Rolling Hills of Africa

"Splendid, Jeremy."

"Indeed, Reynolds."

"It looks like we hit the jackpot."

"Wicked."

Both Reynolds Robinson and his companion Jeremy stood over the razorback of the latest and greatest wedge of sand which the two pseudo-conquistadors had conquered. And they saw even more for the taking. Here they stood, in the most empty and conquerable portion of the world. And it was all theirs.

"This is all ours." said Jeremy.

Reynolds, the older and superior of the two, replied. "You really don't need to further emphasize points made by the narrator, Jeremy."

"What's it to you? You're the one who just emphasized a point the narrator has already emphasized in numerous articles in the past! Predictably he's taking that same "joke" and putting it into this article because he has no better ideas!"

It was true that the narrator had pulled off the old "Characters of the Story Interact with Each Other Based on the Narration of the Story" joke in the past before, and many times as well. It was blatantly unoriginal.

"Oh, please! I have no decent rebuttal because your counter argument was too swift! Now I'm going to make a reference to some sort of Illogicopedia article by making a weird noise and seeing if it links to an existing article! Sjink!" Snapped Reynolds. His completely random noise did in fact link to an Illogicopedia article.

Jeremy whimpered.

"I want to go home."

"Me too, Jeremy, me too. So much for being conquistadors."

The pair stepped off the top of the couch on which they had been standing throughout the whole story with an imaginary setting.

Jeremy stepped on a lump of flesh on the living room floor.

"Oh look, Fido died!"