In the far-off land of forumopolis, eight figures sat on a platform in a big round room. These mighty authors had been charged with writing a chapter in the RAF saga. All sat in silence as Ian the Gecko walked solemnly up the connecting walkway, took his seat at the master console, and placed a strange looking helmet on his head.
“This is Storiebro,” said Ian. “I use it to create the stories that are the game ReadyAimFire. Now, for this special occasion, all of you will get the chance to use the machine.”
The eight hopeful authors all put on their own helmets, each with wires leading back to the main console.
“The machine is powered by your thoughts. You will be able to create a complete multimedia experience just by telling us your story.”
Norman felt the power surging through his temples. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began his turn.

On a far-off deserted island, six people were brought together for reasons that none of them could understand, and forced to live together in one big house. And since most of them could barely stand each other, it wasn’t long before tensions in the RAF-house would reach fatal levels. Some of the occupants were convinced that figuring out the reason they had all been brought together would be the key to their escape. However, no one seemed to know what they had in common.

Phil did not want to discover what they had in common. He wanted to have breakfast. More specifically, he wanted to have breakfast without Matt talking to him, or putting salt in his coffee when he wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, as he sat down to breakfast, Matt rushed in.

“Did you think of a connection yet?” Matt asked. “I tried typing CHRIS BRYCE MATT TOM PHIL ANTHONY into google, but I got nothing,” he complained. “Hey! I’ve got it! Bonus Stage! It’s gotta be a bonus stage reference!”

“Why?” Phil asked irritably.

“EVERYTHING is a Bonus Stage reference!”

“But none of our names are...”

“Everybody loves Bonus Stage! Duh! That’s all people ever talk about on the internet! And we are too from bonus stage. The main character is Phil, and the creator is Matt…”

“And?” insisted Phil. “What about Tom, and Bryce, and Anthony—“

“I dunno. Wasn’t Bryce their annoying neighbor or something?”

“Do you know ANYTHING about Bonus Stage? Because I-- GAH! What did you put in my coffee?!”

“Pencil shavings! Haha!”

“PENCIL SHAVINGS??!!!”

Phil didn’t think Matt’s joke was funny, and made him drink the whole cup of pencil shavings and coffee. Sadly, the combination was too much for Matt’s stomach to handle. The RAF house was now one-eighth less crowded.


Tom was watching his favorite show, “Walter, the One-Word Political Stand-up Comic,” while Chris and Bryce tried to talk some sense into him.

“C’mon, change the channel!” said Bryce. “Haven’t you seen this one before?”

“I’ve seen it eighteen times,” Tom said enthusiastically. “And it keeps on gettin funnier!”

“Gas Price!” said Walter. The audience chuckled.

“Canada!” The audience roared.

(“This is the best part!” said Tom, leaning forward eagerly.)

“President Bush!!” said Walter. The audience exploded with laughter. Tom was rolling on the floor.

“This is too much,” said Chris. “I’m switching.” He flipped to the Hillary Duff music video.
“Great!” said Bryce. “No, Hillary Duff is stupid,” said Chris, causing Bryce to be come over with dufflust, and his eyes glowed red. Chris pulled out his chaos-emerald powered Cheese Grater to attack Bryce, but he didn’t know he had dufflust so Bryce jumped

“Hey!” said Norman. “What’s going on here?”

“I was wondering that myself,” said Ian. Everyone turned to Clan rHrN.

“What?” Clan asked innocently.

“Stay OUT of my STORY!” said Norman.

“Oh come on, it was getting boring!”


As I was saying, Bryce and Chris got in a fight over the channel. And although there were no chaos emeralds or yu-gi-oh moves involved, in the end they were both six feet under Stu’s backyard. Or at least they would have been if Stu’s backyard was a graveyard. Toastpaint.


Later that evening, Tom was in his room, depressed. The deaths of Bryce and Chris had left him shaken.

“What’s the use of trying to survive this crazy house? I might as well just kill myself.”

Suddenly Anthony burst from Tom’s closet. He wiggled his razor-sharp finger-claws menacingly. “I can help you with that!” exclaimed Anthony. “I’ll slice you to death!!”

“Watch out, you’re going to break my keyboard!”

“Hey, now what’s going on?” said Ian suspiciously.

“Cut it out, Bugkiss! Man, none of you people can leave my story alone!” said Norman.

Bugkiss was furious. “I didn’t do that!! Norman’s just copying me to make it look like I’m messing up his stupid story!! And he’s not even very GOOD at it!!! He’s just making fun of ‘How I Got Claws!!’ I don’t even like that story! Take a writing class, you jerk!!”

Ian frowned. “Norman, you should know better. You have to write YOUR OWN story!”

“OK, let’s try this again,” Norman said.

Anthony burst from Tom’s closet with an army of evil mutated dwarves which had been accidentally loosed from the depths by miners.

“NO!!!!” shouted The Noid and Mr. KISS.

“Come on you guys,” protested Norman, “they say flattery is the sincerest form of entertainment! No, wait, that’s not it....”

“Norman, I’m warning you,” began Ian.

“All right, all right.” Norman began thinking quickly.

Anthony burst from Tom’s closet...um…um….

Wearing a spider-man suit.

And he had a plastic lightsaber, even.

“Hey, what are you doing?!?!” cried Tom as Anthony launched his entirely ineffectual attack.

Thwacky!

Thwacky!

Thwacky!

Suddenly, Anthony’s suit began to constrict, choking him.

“AAk!! Symbiot! Symbiot!!!”

The evil costume made short work of Anthony, and then crawled off in search of a more meaningful life. Tom dragged Anthony’s body out of his room, humming to himself.

“Jedi man!

Jedi man!

Does whatever a Jedi can!”