How I beat "Super Mario Bros" (Part 1).

I laid on my blanket cluttered bed and looked up at the ceiling, pondering on my short comings and smelling my empty KFC Colonel Chicken Combo bucket. Thoughts drifted in and out of my head: "I'm too short", "I'm too lazy", "I've got incurable testicular cancer from over eating at KFC and 'happy ending' massages". These were troubling thoughts. Too many troubling thoughts. Too many problems. So I tried to sort them out.

I sat at my study table, softly draped in yellow light. I took out a crisp piece of paper and lightly tapped my pen on it, hoping to beat out my problems. Think. Tap, tap, tap. Nothing. Think. Tap, tap, tap. Nothing again. THINK! Tap, TAP, SMASH! I had broken my study table, softly draped in yellow light. I had splinters the size of bigfoot's wang sticking our of bloody cuts on my hand. The table had costed me $150. But, I had more important problems. I slumped into my chair and rubbed my blood ridden hand all over my face in frustration, painting it red. My face was red. My eyes were blinded by my own warm blood. The splinters were cutting my face into shreds. But I had more important problems. I closed my eyes and thought of the biggest problem. "Work". Nope. I needed a bigger problem. "Health". Nope. I needed an even bigger problem! Suddenly, my eyes widen in a mixture of pure "eureka" brilliance and epileptic horror. I shook uncontrollably, like the shake you do when you're about to blow a big one. I had found the problem that had plagued my contrastingly handsome and puberty-filled life.

I had never beaten "Super Mario Bros".

I quickly dressed myself and ran up to my attic, which isn't really an attic because it's underground, so it's really a basement, but I want it to be an attic, but I don't have an attic or a basement. So instead I ran to my closet instead. I opened it, revealing years of suppressed memories. Making out with my grandmother, being raped by a sexually suppresed Kodiak Grizzly Bear, eating a banana. But I had bigger problems. I needed to beat "Super Mario Bros"! So, I pushed the memories deeper into my psyche, causing an even bigger crater of emotional trauma and psychotic troubles. But that didn't care me. I needed to beat "Super Mario Bros".

Quickly, I jumped into the pile of junk in my closet. I threw everything everywhere. My "Blow Up Sex Doll with Interactive Sound Effects" flew to the corner of my room. My collection of hair strands from famous dogs in movies slid across the floor and broke in a fabulous explosion of hair particles, which resembled the image of Lassy spontaneously combusting. A banana flew into my lamp, causing an action movie like Kaboom! with light effects and cool stuff like that which I can't describe because I can't find the words. After a few minutes of digging around, I finally found it. I picked it up with delicate, blood-ridden fingers and sniffed it. It smelt beautiful. It smelt like unfinished business. It smelt like beautiful unfinished business. It smelt like my Nintendo. It was my Nintendo. I blew the dust off its surface and stared at it with glowing and determined eyes. I slowly stroked it gently, feeling its bumps and scars from the last time I threw it into the wall because I couldn't finish "Super Mario Bros". It had been so long ago, yet the memory haunts me and has led me into a depressive spiral of KFC combo meals and sexual images between a piece of string and an Olympus Digital Voice Recorder, which is my life. It has to stop now. I needed to finish "Super Mario Bros". Lightly, I opened the game catridge area. I peered in. It was still there. It was waiting for me. The "Super Mario Bros" cartridge was teasing and taunting me to play again. I will. And this time I will pawn you. I will pawn you like I got pawned from that Kodiak Bear. I needed to finish "Super Mario Bros".

To Be Continued...

Peace out,
Me.