"I can't believe you," he yelled over the cheering crowd.

Everard shrugged, "its only a little drinking contest, what could happen Tim?"

Tim narrowed his eyes. Did he really just ask that?

"What could happen? What would happen!? I'll tell you a million things that could happen!"

Tim opened his mouth to tell Everard the million things but was cut off by a thundering of waiters, all carrying ten pitchers of ale. 

"Jolly good, now set them down on this table!" Everard said happily.

Tim felt a sudden shiver run down his spine. 

"Everard, I don't think--"

Everard grabbed Tim and pushed him into a seat at the table.

"You're going to have fun, trust me!"

Tim looked around at the tavern; every single hobbit had gathered to watch the show.

"Who do you thinks going to win?" an old hobbit asked.

"Everard for sure, the other one looks like he's never drunken an ale in his life!"

At this Tim slammed his fist onto the wooden table.

"Alright, I'm beatin you to a pulp Everard," he hissed.

Everard chuckled, showing his blinding white teeth.

"Just try," he said slyly.

"Alright hobbits!" Johnny shouted, coming over to referee the contest.

"Every last drop must be gone from the pitcher in order for it to be qualified as empty," he ordered. "Are you ready?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" Everard asked.

"Alright then, go!" Johnny yelled, waving his hand in the air.

The crowd of hobbits began cheering even louder as Everard took the lead; he was drinking an ale per minute. Tim took a few glances at Everard ; he had never seen him so happy in his entire life.

"Everard, Everard!" The crowd cheered.

All of a sudden Tim felt a tingling in his fingers; then over his entire body; he began drinking the ales faster and faster until--

"Tim's in the lead!" Johnny shouted, pointing at the smiling hobbit.

As Tim rocketed through three more pitchers, the tingling became more prominent and his vision became extremely blurry. Tim blinked his eyes and gulped down another pitcher. His head tilted back and fourth andhe heard a voice call out to him.

"Tim, Tim are you okay?"

He was sure it was Everard speaking.


Everard drank his last pitcher of ale as Tim fell from his seat to the floor.

"The hobbit can't hold his ale!" Everard laughed, wiping the foam from his face.

He had drank every single pitcher, a new record for the Old Tavern.
After Johnny checked that every last drop was gone Everard went over to Tim; the crowd of exited hobbits patted him on the back. Everard knelt down next to Tim and slapped his face; he laughed.

"He's out cold," Everard said to the crowd.

He grabbed Tim's earn and shouted into it.

"Wake up you oaf!" Everard snickered.

Then his head perked up; he began to feel a tingling overcoming him.

"Oh dear," Everard whispered.

He blinked his eyes as the the room and the now staring hobbits became waves of color. Everard widened his eyes and looked at Johnny, who reached out a hand to help him up. 

"Johnny," Everard said, tripping over his own feet.

"Yeah Evie," Johnny snickered, knowing he was drunk.

"Have I ever told you you look like a squirrel?"

Everard burst out laughing and patted Johnny on the back; he was also hysterically laughing.

"He's drunk!" Johnny proclaimed.

The three dozen hobbits cheered and clanked their glasses of ale together; the fiddler began fiddling again and the hobbits began singing and dancing to old songs. 


Tim woke up on the floor about twenty minutes later, still a bit drunk. 

"Where am I?" Tim asked, rubbing his sweaty face.

Johnny came over from behind the counter and patted him on the shoulder.

"Lets just say you had the time of your life Tim," he snorted.

"Wheres Ever--"

Before Tim could finish his sentence he heard the sound of a familiar voice.

"Crack the glasses, smash the plates, that's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

Tim narrowed his eyes for he still couldn't see that well. Everard was on top of a large table with another fellow hobbit in the center of the tavern. Their arms were locked together and they were dancing around in circles while everyone clapped their hands along to the tune. Tim rubbed his temples and clumsily got to his feet.

"Save me from asking Johnny," he said

"You're little friend is drunk and so are you," Johnny said with a grin.

Tim turned his head towards Johnny; he looked like a blob of color.

"Oh Lord, if his mum finds out," Tim blinked.

"What about your mum Tim?" Johnny asked.

Tim closed his eyes; he had a dreadful headache.

"Oh, my mum won't find out from me that's for sure," he laughed.

"Well she already has,"Johnny yelled, slapping him across the face.

"What, how?" Tim stuttered, rubbing his cheek.

"I am your mum, you're just too drunk to realize it!"

Tim stepped back; he wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him.

"How can I tell you're my mum," Tim squinted, "how did you even find me?"

The blob of color stepped closer to Tim and grabbed him by the ear.

"I was going to Matilda's house to ask her where you were; she told me you went to plow the fields with Everard so I went to the fields and you weren't there. I began to ask everyone in the Fourth Shire where you were and an old hobbit told me he saw you two walking to the Old Tavern and here I am, seein my own son stone cold drunk with his best friend," his mother complained.

Tim nodded slowly than collapsed on the floor.

"God help me now," his mother sighed.

She looked at Everard who was still dancing on the table with a glass of ale in his hands.

"Oh hi Mrs. Tim's mum! How are you?" Everard shouted from across the room.

She put her hand to her face and sighed.

"Matilda is goin to be furious."

The End

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