It is fair to assume that after two months without being seen, lost in the vast wilderness aptly named "Browse" that we would never again see our brave heroes. The person to assume that would, sadly, be incorrect. Due to contractual obligations and a strangely strong sense of masochism, this narrator cannot stand to leave this story untold. So it is with a heavy heart, tears streaming down my cheeks, and a contraption to force my eyes open so that I cannot peel them away from this horrible piece of art, that I continue this story.

It is fair to assume that after two months without being seen, lost in the vast wilderness aptly named "Wilderness" that we would never again see our brave heroes. The person to assume that would, sadly, be incorrect. Due to an empty gas tank and a strangely strong lack of intelligence, the seven members packed into the small car belonging to one Paris Hilton had stalled out in the middle of nowhere. So it was with a flawed piece of biology and geology information, very little thought, and an overwhelming amount of flirtation from a head Gamemaker obsessed with cats towards the four unfortunate members of a boy band, that this story continues.

"This is hot," Paris Hilton said, for once in her life referring to the temperature which was indeed quite high, rather than the attractiveness of the situation, was was quite not hot.

"Hey James," Angel Markianas cooed in a very un-seductive voice. "Why don't you blow on me to cool me down."

"That's not hot," Paris Hilton said.

"You know what's not hot?" The District Two boy who's name this narrator both does not know and does not care about says. "The fact that we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no service, so I can't even log on to Itunes to listen to Eminem's new album!"

"Maybe I could be of some assistance!" Came the voice of Toccata Toucan, an Enchantimal knock-off who's form has been mysteriously deleted. "It appears you are out of gas."

"Thanks, very helpful," Angel Markianas said sarcastically, while Paris Hilton nodded in quite serious agreement.

"So, all we have to do is make some gas!" Toccata cheered.

"How do we make gas?" Kendall, the leader of BTR asked, or maybe asks, as this narrator cannot recall which tense he has been using.

"Ooh, I know!" Logan, the smartest of BTR (a very impressive feat) exclaimed. "Oil comes from dinosaurs that have decomposed!"

"So we just need to find a dinosaur!" Carols, the wildcard, shouts, seemingly unaware of the current population of dinosaurs on earth.

"Wait, aren't birds like, the ancestors of dinosaurs?" Angel asks curiously.

"Yes!" Toccata proudly proclaims. "Birds are the modern day dino-"

BOOM!

Before Toccata can finish her sentence a bullet enters her forehead.

"Oh shit!"

"Fuck, man, that's fucked!"

"What the hell?"

"That's hot."

"What?" Angel asks, tucking the pistol back into her belt. "She said birds are dinosaurs, she's clearly some sort of bird, so all we have to do is just shove her corpse into the gas tank and wait for her to decompose."

"That-" Logan starts, but then he pauses, unable to find a hole in the plan, in much the opposite way as one would not have trouble finding a hole in Toccata's forehead.

And so our story sadly continues. With the seven members stuffing the body of the twelve-year-old girl who is not a bird into the extremely small tank of a car in a manner that is best not described, nor left up for the imagination. It is in fact best to leave it up to no thought whatsoever, and instead ignore the situation altogether. And while one is at that they may decide to ignore this entire story, including but not limited to the increasing murder count of Angel Markianas, the Hot Dog in District One, and the horribly sad tale that was Athena Da Vinci's story.

It is also best not to think about the amount of time that it takes a dinosaur to decompose into oil, just as it is unwise to consider whether or not a bird decomposes into oil at all. It would be quite intelligent to think about as many things as Toccata Toucan thought about as her body was squeezed into a one inch hole. Nothing.

With Nothing,

~The Narrator