Hey all. Welcome to my first posted work, based on a small trend I've noticed during my regular visits to the SSB Fanfic Archive. This is not meant to offend or put down. It is aimed at no-one in particular, it's more an amalgamation of all the self-inserts and OC-recruiting fanfics I've taken the time to read during my time here. Do enjoy.
Chapter 1: Say Hello to Your New Best Friend.
My name is Gertrude.
I am a 13 year old girl with blonde hair that has light brown and purple and crimson highlights and I wear a bright pink shirt and blue pants and multicolored sneakers to go with my eyes which are also multicolored.
I was cursed at birth to always look extremely pretty. Sometimes I can't sleep at night because I feel bad about being this pretty and making all the other girls in my school feel suicidal and worthless. I also get worried that they might come in the night and murder me out of jealousy (A/N: at least, I can't think of any other reason why they would want to murder me!).
Anyway, I don't really want to talk about my past because it's really dark and depressing. I tripped yesterday and got sauce on my multicolored sneakers (A/N: look, I know you won't get why there was sauce on the floor. Just...it's a really upsetting memory for me so I would appreciate it if you just carried on reading and ignored this totally unobtrusive author's note that's crammed right in the middle of this paragraph, effectively destroying the pace of the story and making the reader forget their train of thought completely. So yeah. Where was I?) and yeah, I had to throw them away. My shoes. My own shoes into which I had invested five dollars.
To be honest, as I watched those sneakers fall into the trash I felt like a part of my soul was going in with them. But I won't continue. This is a T-rated story after all.
No, the real story of my life began when I randomly received an invitation to the Super Smash Bros. Academy. I was minding my own business, taking my hamster (A\N: his name is Jeffrey Squirrellson the Third, by the way. He was born ginger but went purpley-colored when I accidentally dropped him in a vat of highly concentrated blueberry juice. I told you my past was upsetting!) out for a stroll down the glorious sun-painted banks of the OC river. The wind just blew the invitation into my hands in a totally coincidental way. So I opened it. And this was what it said:
Dear Gertrude,
Please list your characteristics below.
Name (because the name listed at the top of this invitation was a total guess, lulz!):
Age:
Height:
Weight:
Attractiveness:
Are you an arrogant douchebag? Yes/ Affirmative (circle)
Angst Levels:
Main character potential:
Male/Female/ Transsexual (circle)
If Male, please list the exact circumference of your balls in centimetres (because testosterone matters):
If Female, how do your breasts compare to Samus Aran's, just as a matter of opinion?:
If Transsexual, we love you. Put down your pen and get over here immediately.
Thanks a million!
Yours lovingly,
Master Hand.
I didn't really understand the questions. I just put a number ten for all of them and ringed transsexual on the 8th one because it sounded like a sophisticated word. Anyway, at that moment I coincidentally passed out and the next thing I knew, I had been transported to the Super Smash Brothers Academy.
It looked like I had successfully answered all of the questions. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw this hot blunette guy leaning over me, gazing deeply into my shimmering multicolored pupils, which had, at that point, become illuminated with extra flecks of gold due to my immediate infatuation with him.
As I watched his lips part to allow words through (A/N: what do you mean 'obscene description?'), my heart jumped, and I knew my life would never be the same again, if only I could hear his voice...
TOTALLY INDISCREET TENSE CHANGE!
"Who are you?" Ike asked. Gertrude backed away, horrified. Memories crashed down upon her like a waterfall, memories of Jeffrey Squirrellson the Third as he thundered down into the vat of life-changing blueberry juice, memories of her sneakers falling, falling, falling.
"I..." she stammered. "I'm Gertrude. You know me, Ike. You've always known me!"
He blinked. "No, I haven't."
SMASH! (A/N: It's onomatopoeia, OK? Haven't you ever heard of that technique? I learnt it in English class yesterday so of course I know when and when not to implement it. Let me explain for those people who don't understand. It's the sound of Gertrude's soul shattering. If you didn't get that then you probably shouldn't read the rest of this story because it's too advanced for you, OK? OK? Good).
TOTALLY INDISCREET TENSE CHANGE!
My soul was broken.
I had invested so much into this fanfic. I had rearranged my name into an anagram of my actual name, invested hours into the laborious task of forming my own moveset, and even pushed my imagination to its limits whilst forming for myself an unrealistically likeable persona.
Why couldn't Ike see that?
But he just kept staring at me, as though my appearance at Smash Academy had been terribly thought out, as though my existence in the world of Super Smash Brothers didn't make any sense!
Then, WHAM, an idea hit me. I remembered that I had AUTHOR POWERS (trademark of Gertrude Limited) and that this story was in fact mine to control. I could make Ike like me. Hell, I could make Olimar like me if I wanted, simply through the power of the even-worse-than-the-previous-chapter re-write.
It was time for Chapter 1.5.
Chapter 1.5: Gertrude PWNs some ass.
It was time to raise an army.
I wanted people just like me. People who were willing to invent clichéd variations of characters that already existed and claim them as their own. People who were willing to twist, exaggerate and re-invent their own traits. I wanted pull these God-like creations into the Super Smash Brothers universe, to pollute the world of Nintendo with horrible, crappy, one-dimensional characters and in doing so, fulfil every Nintendo fan's dream.
A/N: Please submit your smashers using the form below. If your smasher is blinging and rad enough, it might be allow to join the Gertrude Army (trademark of Gertrude Limited). I'm not doing this for reviews/ attention / popularity, OK? I'm not!
Name:
Age:
Appearance:
Backstory:
Please give the moveset for your character here, because we're all fascinated to trawl through your ridiculously detailed explanation:
Are readers actually going to give a damn about them? Yes/ No (circle)
Is this form just a way of getting readers interested in a story that may/ may not be ultimately unoriginal? No!/ Of course not! (circle)
Thank you for your time. Gertrude loves you. Please love her too.
As Gertrude waited for the imminent flood of OC subscriptions, she began plotting an epic. An epic, set thousands of years after the smashers had all died (except Ike of course, who, as her main love interest, was exempt from old age for no validly explored reason). An evil force would rise (Tabuu, because of course, this is an ORIGINAL story concept) and the Gertrude army would rise to stop it. With a shadowy, mysterious, dark, mildly insane and yet perfectly likeable personality, Gertrude would lead her fascinated readers across the battle plains, ultimately outshine the rest of the OCs she had enlisted due to her status as the main character, PWN more ass than Chuck Norris and be back in time for dinner.
It sounded like a frickin' plan.
Then came Pit's voice. "Hey, watcha doing Ger?*" (*A/N: It's not a weird abbreviation! It's convenient!)
Gertrude sighed, shut her book of amazing ideas and dropped her pen on the table. "What is it now, Pit?"
By the way, Pit was Gertrude's most recent boyfriend. She'd only accepted his plea because she was nice, and had consequently subjected herself to years of inner turmoil over choosing between the angel's feelings and her true love, Ike, who also blatantly loved her back. Unfortunately, Zelda was already cheating on her boyfriend (Link) with Ike, who felt really bad about the whole ordeal but just loved the sex too much to employ any form of resistance. And of course, in being the single obstruction between the main OC and her love, Zelda was the bitch of the story because in rule section 705347 it states that all stories with female OCs must feature out-of-character bitchy Zelda who nobody actually likes.
*inhales*
Anyway. Back to the main thread of the story, because your brain clearly hasn't melted by now.
"I was just wondering if...erm...ah...erm...erm..."
Gertrude took Pit by the shoulders and shook him vigorously. "Get it together, Pit! We've been in a relationship for three years now, and you still can't ask for sex without getting all gosh darned FRIGID!"
Pit looked ashamed.
"Yeah, that's right. You'd better be."
Ike came in. "Yo, Ger."
Gertrude's eyes started to sparkle.
Then Zelda came in.
Gertrude's eyes stopped sparkling.
"What are you doing in here Ike?" Zelda snapped. "It's so unclean. Do you want to get diseased?"
Gertrude frowned. "At least my room isn't unnaturally clean like yours!"
Zelda died of PWNage.
"So, Ike, want to meet up some time?" Gertrude asked, going all bashful and stuff. Ike agreed instantly. Pit looked as though someone had stepped on his hamster (A/N: Jeffrey Squirrellson the Fourth. Duh). Gertrude felt really bad for metaphorically stepping on Pit's hamster and spent the rest of the day being all emo and stuff. She hung around with all the depressed people in the mansion, played depressing songs on her electric guitar and even listened to a little Evanescence as memories of Jeffrey Squirrellson the Third and her previous attempt at writing the chapter drifted through her mind. Then she felt better again and went out with Ike.
Just as they began to stroll deeper into the terrible world of a fangirl's imagination, something totally unobtrusive happened.
A CHALLENGER APPROACHES!
"Holy crapamoley!" said Ike, who obviously talks like that (A/N: he does! I'm not forcing my own messed-up form of dialect on him!). The reason for his use of inappropriate language was that Marth had spontaneously appeared in front of them, blocking their path. The prince raised a feminine eyebrow (A/N: Marth is thin and therefore he's feminine. If you disagree then you can suck it. Yeah. Suck my fangirl penis).
"Now now, Ikey boy. Don't go wandering off with that piece of scum." Marth took a moment to indicate that he was talking about Gertrude, who was immediately struck to the core by his cruelty. "We all know that you're mine."
With Marth being gay, and therefore technically a woman, and therefore competition, Gertrude immediately decided to show him a taste of her moveset.
"Let's brawl."
Marth did some gay clicky thing with his fingers like they do in Mean Girls or something. "Let's."
Because Getrude wasn't familiar with any of the Nintendo characters other than the ones included in the limited circle of crappy fan fiction that she so religiously stalked, she went to all the time and effort to be ego-centric and form new characters.
As the brawl began, two new OCs appeared in a torrent of awesome magical sparks and lightning and whirlwinds and stuff. Bill and Ben were her brothers. One was evil and all dressed in black and his moveset was all evil attacks. And one was good and all dressed in white and his moveset was all good attacks.
Gertrude placed down her pen and took a moment to revel in her own creativity.
BACK TO THE BRAWL!
"FIGHT!" screamed Master Hand, because it was the only thing he was useful for.
Marth flailed around like a professional douche (A/N: At least I think this is an accurate description of his forwards-B attack. I don't really know because I've never played the game before, LOL!). Gertrude took the opportunity to use her up-B attack and caused an eruption. Marth screamed and ran away like a little pussy. Unfortunately, this meant Gertrude's attack missed. But it was only because Marth was a pussy, not because she had used her up-B attack instead of her forwards-B attack like anyone with enough sense to realise that their opponent was in fact in front of them would have done. Infuriated by this mockery, Gertrude started glowing. The audience watched in amazement as Getrude started to glow, brighter and brighter, brighter than a flaming star, brighter than a supernova, brighter than if God had shone his brightest reading lamp on the universe in order to get a proper view of Gertrude's excellent fan fiction. Then she unleashed her final smash and everyone was amazed at her brilliance.
Marth disintegrated. So did Bill and Ben, but they did so more gracefully than Marth because they had been born from the glorious mind of Gertrude, making them exempt from all flaws/ awkwardness.
The crowd went, like, insane. Ike dived from his seat on an act of sheer whim, soared through the air like an awesome duck (A/N: look, I know the simile might be a bit abstract for you, but it will make sense if you sit there and stare at it for long enough. If it makes sense to me, it should make sense to you. If it doesn't, then you probably didn't get the onomatopoeia thing in chapter one either...hey, wait...what the-? It's you! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STOP F*CKING READING!) anyway yeah like an awesome duck and swooped down in a flash of red and blue and gold. As he came in to land, he stretched out his arms in a sexy, deity-like fashion and scooped up Gertrude for one of the most glorious scenes in fan fiction history.
They kissed.
*insert gut-wrenching description here*
Captain Falcon threw up.
Getrude glared at him. He died.
After all the puking (clapping) died down and everyone regained control of their stomachs (feelings of overwhelming joy) Gertrude noticed that her OC subscription count had risen by twenty. So there were people out there, just like her, dying to indulge in the glory of being a better version of themselves. She wrote them into the story without even glancing at their character bios (she secretly couldn't have given less of a fuck about them!) and let Ike carry her all the way back to Smash Academy to meet her new buddies.
The grand foyer was packed when Gertrude and Ike arrived. Pit entered from the other side of the room with the intention of crossing to the the kitchen to get a band aid for his broken heart, but suddenly found himself drowning in a mass of angsty teenage bodies. He looked around, bewildered.
"What's the f-"
Gertrude destroyed him for being an inconvenience.
"So, welcome everybody, to Smash Academy!" she said in a soft, pleasant voice.
Master Hand floated up beside her. "Aren't I supposed to introduce everyone?"
"No," Getrude said. "You're supposed to f*ck off."
He did so.
"Now, are there any questions?"
Everyone raised their hands.
She picked some greasy kid at the front. "Why are we normal? Why aren't we like...how we described in our character bios?" he said.
For the first time, Gertrude realised what it was like to be a massive freaking idiot. She smiled awkwardly, clapped her hands together as though she knew what she was doing, and ran off to go and look at all of the character bios.
Seven hours later, she staggered back into the foyer, bleeding partially from her eyes. Her attempt to memorise and ingest the paragraphs and paragraphs of clichéd, un-inventive bullshit had, in the end, taken its inevitable toll on her mental stability.
"I want my ninja sword!" some kid cried from the back.
"Hve yr fukin nija swrod," Gertrude mumbled incoherently and made one appear in the air above him. It fell and killed him but nobody really gave a damn.
"What about the rest of us? How do we change?"
"Wiz zuh pwoer of zuh imaginayshun!" Gertrude exclaimed, before collapsing.
Everyone closed their eyes and imagined that they were generally more desirable. The glorious power of the imagination, mixed with the last of Gertrude's AUTHOR POWERS, granted them all their hearts had ever desired. Monsters, demons, animals, gods, furries, ninjas, emos, sorcerers, weapon-wielders, superhereos, bishies, 'cooler' adaptations of the original Super Smash Brothers cast and one freakishly deformed version of Pikachu burst forth in a shower of golden light.
Cries filled the air.
"My life is complete!"
"Screw life! I'm in heaven!"
"Screw everything! I'm Chuck Norris!"
"So am I!"
"And me!"
"Shut up, Pikachu!"
Gertrude picked herself up. "Don't buly Pikerchu! We cn all b Chck Noris, oh-kay? Cn I haz a amen?"
Every one amened to that.
"And now, forth, acruz the battle playnz!" she cried.
Everyone stopped and looked awkwardly at each other.
"I don't want to go across the battle plains," said a version of Peach who, being completely original, was wearing an ever-so-slightly lighter shade of pink. "I want to stay here and make friends with the smashers!"
"Yeah. Me and Link have always been best friends!" snapped some annoying tiger/ human thing wearing an outfit so complex and attention seeking that the author couldn't be shitted to describe it. "I want you to write us into a story arc together."
"I dnt knw if Link is into bestiality..." mumbled Gertrude. Annoying tiger kid went up to her and stabbed her in the face. If she'd still been alive, she would have regretted giving him that homicidal personality he'd described in his bio.
Anyway, everyone was amazed by his super-cool murderous streak (because killing people is REALLY rad).
"I want a murderous streak too!" said deformed Pikachu.
"And me!" said ever-so-slightly-lighter-shade-of-pink-wearing Peach. "But...the author's dead..."
"Shut up you pussies!" said annoying spunky tiger kid. "You don't need the author to give you a murderous streak. You can give yourself a murderous streak!"
Deformed Pikachu smiled. "I'm gonna find the real Pikachu and eat him."
This revelation sparked a shared turn in ambition.
"DOWN WITH THE NINTENDO CAST!"
Everyone rushed out of the room with one thought in mind: that if the Nintendo characters weren't there, the reader would have nowhere else to divert their attention. Sword, bazookas, ninja stars, rocket launchers and all kinds of overrated crap emerged in the rush for fame and glory.
As the last OC left, Gertrude's eyes opened. As the author, she technically couldn't have died in the first place, but apparently the narrative had run away with her in a much more literal sense than she had been ready for. And it was then, as she got to her feet for the second time, that she finally realised what a big freaking screw-up she was.
She'd only wanted a bit of attention. OK, maybe a lot of attention, but that was besides the point. It was human nature to want attention, right? And it was human nature to want to be perfect. But by taking the easy route to success, she was stealing the limelight from authors who were trying to get there the hard way, and in all honesty, that was unfair.
She wasn't sure where these thoughts had come from. It was almost as though an external force without anything better to do was typing on giant keyboard in some dark, lonely, God-forsaken bedroom, filling her mind with apparent wisdom.
Well, whatever.
It was time to stop the war.
Chapter 2: Gertrude Gets a Life.
Gertrude turned to Ike.
"What the hell? I've been standing here the entire time and I wasn't mentioned once in that scene!" he cried.
"Well then let me make it up to you. You're the new main character. Go and kick some OC."
"But...I thought you were the main character..."
"Just go before I change my mind!" Gertrude sobbed.
Ike nodded and sped after the swarm. Bursting into the Academy's main room or something (A/N: I couldn't be bothered to think it out, OK?), he found something even more deserving of censorship than the kissing scene in Chapter 1.5. The OCs were...spawning.
From sickly pools of concentrated cliché-force now rose Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts-esque characters, unmissable with their obscene hair and predictably emotistical clothing. Ike shuddered as the severity of the OC infection dawned upon him. This was more than a bad story concept. It was something that had already started to spread across the Super Smash Brothers FanFiction Archive, something that was only getting more infectious with time.
He was going to need some back up.
Master Hand rushed in with the surviving members of the Nintendo cast in tow.
Ike raised an eyebrow. "Convenient."
"Just be thankful," the hand grumbled, and turned to leave.
"Hey, wait, aren't you supposed to be some kind of god? Can't you just destroy them?" said Ness, eyeing the swarm of OCs as they began to line up on the other side of the room.
"Gertrude took every last scrap of power I had. And I doubt she wants to give that back."
"Even at the stake of losing our credibility to punky little OCs?" Falco said.
"I don't know...it looks like she's having a bit of inner conflict over here..." Fox called. Everyone glanced back through the doorway to find Gertrude curled up in the fetal position, clawing at her face.
"I CAN'T...DO THIS!"
"We should probably just get this over with ourselves..." Ike mumbled. There was a general air of agreement.
Both sides assembled themselves. With the smashers outnumbered fifty to thirty-one, it looked like a brutal battle, but even more stupid was the fact that the majority of the OCs had arrogantly requested that they be given deity-like powers, making it pretty much a suicide match.
Soon the room was in tatters. A ginger-haired Sora was pressing his keyblade to the neck of Ike. Deformed Pikachu stood over the real Pikachu, now brandishing cutlery. Annoying spunky tiger kid was trying to offer a beaten Link his friendship in exchange for Link's acceptance that he simply wasn't as cool. Even ever-so-slightly-lighter-shade-of-pink wearing Peach had felled the two remaining female smashers with the power of love and happiness.
All hope was gone.
"Now..." said ginger Sora, applying a little more pressure to Ike's throat with the edge of his idiotically key-shaped weapon. "Admit that I'm more popular than you, and maybe I'll spare your life."
Ike frowned. "You may be more popular than me...but at least I'm not ginger."
The room fell silent. Ginger sora stared down at him in hatred. "Only a ginger...can call another ginger...ginger..."
Ike was screwed.
He could only watch as ginger Sora raised his keyblade, snarling like the demonic little OC he was. It was over. The Nintendo Cast were about to become second-wheel. People would stop reading genuinely good fanfics. Mind rape and character-slaughter would ensue. Eyes would melt. Lemons would become sourer. Mutations would occur. Egos would swell to unhealthy sizes. Sane authors would be forced to hide in cardboard boxes. Everything writers had fought for, lived for and loved would be stabbed until it was suitably dead. The most devastating literary apocalypse of all time was about to descend...
"Not on my watch!" yelled Gertrude, having randomly appeared in the middle of the room.
"We're saved?" Ike said.
"Hey, who are you?" said annoying spunky tiger kid. "You look kind of familiar...but then your memory kind of gets lost in a wash of blood and madness and..."
Gertrude looked at him. He melted.
Link shuddered, now covered in OC goo.
"I have come to a decision!" said Gertrude. The OCs watched her attentively, unsure of what was happening. They kind of remembered that she might be the author or something, which meant she was the source of their power...which meant that they had to act nice around her...to ensure that she gave them prominent roles in the story and so on. So they shut up and listened. "I considered keeping my position of power. I considered having a hugely popular story. Yeah. I considered that. It sounded pretty nice, actually. Having all of you at my fingertips. But NO!" Everyone gasped because they felt it was somehow necessary. "Gertrude does what is right and just! Gertrude listens to the pleas of the hard-working authors! Gertrude listens to the anonymous, wisdom-imparting voice in her head!"
"What the hell is she talking about?" whispered some emo kid to an adjacent ninja. Adjacent ninja shrugged.
"In the end, Gertrude...I mean, I...I would rather sacrifice my own awesomeness...for the sake...of other people..." Gertrude started breaking into tears at this. "And that's why...I'm gonna put this story on hiatus..."
The OCs looked vaguely hopeful.
"...FOR GOOD!"
The OCs looked pimp-slapped.
Ginger Sora gasped. "You can't do that!"
"I can do anything I damn well want, you soulless pre-teen over-rated cheap-ass low-life unrealistically-proportioned bishie-boy!" Gertrude shouted, and had to take a couple of seconds to catch her breath afterwards. "And you know why that is? Because I...am the author!"
Ginger Sora raised an eyebrow. "No shit."
"Your wit will be the end of you!" Gertrude exclaimed, before removing his character from the story.
The OCs gasped.
"Mercy..." squeaked deformed Pikachu. He vanished.
And one by one, the OCs began to disappear. It was magical, like waking up from that nightmare you had about the world being destroyed by psychotic chinchillas only to find out that it was never real in the first place. The surviving smashers struggled to their feet, looking partially as though they had endured some form of rape. A few were in tears over their dead companions. Gertrude sighed, deciding to be nice and resurrect their friends so it could be a happy ending and all that shit.
Master Hand and Crazy Hand soared into the room, overjoyed upon finding that everyone was OK and that Pikachu had in fact not been eaten. They even threw a little party in celebration of genuine originality, talent and freedom. But as they looked towards the door, they found it swinging slightly on its hinges, as though to suggest that someone had just used it.
Gertrude was gone.
Epilogue: Requiem of an OC
I was sad.
I felt as though somehow I had been cheated. Who would appreciate my sacrifice? My metaphorical death? Perhaps nobody. Life would go on in the Super Smash Brothers FanFiction Archive without me. That would be all.
I picked up my pace as I strolled back down the glorious sun-painted banks of the OC river. I thought about Jeffrey Squirrellson the Third. Perhaps he would understand. Sure, he was still mad at me about the blueberry juice incident, but we'd see eye to eye now that I had suffered some tragedy of my own, I was certain. But other than Jeffrey, who else would be there to be my friend? To appreciate me? To think I was awesome? The OCs I had enlisted...they had cared about me...they had waited on my every move. I'd held them in suspense. I'd been close to them.
What was life without a fanbase?
I sighed a sad, heavy sigh, starting to feel in that Evanescence mood again. My fingers ached to strum the strings of my guitar, but now that I'd given up my AUTHOR POWERS, I no longer had the talent to play it. I no longer had the talent to do anything! My only talent had been writing, and now even that I'd been forced to give up. The future was empty. The past was...screwed as hell. The present was meaningless. Oh, what could I do?
Yo.
What? What was that? Who dares interrupt my moment of tragedy?
It's that voice in your head, Gertrude. You know, the wisdom-imparting one?
Oh, you. Thanks a lot, by the way.
For what?
For ruining my life.
Oh...that..
Just who the crap are you anyways?
Eh...you can call me Chuck Norris.
Right.
Look, I'm trying to impart some wisdom here. But if you don't want Chuck Norris' help...
Go ahead. It's not like I have anything to lose.
OK then. Here's a small idea. And I want you to share it with everyone, because if this idea catches on, the world will be a better place.
Seriously?
I'm Chuck Norris. I think I know what I'm talking about.
Figures.
All right, here we go: what if, instead of writing a story that gained its popularity by interacting with its readers, you wrote a story? Just a story.
But who wants to read a story? I'd have no fans or feedback. Nobody would see how much time or effort I'd put into my work. It would be a waste of time!
Have faith in the words of Chuck Norris! You are a good author when you focus! As long as you cut out those random author's notes in the middle of your narrative, work on your portrayal of the characters (refers you to Pit, Marth, Ike, Zelda...most characters, actually), edit all obscene descriptions and indiscreet tense changes...you could make something amazing. And even if you did receive fewer reviews...wouldn't it be nice to know that people were reading your story because it was good, rather than because they themselves were featured in it? Wouldn't you prefer their comments to exist because they actually enjoyed your writing, rather than because of their desire to see themselves in your story?
Er...I dunno. I'd have to think about it.
Then think. Chuck Norris must leave you now.
Wait! W-where are you going?
To er...consume my daily portion of...sheer awesomeness...?
But I can't do this alone! How do I write a story? How do I make it great? Chuck Norris, stay with me!
Chuck Norris cannot stay. He will collapse if he misses out his daily portion of sheer awesomeness. As for how to create a great story...only you can answer that. But remember, if you do decide to write an OC-free fanfic...Chuck Norris...he will be in your heart!
And just like that, the voice faded. I stood there for a while, staring down at the new pair of multicolored sneakers I was wearing thoughtfully. Then I kicked them the hell off, threw them into the OC river, and pulled out my book of amazing ideas.
Turning over to a new page, I scrawled down a couple of resolves.
First, I was going to buy me a copy of Super Smash Brothers. Second, I was going to play it. Third, I was going to get some inspiration. And fourth...
I was going to to try my hand at writing one of these newfangled...stories.
Don't ya just love a happy ending?
I'll reiterate that while this is on the heavy side in terms of parodying, it was not meant to cause offense. I hope you found it a worthwhile read. I mean, it took up twelve pages on my word processor. Jeez. Gimme some credit!
I joke. Have a nice day and all. And don't forget to listen to Chuck Norris (he's in your heart).