Protowank fromma dawna time
Once upon a time there existed a harmless little band of brothers called Hanson. They were blond and cute and wrote cheerful little songs with nonsensical choruses. They had a lot of fans. Like, a lot of fans.

Some of whom wrote something they called Hanfic. They had websites and awards and everything. And we all know what that means.



"Any awards in support of hanfiction which fails to highlight the utterly brilliant "Now Tell Us What You Heard" by the equally brilliant Jessica Rose as Best Short Story doesn't even deserve to be on the internet. The story is beyond fanfiction; it's real, and it's breathtaking. It's called literature... Something most Hanson fanfiction readers seem to not be able to recognize, apparently."

And someone else replies: ". . . while some of her criticisms are quite valid, I think that she may be taking this whole thing just a little too seriously."

"Sanity!" you say? Think again.

What I think we need to do, Jenn, is get together and have our own LITERARY HANFIC AWARDS.

It's just ... God. The wank! How could I have not noticed this when I was eleven and reading reams of hanfic every day? (On second thought, don't answer that.)

Also, a hanfic writer repents of her sins. Oh, my God, Hanson was made up of real people! And I didn't even notice!

Why, exactly, does she think the world will not be kind to Taylor Hanson's son? His parents are rich and the press seems, amazingly enough, to be leaving them alone. Looks like a pretty peachy life to be born into, if you ask me.

There's more. I will find it.