Chris stood on the docks wearing a rain slicker. "Welcome back to Total Drama: Cartoon Multiverse!" he crowed. "We have a great show for you today, involving hot hot sun, long long runs, and no water at all for our contestants! Or we would, if it weren't for the fact that–" he scowled, "–it's raining! Yeah. Not what I wanted to see today. So instead of a super-interesting episode where we torture the campers, we're going to have to do something else. Something that happens at camp when it rains and you can't do stuff outside. That's right, it's the arts-and-crafts episode. Whoopee." Chris stormed off the docks.

I roll out of bed and grab my mirror. Perfect as always, mirror me. Why thank you, actual me. We're amazing. Oh, and Righty, you are WORKING IT today! Just on FIRE! Mmm! Oh, Lefty, you're gonna have to–wait. Wait. What's this? Oh, Lefty, you're making a comeback! Righty, you gotta stay hot if you wanna keep looking better than Lefty! Mmm, yes! Oh, I could spend all day checking out this red-hot action. And if it keeps raining, I might just do that. Not like anybody else around here is more interesting. And they're definitely not as good looking.

Oh, there goes the old man, groaning as he lifts himself out of bed. Scratching his side, ew, like we want to see that. Actually we do, it's nice to remind everyone how disgusting other people are compared to yours truly. I still can't believe the people I share this hovel with tried to put in a rule saying I couldn't use hairspray until everyone was awake, I mean hello, how else is my hair going to be this perfect? It's great on its own, of course, but it needs its special little Chaz touch, know what I'm saying? Of course I do! I'm the Chaz! And I still can't believe that baldy number two threatened to break my mirrors. Not cool, baldy number two. But I forgive you. Because you keep the show entertaining, and an entertaining show is what the Chaz is all about. When the Chaz isn't all about the Chaz, of course. And the Chaz is always all about the Chaz. But entertainment is the name of the game, so you get a pass. For now.

And now baldy number two gets up. And instantly puts on his false mustache. What is up with that, I don't know, maybe he's trying to pretend he's not completely bald. Not really doing much for anyone, but hey, not everyone has my amazing hair. And skin. And body. And Chazness. And there goes the floating turd himself, sitting up in his bed and stretching. Why he calls himself Number Two is pretty obvious, but most people aren't that truthful about how much they stink. It must be hard for him, rooming with the great Chaz. Always stuck between envy and disgust with himself. I'd feel sorry for him if it weren't for the fact that I'm the Chaz and just clearly amazing.

Hmm, Lefty, your comeback seems to have stalled. Really gotta put in more effort, Lefty. Righty, though, you just keep doing what you're doing. The Chaz approves. Now, hair, let's settle down and behave a little, hmm? Really can't go out there and shower without looking my best. Although the rain's gonna hurt. Not cool, Mother Nature. The Chaz does not approve of you trying to wreck his perfect hairstyle. Ahh, there you go, hair. That's it.

Man, I wonder what's gonna happen now? The Chaz broke up that union of losers, but now the Chaz has to find something else interesting to do. Like last time, when the Chaz made Ruby realize she was hogging my spotlight and she voted herself off. The camera loves the Chaz, and the Chaz doesn't like it when the camera cheats on him. Baldy number three, now awake. Grandma always mentions how much she liked Gandhi, but I don't see why. Honestly, handjobs? Puh-leeze, like the Chaz doesn't have better things to do. Like figure out when exactly things are gonna start happening. Let's see, everyone's awake except for baldy number one in our cabin, so chances are Chris is gonna use this as an opportunity to pull everyone out of bed. And that's gonna be my cue to hit the shower if there's time. I still don't get how somebody on TV as much as Chris is doesn't understand what it takes to look good. For that matter, how does somebody who obviously doesn't have the looks, style, brains, or body of the Chaz get so far? The Chaz is pretty obviously hotter than Chris. Especially you, Righty. Keep rocking that–wait, a little bit more from Lefty! I think Lefty's trying to catch up again! Better keep working it if you wanna keep your lead, Righty! Oh, but there goes Lefty, pushing forward...Righty still in the lead...Lefty catching up...Righty, nice job picking it up a bit–ooh, Lefty, you're just about to catch up with Righty–oh, Righty, turn it on! Turn it–

"GOOOOOOOOODDDD MORNING WAWANAKWA!"

Man, there's Chris, interrupting Righty just as things were getting really hot. Blah blah blah something about rain, arts and crafts, mess hall–who cares? It's an hour or so away. I have time to grab a shower and make Lefty, Righty, my hair, and this beautiful beautiful bod shine and glimmer like the magnificent stars they are.

There is nothing like an hour in the shower to leave you feeling your best. I guess that's true even if you're ugly. Although the hot water conked out at about the fifty-minute mark. Not cool, Total Drama. Not cool at all. And the rain! If I didn't bring an umbrella, my hair would look horrible! Hairspray is like the greatest invention ever. Well, besides mass telecommunications, because without those how would the Chaz get his image out to all of his adoring fans? But hairspray definitely helps the Chaz look his Chazziest. Love you hairspray!

Now let's take a look at what's going on in the mess hall today. Sticks, glue, glitter, crayons–guh. It's like kindergarten threw up, only worse. Even Beth couldn't make this more horrible. Oh, and here comes Chris now. Probably gonna say something lame about the so-called challenge in front of us. Whatever.

"Because of the rain, normal camp activites are cancelled," Chris warbles. "Instead, we'll be having..."

I tune Chris out and focus on the cleft in his chin. It looks just like a butt. Does he know that he has a butt where his chin should be? Probably not, but if I was him I'd be embarrassed to go outside, never mind be on TV. I mean, seriously, he has a buttchin! Nobody looks good with a buttchin. Especially not guys with permastubble all around their buttchin. I'd be disgusted if my butt looked like that, never mind my face. It takes courage to go around looking like that. Or probably stupidity.

"...so, whomever makes the best-looking art and or craft wins the contest for their team. Everybody copacetic? Good! Begin! You have five hours!"

Wow, five hours of this. Lame. And the best-looking art or craft? Please, that's even lamer. Why not just hand in a picture of me instead? That'd win hands down.

...

...

...wait a sec...

After about an hour, popsicle stick Chaz is starting to look pretty good. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look around the room. Everybody else is doing boring stuff. Ingrid is working on some sort of sash, like she's an emperor or something. It's orange, ew. Orange doesn't go with many colors, and with her skin tone? Not a good idea. What is she trying to be, a construction worker? A member of a road crew? Show her solidarity with convicts? And Nazz isn't doing too well either, what with her attempt at painting–what is that again? It's tough to tell what with the horrible color composition, erratic brushstrokes, and complete lack of any artistic talent. Marlowe's thing isn't much good either–what is it, a box with some rubber bands on it? Is she honestly trying to make a musical instrument out of trash? I'd expect that for her clothes with how she dresses, but making an instrument is lower than I thought she'd sink. Bravo, Marlowe, you've disappointed everyone again. And Steve, who stole the spotlight from Ruby who stole the spotlight from me yesterday is building a–what is that? Glitter everywhere, random assortments of popsicle sticks and glue, occasional patches of duct tape? This is a trainwreck in more ways than one. No seriously, it looks like an attempt at something completely horrifying. Which it is, in part because of how horrible it looks. Finally, Elise is working on a painting with its back to me, but if she's anything like Nazz we have this game in the bag.

Well, maybe. Number Two is making–is that a plane? It's a bit too large to be a model, but too small to be an actual plane. Or does he just want to fly? Either way, this is not going to impress the judges. Maybe. Okay so it will. But not as much as my Chaz head! And Triana isn't doing much either, just making macaroni art. Yeah, this isn't even kindergarten, it's preschool. There's no galleries for pasta art. Wendy is whittling, because apparently we entered the hillbilly zone. And she isn't even whittling a picture of me. It's a carving of a couple of kids, one of them wearing a stupid hat. Gandhi is messing around with paint and glue and who knows what, and he's managed to get a snow globe stuck to his elbow and half the cafeteria shoved up his nose. Obviously his idol is John Belushi. Boris is also working on something: a shoddy ink drawing, colored in with markers. While the precision suggests that it was done by an adult, the simple lines and lack of detail suggest it was done by a nine-year-old, or possibly an animator working on a strict budget. And Rusty is the most incompetent of all, what with his inability to weave a basket. Even jocks can do that correctly.

It's all going to be up to the Chaz to save us from failure with my popsicle-stick bust. It's too bad I don't have more time, or I could get the perfection of my entire body into this. Oh well. Back to work on making the most spectacular work of art ever created–aside from myself, of course.

After another hour and a half, my face is almost perfect. I just have to get the eyebrows to look exactly right. I would paint it, but they don't have any wood stain, so my head's just going to have to be a study in light brown tones. Doesn't matter anyway, the Chaz looks great even when I'm just made of popsicle sticks. And to top it all off, nobody has done anything as good as my Chaz head. Elise is still busy painting, Ingrid's sash makes her look like a crossing guard, Nazz can't paint at all, Marlowe's box thing just sounds like stretched rubber bands and looks like a box, and Steve's horrifying thing is even more super horrifying. Boris finished working on his drawing of him dropping a rock on what was probably supposed to be a moose and a squirrel a while ago, Number Two is putting the finishing touches on his plane, Triana's macaroni art is still made of pasta, Wendy has finished whittling her picture of two kids who are nowhere near as good-looking as the Chaz, and Rusty still hasn't made a decent basket. Gandhi has given up on his whatever it is and is running around the mess hall like a hyperactive child, getting in everyone's way.

Suddenly, Gandhi trips over one of Rusty's baskets and slams into one of the plane's wheels. This jolts the plane, and Number Two stumbles, jostling the engine. The plane roars to life and eases forward. It collides with a table with a bucket of paint on the edge. The paint can tips over and splatters onto the whirling propeller, which sends paint flying everywhere around the room, including onto my clothes.

"Aw, man!" I say in a studly manner. Everyone else around me is screaming, but I don't know what the big deal is. Sure, their clothes and their artwork are ruined, but come on! That's nothing compared to me having one of my sports coats ruined. The Chaz does not like looking sloppy in front of everyone, and he super doesn't like looking sloppy on television. Now everyone is gonna remember that time I got paint on my coat, and worst of all, this is the second time this has happened to me! What is up with paint and my clothes?

The plane rocks back and forth as it makes its way between the two tables. Numbuh Two races after it and tries to climb aboard as the plane fights to buck him off. The plane continues to approach, speeding up as it makes its way towards me until the propellers of the plane collide with my head.