Shelves... There were a lot of shelves...

Max had gone mad. First, he'd taken me - still mounted dangerously on his back, riding him in a non-erotic fashion - into town, where he'd viciously chased a puppy for 14 minutes, until he got bored and bought some sausage rolls. Gripping them too tightly in his newly-muscled hands, he sent sausage, pig anus and gloopy fat squirting up and onto my face. As I rode his back.
 Then, having cleaned me up, he set of to the D.I.Y shop and bought a pile of shelves, which he proceeded to hammer viciously onto his wall. Everywhere. Horizontally, vertically, sometimes at strange 37-degree angles, he pinned shelving all across his flat. This paragraph, I fear, I cannot end erotically. Well, so what?
 STOP JUDGING ME!

Sorry... Got a bit carried away...

More Lord of the Rings erotica...

I left the kids with Max earlier, intending to go to the shop. He said it would be fine, and he would tell them a story. Fortunately, the penny dropped before I got out of the house, and I was able to rush back in and wrestle the manuscript for the first volume of his masterpiece off of him (The Fellowship of the Ring, Who Have Orgies)
 As I hastily ate an entire packet of dry cereal, I took a look through the book. Starting from the beginning, I began to read:

 "When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence and hookers, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton, where everyone had lots of sex.
 Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had lots of sex
 Penis."

I put the book down, and continued chewing.
 Having finished the cereal, I hid the manuscript in the empty packaging. I then went outside, and fed the packaging to the dragon in the backyard. Some things are not fit for the eyes of men...

No more adventures in time and space...

So, I've gone back and smashed the time machine. Almost everything has gone back to normal. Max, unaware that time ever changed, has returned to his life's work - his erotic version of the Lord of the Rings (entitled, masterfully, "The Lord of the Rings, with Lots of Sex") which revolves mainly around his misunderstanding of everyone being after Frodo's ring...
 For my part, I've returned to the drudgery of my life as a housewife, or whatever I'm meant to have done. However, as I said, almost everything is back to normal: I seem to have gathered a flock of children, claiming to be mine from a different timeline. Dressed in rags and caked in filth and poverty, they insist I'm their father and have to look after them. Ah, what adventures me and my children of multiple ethnicities will get up to...

So I'm drunk...

...Let's see where this goes.
 "Erotica for the elderly?"
 Max was still here, sitting on my fridge, talking about his job. His dream job, in fact. Me, I was looking for a job myself. I'll admit, my last job seemed perfect: Professional alcohol finisher: Basically, I'd hide under a table, and finish other people's drinks, so they wouldn't lose face in front of the lads, or whatever. Essentially, this had gone badly wrong: After a week of drinking from a straw, I realised it wasn't linked to alcohol. In fact, it was a catheter.
 "How does the the whole thing work then?"
 "Well." Max began, "I get an erotic work, and read it to the old people, obviously. I mean, usually, they can't really hear me, so they have no idea what's going on. But I think they like it. Well, I have no idea what they think, but I slip them a few Viagra pills, so they think they enjoyed it."
 No, it was no use. I didn't care for Max's stories at the best of times, and this was just ridiculous. I'd subconsciously blanked out Max's words, but he was still talking. In fact, he was reliving his erotic tales - many of which featured the high seas - and using expressive, disturbing hand motions.
 Worried, I edged towards the fridge. There was a cucumber in there, and I wanted to destroy it before Max found the bloody thing...

"So, anyway"...

Max began. "I was on my way back from work, when..."
 It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what Max did for a living. When I first met him, he'd sold insurance against giant rat attacks, but I knew that he'd gone out of business soon after. Since then, he'd gone from one job to the next, as hilarious situations required. This time, however, I decided to bite the bullet and just ask what he did.
 "Oh." He replied, "You know Green Meadows? The retirement home?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
 "Well, I read erotic fiction to the old folks there."
I got up and left. It was my home, but I don't care. Behind me, I caught the occasional word. Words like fellatio, sponge-bath, reach-around, bran flakes and purple. Disturbing words. Sick words.
 Passing out my door, I tipped over my emergency petrol. With any luck, the place would burn, and take Max with it.