Just like a zombie movie

They stood before him, barely moving. He gripped the weed whacker, and fingered the trigger. The sun was hot, and he could smell their cloying stench in the still air.

Nothing to do but go for it.

He pulled the trigger,and the weed whacker spun to life. Whirring noisily, he took a step forward and swiped at the nearest foe. The buzz deepened as the cord bit into rubbery flesh, but it quickly rose to a wine again once it passed through. One down.

Initially, he was cautious. He probed along the edges of the crowd; cutting a few down here, then moving to another part. Never letting himself get too deep in. It was slow going, but at least it was going.

Looking up, he saw the thickest mass of them yet. Shocked, his finger slipped off the trigger. The weed whacker slowed, then stopped. In the sudden silence, neither side moved. Then, almost as one, they swayed towards him.

"To hell with this," he thought. "It's taking too long. I'll get tired. Or the weed whacker will break. Or the twine will run out. Just take them head on."

He stepped into the thickest part and raised his improvised weapon, swinging it in a wide arc. He was wearing gloves, but his arms were bare and he could feel bits of pulp and sticky matter landing on them. He angled the whacker the wrong way and a spray of organic debris arced up into the air, landing on his head, his face, his shoulders. They never made a sound. Whole swaths of them cut down, and not single cry of pain or agony. They went down like grain, like wheat, like...well, like weeds. A sense of wild euphoria gripped him, and he fought the urge to laugh.

Aside from how he'd look doing it, some of that shit might get in his mouth.

There was a faint smell of ozone, like something just on the point of burning. He didn't know if it was the motor in the weed whacker, the friction of the twine against their flesh, or both. It hung in his nostrils, blotting out the sticky sweet aroma that wafted off the remains. Then a fleck landed on his lip, and he could suddenly taste it...

It was the better part of an hour before it was over. By the time he was finished, there was so much on him it looked like he'd rolled around in the remains. But his expression showed a hint of pride as he lifted the whacker to one shoulder and surveyed his handiwork.

"It might not be the easiest way," he said to himself "and it might be messy. But it'll be at least a month before I have to come into the backyard and take care of these weeds again."

Mario's my Bitch (or) The True Story of How I Saved the Mushroom Kingdom

It was an innocent enough day. I was over at the Mushroom house, booking some guys for bio-enhancing fungus sales, when I got the call. A 1-9-8-6. Time to earn my pay.

I pulled up to the Koopa Place around 11:30 that morning. World 1- Castle 1. You know the place. Everyone does. Not the best of neighborhoods. Turtledoves and Koopas everywhere. I had to do some serious stomping to get inside. By that time it was nearly noon. Looked like I was skipping lunch again.

Inside the castle, I had to run down a few hallways before I found the right room. Doorway so large, it might as well have been 16-bit. What did a guy need doors like that for inside a castle? I had a bad feeling about this. I punched a block, popped a mushroom, and tapped A. Time to go to work.

The boss room was nice, no doubt about it. Lava on the floor, sconces in the wall. And of course, no save point in sight. Come to think of it, I couldn't remember the last time I saved. Those are the kind of mistakes that cost lives. Oh, and did I mention the giant prehistoric turtle demon? Cause he was there too.


Bowser's not all bad. People don't see that. They just see this demonic looking refugee from a Ninja Turtles movie and immediately assume he's gotta be put down. But I've talked to the guy a few times. He's alright. He just has a thing for the sauce. And mushrooms. I've told him before to cut back. Once those things get in him, it's all "No one understands me" and "Why don't I have a girlfriend". Then next thing you know he's kidnapping princesses and spitting fire at Italian plumbers. And that's how I got here.

So I start jumping up and down, warming up a bit. Sure enough, Bowser starts his spiel, all "Why are you here? Leave us alone, we're just talking!". I join the conversation, compliments of my A button and my size 12s.

Bowser's a pretty tough nut to crack, but it's all about physiology. I read a book about it once. It's like how sharks don't like being hit in the nose. Bosses? Nine times outta ten, you just gotta go for the head. They can't handle it. Of course, Bowser's the exception. Jump on his head, and all you'll get is a personal visit with St. Peter. Just so happens yours truly knows his weak spot. I'm a professional. It's my job.


I'll be honest with you, there's nothing calms a guy down like getting dumped in lava. I'll never understand why Bowser installed a rickety rope bridge as the floor in his throne room. Or why he put a giant lever in the corner that drops the whole thing into a lake of molten rock. I'm just glad he did. And what did I get for all my work? Jack squat. That punk Mario goes and takes all the credit. Princess even gave him a kiss. I heard they're going steady now. But I imagine it won't be long till she calls me. With that stache, I bet the plumber's a wife beater.