Author's Note (Which May Cause a Magic Pop Up of TL; DRs)—

So we got bored.

And the Flight 29 Down archive was getting boring; and we know this, even if we haven't checked it in nine months or something like that...

So we improvised!

I.e. we watched too much Monty Python and Charlie the Unicorn this month. And we went on Art of Trolling one too many times. And we're in a boring world filled with rich-y rich metrosexuals, hicks, and gangsters who keep looking at me oddly. Me!

And we picked Flight 29 Down if only to insult the cameraman/men a multitude of times for his/their weak arms.

And you can't blame us otherwise, since it was one of the few things we could agree on when we were, like, twelve to watch. No one would watch Poltergeist with me, so I had to just let it go.

...FOR THE OBVIOUS REASONS...

It's PG. Agree with me, it's PG!

Oh, and we ate cake. We were invited to Casper's sister's party or whatnot and, well, I mean...none of the parents wanted us hanging around...or so Casper said...so we're hiding in her basement with nothing better to do...which makes me wonder why we were invited in the first place...

We're odd looking, obviously. I bet it's because I limp.

Oh, and if you can't figure out who we are, well, look up parody here (and find the two weirdest supposed male fruitloops). Or look at our Profile to see what we've done to Twilight so far. I think Stephanie Meyer may have problems with our logic.

Comedy must have an outlet...

Disclaimer: WE OWN EVERYTHING BECAUSE WE ARE THE RULERS OF THE WORLD AND... Wait, never mind. Troll Face lied to us. We don't own anything. Maybe we can go party with Forever Alone, though.

Summary: Have you ever seen the come-on for Monty Python and the Holy Grail or Monty Python and the Meaning of Life? Yeah, like that.

*PAGE-BREAK*

Chapter One!111!

(If you just imaged a hoard of fan-girls and people who go "FIRST!" then we are on the right track. If you noticed we used three (or multiples of three) symbols of each type, you realize how OCD one of us is.)

We see, first off...a group of kids in an odd-looking plane. Seriously, I'm not sure what sort. It has, what, twelve seats, eleven seats? It doesn't seem to have a bathroom, which is sad. Maybe they have a bucket? But that means a walrus in some part of the world is sad. Let's ignore that for now, though, okay?

All right, now we have a female Ginger, an Afro Dude that is way too pale to be a brother (OREO), a kick-behind dude acting brooding and gay and generally attracting women, two Asians, one Chinese and One Japanese, both are female—which is odd, since generally female Asians are rare, despite what the comics most dudes love have them in starring roles. Why? They're MURDERED. Why? Well, because, obviously, boys are, like, better. Obviously!

Oh, and then we have the usual kid genius, blond bimbo who isn't a bimbo but acts like a bimbo, an anorexic-looking dude that looks like that dude in Paper Route but less like a rat and probably can't sing half as good, a fat girl to make fat people feel better, and a surfer dude, because, hey, it's L.A.

Oh, and a drunk middle-aged man pilot who can't fly for shiz.

...Now that we're scared you all off with our lack of PC, we will continue. We don't want you creepers that still love a teen show stalking us anyway, or thinking we're stalking you (even if we are). We already have a guy in a kilt doing that, anyway; we don't need you.

LOL! JK! AND OTHER CONVERSATION KILLERS! We were totally kidding for the, last, century. Yeah, something like that.

Now, moving along...

Oh, wait, no. Okay, you have to tell us what it means! No, no, not what the acronym or whatever things stand for—what the double rainbow that leads to Hooters means. Is someone trying to tell us something?

Did I hear a "Probably!" in the back? Shame!

Okay, now back to our story.

So we have the whole demographic or whatever of L.A. (and we'll have you know the person we knew from L.A. was a pyro like one of us and he had watched the Holy Grail—it was epic, and it was at a train station in Itaaaly)...one of them is pouring water (their only fresh water they'd have if there was a sudden zombie apocalypse! Or you know, a plane crash) on everyone.

No, I don't know why. I mean, if it were me, I'd just dump it all on the afro kid so he'd look like a half-drowned poodle.

Of course, dumping it on the blonde's shirt is a sweet move, too. But didn't he see she was wearing a bra and a colored shirt (wasn't she)? Not gonna do nothing from there, bud.

Still, zombie apocalypse!

Or plane crash.

Or being half crushed by a vending machine since that's a leading cause of death. I don't know how having fresh water would help in that situation, though. Unless you were stranded like that...

Anyway, moving on...

So, people are chatting and acting like normal teenagers (for once not whining about prom or who they're going to snog!), and LIGHTNING STRIKES!

That should be a 80s song. LIGHTING STRIKES! It isn't, though, but hum something to yourself.

Okay, and then the pilot, who is obviously intoxicated or something like that (giving war veterans [which we think he might have been, if we remember correctly] and pilots a bad name) starts yelling mayday and telling kids to buckle up, as he tries to fly with one wing.

Now, depending on whether it's the show or the book (The Monster read the first two, then I did after being pestered because of the "GAY SHARKS!"), stuff happens and, well, on the come-on it shows them holding hands as they crash.

And, you know, holding hands is a really dumb thing to do. You're supposed to like hunch over and press your forehead to the seat in front of you. Well, I think. Don't go by us.

Anyway, I guess it gave it a nice touch. Like the end to the Sound of Music which I was forced to watch when I was six (I also know meager Star Trek stuff—TRIBBLES) they walked off into the sunset or some shiz.

In truth, they road on a train—for hours; see, the producers moved the Alps for them. They're nice magical people like that.

And, that's all, folks. First episode tomorrow...or sometime in the near future...or something...right now we're going to fall into a sugar coma on these nicely placed futon and mat thingies and try to ignore the sound of shrieking girls above us.

Oh, and, yeah, so you don't have to worry (w-t-heck?) they landed safely. If you watched the show with its long and generally annoying come-on (this is according to all male members of all families of us kids), you'd know that. But maybe you browse fanfiction like us without reading or watching anything.

*PAGE BREAK* (Yeah, we know there's a button for that...)

A/N:

Yeah, yeah, we know it sucked/was short/had no characters' POVs (they're coming up, don't fret)/lacked Shaun of the Dead references. But if you troll us well, we'll totally post your troll on the Art of Trolling. But I doubt it will be as fun as rick-rolling Mormons so we suggest trying that first.

Peace out and hopefully we won't take NINE OR SO MONTHS TO UPDATE. *looks pointedly at Flight 29 Down parody writer we both loved quite a lot before he poofed—in general*

This is also our attempt to add Monty Python and high pitches to everything we liked or disliked. Why? We're bored.

It's sort of like how I watched Glee just to see the R.E.M. song and now the girls keep making me watch it.

(If you believe what he just wrote, I have some bad news for you...)

Annoying bugger... Anyway, bye...again... Oh, wait, and to the people who read "Shattered Mirror"—well, it made me depressed so I helped write this instead. Sorry. Maybe I'll update later after watching season one of some British comedy? NOW bye...

We forgot to ask them to guess who was who in our explanations. And we forgot to say we decided just now to post it right now even though...

It was obvious. GOODBYE.

...But...

OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD...

END SCENE:

Troll Face: Now, I shall give you a task to do. See, this is how you get INFINITE REVIEWS. You push the little button below, then type up a review—not as anon. Then you submit the review. Author(s) will then be compelled to review your work. INFINITE REVIEWS!

END SCENE (AGAIN):