The RSM is a group of friends, most of whom, in the wonderful tradition of the Internet, had never met face-to-face when they formed their strange bond. It started with four women who shared an interest in beautiful men, slash, tattoos, Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey, and automatic weapons. From those humble beginnings it mushroomed into a huge, uncontrollable, nuclear-powered behemoth that tore open the bars of its puny little digital prison and proceeded to mutilate and shred...Sorry, wrong story.

Where was I? Oh, yes. These four friends each told more friends who told more friends, until, finally, everybody had someone to talk to in those lonely three-in-the-morning caffeine-addled moments in front of the computer. And not just someone to talk to, someone who understood the trauma of being a slash addict alone on the net while the rest of their unsuspecting city is sleeping, secure in their innocent belief that nothing bad could ever really happen as long as they brushed their teeth every night before bed and didn't litter.

Meanwhile, the nuclear-powered behemoth, sensing the presence of its favorite prey, and not just its favorite, but the hard-to-come-by chocolate-covered vanilla clone variety that Baskin Robbins just won't stock, crept ever closer to...Sorry.

This group of dedicated slash-addicts continued to grow until one of them (no one will admit to it, but we all have our favorite suspects) screamed "Enough! My hard-drive is melting! My monitor has a permanent fog-effect from all the heavy-breathing! My server is over-loading!"

At that point we were, regretfully, forced to impose a moratorium on new memberships or risk sanity melt-down. Hopefully, given time and enough Prozac, this will prove to be a temporary condition. If conditions in the sanitarium ever stabilize sufficiently to allow new members, a notice will be posted in this space. So check frequently. You never can tell what we'll get up to when no one's looking.

Having finished off the vanilla clones, with sprinkles (no extra charge), the nuclear-powered behemoth turned, and from the outer corner of its third eye, spotted the all to distinctive tail-feathers of its arch-enemy, Skippy--the RSM's Attack Emu. Growling deep in its breathing-pouch the behemoth lowered its bifurcated chin and prepared to charge. Just then...