I hid behind a lamp post as the Nostalgia Critic walked majestically out of the house and down the street like a king, and whispered into a 1990s recorder(because they look cooler than cell phones): "Author's log, stardate 3.14159265. I've travelled back in time to the first chapter of this fanfic on a vital mission to amuse myself."

As the Critic ran back to the house, intent on replacing Doug Walker in the "real world"(ah, if only he knew!), I stuck my leg out, causing him to trip. The Critic did not take it kindly. He growled and pulled out a gun.

"Okay, you asked for it, you corduray suit-wearing dick!"

I held my arms up high. "Whoa, whoa, chill out, Critic! I'm just here to help you!"

The Critic looked puzzled. "Help me? Ohhh no, you're not sucking me back into my shitty reality! I will have no more memes, no more weird crossovers and DEFINITELY no more of Donald Trump wanting to be the president. As if that would ever happen!"

"Yeah, just imagine." I deadpan.

The Critic waves his gun at my face. "So whaddaya want?"

"Well, here's the thing... do you know what recursion is?" I ask.

"Uh..."

"Picture a hall of mirrors. The reflections go on for infinity. That is recursion... like an onion with infinite peels!"

The Critic cocks his gun.

"Okay, okay!" I shout, dropping to my knees. "What if I told you that this isn't the real world, but another fictional reality created by a bored fanfic writer? A derivative from your adventures with Terl, Mechakara and the rest. You're a character, Nostalgia Critic... that is why you can never truly get into the real world. You're trapped within the recursive nature of fiction. But I'm here to make your life happy!"

The Critic raises his eyebrow. "... how?"

"I am the fictional avatar of the writer of this story, DarthRushy. Therefore I have complete control over everything you see here. Watch." I turn his gun into a banana. And his penis too, for good measure. The Critic screams.

"Critic?" I try to interrupt him, but he just keeps screaming. "CRITIC!"

I snap my fingers and revert the latter change. The Critic pants. "Hang on a minute..." he says. "If you can change anything, why are we even talking here? Why are you not ruling the world or something?"

"It's just a story, Critic. Nobody would read it if it was just me self-glorifying myself. You're the main character and therefore I just gotta do something with you. Which is why I'm taking you... TO THE FUTURE!"

We sit inside a random DeLorean next to the road and flash away.