So, I’ve recently discovered the strange and enormous world of fan fiction; and by “discovered” I mean “I found out it exists.” For those not familiar, fan fiction is a mostly on-line genre of fiction wherein famous characters act out “unofficial” storylines within the framework of their pretend worlds. Except sometimes they go outside their well known pretend worlds, and go into other pretend worlds. Also, it’s not only movie, t.v. and other fiction characters being written about; sometimes it’s historical figures, present day celebrities, basically anyone you could theoretically be a fan of. Oh yeah, and a lot of these writers inject themselves into the storyline, because what could be cooler than that? Essentially, if you ever read about Luke Skywalker and some nerd you’ve never heard of battling a Terminator on the now thawed planet of Hoth and Zooey Deschanel is involved in anyway, you’re reading fan fiction.
I know what you’re thinking: “These writers must be MILLIONAIRES!” I know, I thought the same thing. Which is why I’m pretty excited right now. You see, I might say that I could write this stuff in my sleep. And if I did say that, I would be referring to the fact that I literally dream fan fiction. And to think, until I discovered fan fiction, I had no idea what was going on in my head at night. Let me give you an example. This was just last night’s dream…
It’s me and David Caruso, sitting on my couch playing video games. Except the television is huge, and my living room is kind of like the living room in a television commercial. But it’s definitely my couch. Caruso tells me he’s going to get a beer. Then he floats into the kitchen.
“Wow, you can fly!” I say.
“All celebrity actors can fly,” he says, “except one. I just got a call. It’s Brad Pitt. He’s broken. We need to rescue him, he’s stranded on the island of Sodor.”
So David flies to Sodor, and I ride the Old Spice centaur guy. To the island. We get there, and David says “there he is” and points to:
|"You DO NOT talk about Fight Club"|
“Where?” I ask.
“Right there, him,” says David.
“Yo Dave, I’m totally broken,” says Brad Pitt. “Something on the tracks. I need to get Maddox and his sheep friends off the mountain before the storm hits. Fix me, dudes.”
I turn back to David Caruso, who now has really, really long arms. “Brad, I don’t think we can help you. You might never fly again,” he says, dunking a basketball into a hoop that’s about 30 feet away and wasn’t there 4 seconds ago.
Just then, the door bursts open. It’s Abraham Lincoln. “I’m Dr. President Abraham Lincoln, I can handle this shit,” he says. “As you know, doctors are allowed to write prescriptions, which I will do. Here you go, Brad Pitt.”
|Apply one cowbell twice daily. Fever cured. Boom|
“Thank God,” says Caruso.
“But I’m afraid there’s still some bad news,” says Abe. “The Soviets are still planning to attack today at 6pm.”
“You go warn the president,” says Brad Pitt, “I need to get Jennifer Anniston off the mountain.”
I start to ask him if he meant Angelina Jolie, but Abe interrupts. “There’s no time!” he yells.
So, we show up at this really cool looking house that’s totally not the White House. “The president will be in there,” says Lincoln. “I need to go get ready.”
So Caruso and I go inside. “There he is,” he says, “we’d better grab a seat.”
I look up to see the president.
|Let me show you a little something I call "Number One."|
“Turn to page 67 in your textbooks. Engage,” he says. Suddenly I realized we are back at school, and President Picard is my teacher.
“Wait a minute,” I say to Caruso, who now has those Geordi La Forge glasses on. “What about the Soviets?”
“We’re setting the perfect trap,” he says. Sure enough, I looked up and Patrick Swayze was standing outside the window, about to launch a rocket straight at the president. It was 5:59pm.
“Those damn Soviets are early!,” screams Zooey Deschanel, who I've just noticed is sitting next to me.
“How you doin’?” asks Caruso, and they start totally making out.
“No making out in my class!” yells Jean Luc Picard.
Realizing there is no time left, I crash through the window to confront Patrick Swayze. “You’re dead, Swayze!” I yell.
“You’ll never wake up alive again, comrade!” he yells back.
He fired his rocket… and I black out. I come to in the forest down the street from my house. The Coca Cola polar bears are there. “We won!” they yell.
Needless to say, that is the greatest piece of fan fiction ever, and I’m new at this, and barely even trying. You’d better try to be my friend now, because I am guaranteed to be a millionaire any minute now.