Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a narrator who took it upon herself to screw up every story she could get her hands on. With complete and utter disregard for the opinions of others, authors and fans alike, she made it her mission to corrupt any good plot line or character development she had the means to. With the help of her tech-savvy computer and her skills of destroying anything she put her mind to, she quickly set to work on annoying the crap out of everybody. These are her stories.

The purple, viscous rain that had been sliming up his front yard all morning had Ian worried that the pizza guy would ignore his order and make him starve once again.

"Ian! I can't get my shoe," Anthony yelled from the living room, disrupting his fantasies. Grumbling, Ian stomped over to his obnoxious friend, visions of gooey cheese and hot crust fleeing from his irritation. He walked in to see Anthony standing ankle-deep in the sofa cushions.

"I already told you, Ant-thony!" Ian said, enunciating to prove a point. "You wouldn't keep losing your shoe if you stopped stepping into the couch."

"But it's like a sink-hole, dude," Anthony said with wide eyes, "It just goes on forever, like there's no bottom."

"It's a freaking couch, dude. I told you to stop smoking crack."

"You don't smoke crack, stupid." Anthony yelped suddenly as his foot slipped further into the couch. "Help me out, man!"

Ian grabbed his outstretched hand. "What do you want me to do?"

"Tug me."

"Ew, no!" Ian flailed away from his grasp.

"Not like that! Just grab my hand and pull."

Ian took hold of him again and began to pull him. "How did you even get stuck? The couch can't be that deep."

Anthony managed to raise his right foot, but then his left sunk further in, up to his knee. "It's not working."

"Well, hold on," Ian said, trying to think, "Let me just," he stepped up onto the cushion beside him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Ew, no! I'm not gay! This is not that kind of fanfic."

"AWWWWWWWWWWW!" all of their female fans went, exclamation points and all.

"Chill, man. I'm trying to lift you out. Everything can be accomplished by LIFTING."

"Oh okay. As long as you don't try to kiss me or anything."

"How about suck your blood?" Ian asked in a really creepy voice.

Before Anthony could reply, his right leg sank back down, and then he was balls-deep in the couch. "How the hell is this happening?!"

"The explanation is simple," answered an astute girl with sexy black-framed glasses. She had slipped into the room while the two were otherwise occupied. "You are fighting the black hole that has taken up residence in the crack of your couch. It's a wonder you are still alive."

"Who are you?" Anthony asked.

"Bob the Flying Monkey," another, much bustier girl answered as she sauntered into the living room. She wrapped her arm around the first girl. "She's my girlfriend."

"Who are you?" Anthony asked even more incredulously, concerned that somehow these hot chicks had gotten into his house.

"I'm the narrator of this story, Not Any Ordinary Psycho. I'm also the sole author, and Bob said I could do whatever I want to as long as I write a fanfic about you."

"What are you talking about? You can't write a fanfic about us. We're real people. It's just completely wrong."

Psycho made a dismissive noise and squeezed her girlfriend closer. "Bob and I are real people, but I'm writing us into a fanfic. If it weren't for fanfiction, we wouldn't even be dating. Just be thankful that I'm not making you two a couple."

Bob kissed the girl on the lips. "Well, you wouldn't be anyway because I asked you not to, and you love me so you won't."

Psycho grinned. "Damn you with your sexy logic. Why do I love you?"

"Cuz I'm hot. Duh."

"Excuse me!" Anthony interrupted them rudely, "I'm still stuck in the couch here."

"Right." Bob adjusted her glasses. "There is only one way to defeat a sofa-based black hole."

"And what's that?" Ian asked.

"Bananas! S!" Psycho sang.

"Okay. So do we have to put bananas in the couch or...?" Ian asked.

"No. You have to sing to it. Duh."

Ian and Anthony rolled their eyes. "I guess this beats making out," Anthony said, shuddering at the thought of all those disgusting fanfics out there about him and his best friend getting nasty with each other.

Then Smosh began to sing the Gwen Stefani song, doing it absolutely no justice. Bit by bit, The sofa released Anthony until he finally had both legs free. Once out, he jumped down onto the floor and did a weird little victory dance.

"Anthony," Ian called in a worried voice.

"Yeah?" He turned around to find Ian ankle-deep in the couch. "Really?"

Ian smiled. "No." He stepped onto the floor beside his friend. "Where did the girls go?"

"Oh, they're making out in the kitchen."

Ian and Anthony looked over at them. "Cool."

And that's the story of the girl who blew Pluto.

The End