A/N: So not long after I post that, my computer goes kaput for the second time in as many months XD Ah, technology, she is grand. Anyway, thanks to the wonders of the Internet, even if I'm forced to do a system restore (ONCE AGAIN), nearly everything is safe here (excluding, like, some attempts at the Pirates of the Caribbean crossover). Of this fic. Which says nothing of everything else that was on that hard drive. Grumble. See, I knew I blew out my hard drive, but the self-righteous condescending jerks at the so-called "Genius" Bar (...apologies in advance on the off-chance anyone that happens to read this is, is related to, is the significant other of, or is very good friends with someone who works there) told me I was mistaken. Up yours, assholes. When a computer doesn't boot up, something is wrong.

SO! Add that to the ever-growing pile of Ways In Which Fate Is Trying To Make Me Give Up On This Or At Least Be Able To Work On It A Lot Less (tm). I've commandeered my mother's computer pending a miraculous recovery or a replacement. ALL FOR YOU PEOPLE. ALL FOR YOU.

Okay. Enough of my own personal drama. 100 REVIEWS! This is a very exciting moment for me. You people are TEH awesome. And in gratitude for all your kind words AND your never-ending patience AND the one-month birthday of this story... DOUBLE CHAPTERS. Cue the confetti!

I don't know WHY I've never done this before. Like, I literally went back and checked to make sure that I hadn't done it and just forgotten. It seems so obvious. Plus, with the impending addition of a new member (no matter who it ends up being, I'm sure by the time this mess is over it will be SOMEONE), this may be my last chance to have the numbers match up properly! Oh, hell. Who am I kidding. I've probably got months.

Not a request, but really, it had to be done.

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Voiceover: Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip, that started from this tropic board, aboard this tiny ship!

(Roll credits! Haven't done this in a while!)

Voiceover: (Shot of Luffy. He looks much the same as normal. Don't tell me you never noticed that his outfit is ridiculously similar to Gilligan's.) The mate was a mighty sailin' man! (Shot of Sanji. He is dressed in a blue polo, khaki pants, and skipper hat.) The skipper brave and sure! Five passengers set sail that day on a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour! Blah blah blah, the millionaire! (Shot of Chopper, looking very natty in a Mr. Howell suit.) And his wife! (Shot of Robin, also looking snazzy, complete with parasol. If you thought I wasn't going to keep pandering to my OTP, you were wrong.) The movie star! (Shot of Zoro in a sparkling beaded gown, looking like he's about to kill someone.) And the rest! (Shot of Usopp and Nami, dressed like the Professor and Mary Ann, respectively.)
Usopp: WHY are we always "the rest"? (Nami facepalms.)

(Cut to a deserted tropical island. There are huts made of palm fronds, etc. It looks just like the set you'd see on Gilligan's Island every week, were you to watch Gilligan's Island every week that is. "Mary Ann" is finishing up a pie. There are several others, already finished, on the table. The "Professor" is watching.)

Professor: No, really. "The rest"?
Mary Ann: (She shrugs.) Maybe people will respect us more after the current arc is over, but until then, would you like some pie?
Professor: Ooh, thank you. (He takes a piece. Suddenly, the "Skipper" bursts out of one of the huts yelling.)
Skipper: Unforgivable! Why are you bothering yourself with cooking?
Mary Ann: Because this show was conceived in the 1960s, when the traditional roll of the woman was still more accepted than going against it, and part of that means cooking for men. Tell me if you think it's any good?
Skipper: (He takes a piece.) Oh! It's amazing, just like you! I can taste all the love you poured into it in each and every bite! When I eat it, I want for nothing else!
Mary Ann: I'm glad you like it.
Skipper: But don't do it again! Cooking for you is my job!
Mary Ann: Not around here. ("Gilligan" comes running up.)
Gilligan: Did somebody say pie?
Mary Ann: Here you--
Skipper: No! I can't stand the thought of your hard work going to waste on one with the palate of a deranged hippo!
Gilligan: (Annoyed, and wanting pie.) Who's a deranged hippo?
Skipper: (He hits him over the head with his hat.) You are! (The "Millionaires" stroll up.)
Mrs. Howell: So. What wacky scheme are we devising to attempt to get off the island today?
Mary Ann: Pie?
Gilligan: Don't mind if I-- (The Skipper fends him off with his hat again while Mary Ann serves up pieces for the Millionaires.) Hey! Stop that!
Skipper: Deranged hippo!
Gilligan: Ow!
Professor: As for wacky schemes, I think we're waiting on someone. Hey, Ginger! ("Ginger" shouts from offstage.)
Ginger: If you think I'm coming out, you're wrong.
Professor: Oh, come on! It's not that bad!
Ginger: Screw you!
Professor: No, really! I think you look... pretty! (He and Mary Ann can no longer hold back their snickering, and they fall against each other, laughing.)
Ginger: I can hear you, assholes!
Mary Ann: Aw! Come on! Come perform for us! Sing us a song!
Professorand Mary Ann: Boo-boo-bee-doo! (They crack up all over again.)
Ginger: I will fuck your shit up!
Skipper: You lay one finger on Miss Mary Ann, and you'll be breathing from your kneecaps! (Gilligan takes this opportunity to grab a piece of pie and swallow it whole.)
Mrs. Howell: I don't think you'll have to worry about that. He--she can't "fuck" anyone's "shit up" if she doesn't come out.
Ginger: (Throwing open the door to the hut. He is still wearing the sparkly gown and looking murderous. He cracks his knuckles.) Who's first?
Professor: Oh! You came out! (Under his breath to Mary Ann.) Of the closet! (They burst into laughter once more.)
Mr. Howell: Ooh! Zoro! You look so pretty! (Ginger facepalms. The Professor and Mary Ann can barely breathe for laughing. The Skipper joins in. Gilligan eats pie.)
Mary Ann: You see! Adorable!
Skipper: Just like a princess!
Professor: Better be careful, or Sanji will start confessing his love!
Skipper: I'd kill myself first!
Ginger: I can make that happen! And anyway, this is so unfair! If they were going to make anyone cross-dress, it should have been you as Mary Ann, since you're the cook! Why are you even the Skipper?
Skipper: Obviously, because I just have that certain je ne sais quoi that makes people look to me as a leader.
Ginger: Screw that noise! You're way girlier than me!
Skipper: Say that again!
Ginger: You're way girlier than me! I mean, come on, you cook! You speak French! If there's a girlier language than French, I don't know what it is.
Mary Ann: Québecois French?
Professor: Hmm, I was gonna say Dutch.
Mary Ann: Dutch?
Professor: It makes me think of tulips and windmills. That's pretty girly.
Mary Ann: Point.
Ginger: No, French is girlier.
Skipper: You cold-blooded fish! French is the language of amour!
Ginger: The hell?
Skipper: OF LOVE! It's the language OF LOVE! Idiot!
Ginger: Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your raging estrogen!
Skipper: You're the one in the dress!
Ginger: They made me!
Skipper: (Mockingly, in a girly voice.) "They made me!" That's real manly.
Mary Ann: Why are men always like this?
Professor: I'm not always like that.
Mary Ann: You don't count.
Professor: Thanks.
Mrs. Howell: Who would have thought that a send-up of a classic television sitcom would have become such a startling exposé of societal expectations and gender roles.
Mr. Howell: Robin, can I have another piece of pie?
Mrs. Howell: Certainly. (She rescues one from Gilligan and hands a slice to Mr. Howell.)
Mr. Howell: This is really good pie.
Mrs. Howell: (Serving herself a slice.) I agree.
Gilligan: Are they still arguing about who's girlier?
Mrs. Howell: They are.
Gilligan: Shouldn't a real man be secure in his manliness and not constantly feel the need to reassert it?
Mr. Howell: Ooh! That's really profound! I don't constantly feel the need to reassert my manliness.
Mrs. Howell: Then that makes you manlier than those guys.
Mr. Howell: Even though I'm a reindeer?
Mrs. Howell: Even though you're a reindeer. (Mr. Howell's eyes go all sparkly.)
Professor: You know, we still haven't discussed a way off the island.
Mr. Howell: Why don't we build a raft? (There is a silence.)
Professor: Don't be ridiculous. That would never work.
Mr. Howell: Why not?
Professor: Because...!
Gilligan: How would we fit all the pie on the raft?
Professor: Exactly! ... Wait.
Mary Ann: There is a problem with a raft. First of all, we don't have a Log Pose. How would we navigate? I'm good, but even I'm not that good.
Ginger: Who says this island is on the Grand Line?
Skipper: Don't contradict her!
Mary Ann: Plus, if we can expect someone to be looking for us... can we expect someone to be looking for us?
Mrs. Howell: I don't think so.
Mary Ann: Hmm. That's going to be a problem. U--er, Professor. Can you build us some kind of firework or flare?
Professor: If I had the proper components.
Mary Ann: Good! Gilligan, Skipper, get to work looking for whatever he needs.
Skipper: Yes, Miss Mary Ann!
Mr. Howell: Ooh! She's so assertive.
Skipper: Isn't it wonderful?
Mary Ann: I said get to work!
Skipper: YES! (He scurries off to do so, dragging Gilligan with him.)
Professor: I don't know that they'll find all the components on this island.
Mary Ann: Nonsense. You can do anything you set your mind to!
Professor: I also meant that they didn't give me the chance to tell them what they're looking for.
Mary Ann: ... Oh.
Mrs. Howell: Should we send out the search party now, or wait a bit?
Mary Ann: Ah, come on. It's not like I sent out Ginger over there.
Ginger: Hey.
Professor: So essentially, you and I are our only hope for rescue.
Mary Ann: Essentially.
Professor: And yet we're "the rest"?
Mary Ann: If people can't see how awesome we are, it's their loss.
Professor: (Shaking his head.) Fangirls and fanboys.

Voiceover: Next time, on Luffy's Island, Mr. and Mrs. Howell set off to look for the Skipper and Gilligan. Ginger looks stunning in her red evening gown. The rest do some other stuff.

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A/N: I hope we have all learned A Valuable Lesson today.

Namely that I am egotistical and twelve so I have to sit here for a while going, "You came out... of the closet," and snickering to myself.