The Reality of Super Mario

You'd think video games used to be simple. Back in the day, you had a joystick with one button. After that, you had a direction pad with two buttons. Now you've got two kids, a nagging wife, and no money left for the strip club, a direction pad, two sticks, a kick start, four plug outlets, a Dolby surround sound speaker system, and eighty-three buttons. Things get more complicated as the years go by. Run, jump, hit that block, kick that turtle, straddle that flagpole... The goal was easy; Get to from the left side to the right side before the clock runs out. (Isn't it odd the movie 'In Time' mimics perfectly what happens when the timer reaches zero?)


Nowadays, it seems like everything has to have a story. There needs to be character development, rich environmental eye candy, nonstop f-bombs, lies about cake, something about... hot coffee... No more up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, start. We need achievements, unlockables, 3-dimensional concept art, and eighteen hundred difficulty settings (If you make it through sex nuts & retard strong nightmare mode, it unlocks FML mode). The mystery in all of this is... what if the older games really did have a story behind them? What if there's a deeper meaning behind the games we grew up with? What if Super Mario Bros. was more than just an innocent 8-bit run to the end?

 Mario has no life. He lives in Brooklyn as a plumber. Pretty simple concept, but that won't really make for an excellent and compelling game. Mario bunks with his brother Luigi, but Luigi has a severe crack addiction. He's as skinny as can be and fidgety; afraid of his own shadow. Mario wants to help somehow, but he has no idea where to begin to assist his brother in kicking the habit, so he does what any plumber in New York would do in his situation... He spends his power bill money on a bag of mushrooms. Mario loves these little chunks of cow patty fungus so much, he even puts them in his spaghetti just before he rides the go-karts down the street. His bills are piling up so fast, he feels like he's just flushing his life (and all of his green) down the tubes. He has to get away somehow, and these magic mushrooms always do the trick. They make him feel eight feet tall, like he can do anything.

Mario imagines himself in a magical kingdom with castles...and turtles. He calls it the mushroom kingdom. Every day is bright and sunny and there are gold coins everywhere! His financial problems are over! But what's this? The mushrooms are coming to life and walking around! He'll have to stomp on them all. No one's going to take his coins. He has to... What was it he had to do again?

Mario gets so mad at the little mushroom monsters, he begins to spit fire. The fire represents his pent up rage. The turtles attack from the right... well, of course they come in from the right... Mario's unsure of what will happen next, so he sees blocks with giant question marks on them. He feels like he can do anything with these mushrooms. He feels stronger; more lively. (In reality, Mario runs around, punching brick walls with limp and bloody hands.) More mushrooms come out of the blocks. He grows bigger, like Alice in Wonderland. He wants to keep on doing this forever, so now green mushrooms also come out of the blocks. Mario feels great, like nothing can stop him. He's invincible. he's a bright shining star that flickers like a strobe light as he goes for the flag pole. (In reality, Mario is making a fool of himself on the main stage at the strip club. He sees fireworks as he spappies on the Asian business men in front of him.)

He finally reaches the castle! A little talking mushroom tells him that the princess is in another castle... Princess?? Mario thinks back to all the times he's chased after women just to get a taste of some peach, but he's struggled all his life to find the woman of his dreams; a beautiful princess, just to find she's always out of reach.

Mario begins to call himself "Super" Mario. He's been on a diet of mushrooms and flowers out of people's front yards, trying to get to the "princess".
He calls them fire flowers. Traveling from castle to castle, collecting all the coins he finds laying around, stuffing into his pockets various items like mushrooms, feathers, frogs, dead raccoons, whistles, dry leaves, and not to mention poor defenseless turtles that he throws at people from his car, Mario needs more mushrooms... just another little boost of super strength...

The world he sees becomes everything from a land where everything is gigantic, to a land of chocolate and cookies; doughnuts and cupcakes. (in reality, Mario crawls along the floor of a candy shop with a dead bird in his hands, plucking the feathers and pretending like he's flying.) He keeps thinking about those turtles and how much he hates them. He becomes so paranoid about the turtles, he suspects there's a giant one guarding the princess, keeping him from his sweet, sweet piece of tail.

Wandering aimlessly around the mushroom kingdom, Mario gets so lonely. He takes a dead frog from his pocket and starts talking to it, calling it "Toad". He needs a little buddy, like a dinosaur that could reach out with his tongue and find him more mushrooms (In reality, Mario is licking the toad).

Day and night, he crawls around the sewer system, continuing his search for the princess. All of these magical pipes are so confusing, there's got to be a way to warp out of here... Mario blows his magic whistle (In reality, he's trying to start his car) and is somehow transported to a Kart race along a road made of beautiful rainbow. everyone is trying to get to the finish, throwing bob-ombs, banana peels, and red shells at his Kart (In reality, Mario is being chased by several cop cars). Mario finally makes it to the finish, and the mushroom Kingdom celebrates, setting off fireworks. (In reality, Mario jumps out of the car and is shot all to hell by the police as people stand around and stare at the wounded plumber's blood-stained, blue overalls.)

"What a crazy son-of-a-bitch." said officer Bird.

"You said it, Birdo." replied Lieutenant Bowser. "I'm just glad we took that bastard down before he crashed straight into the Yoshi Dragon Chinese restaurant."

Mario's fans adorned their hero with a medal for winning the race to save the Mushroom Kingdom from the Evil King Koopa. (in reality Officer Bowser slaps handcuffs on the lunatic plumber.)

Days later in the real world, Mario's brain had been so damaged by all kinds of narcotics and hallucinogens, that he now sits in a padded room wearing a straight jacket, laughing hysterically and shouting "It'sa me, Mario! Woo hoo! Woo hoo!"

Stay tuned next time for the Adventures of Luigi's "Mansion".

I'm Tired of tasting Your Rainbow

I was having a conversation with a friend on facebook the other day and their post was about gay rights. I think you can already see where this is going. Since I haven't pissed anyone off in a while, I feel it's an obligatory prerogative to keep the proverbial ball rolling. Keep in mind, this is one of those oh, so delicious topics that will unmistakeably piss someone off no matter what you say, so I've decided not to talk about  gay rights, even though I cum when I piss people off.

Throughout American history, blacks, women, gays, and animal lovers (and when I say lovers, I probably mean folks in Tijuana, but not necessarily. The best part about that is that I just made you imagine a woman blowing a donkey without saying it outright... and if that didn't work, I just said it outright, so you're welcome; and get that big veiny donkey penis out of your brain, you damn pervert.) .... where was I. Oh yes... blacks, women, gays, and animal lovers have been fighting for equal rights of some kind and I'm not any one of those. I'm a white male; the only person in America that loses rights on a daily basis because all anyone else has to do is claim that I discriminated against them about their sex, skin, beliefs, or lifestyle; which makes me the most discriminated against person on the planet by American standards, but that's a topic for another time.

The topic at hand is not about gay rights, but instead about gay "pride". I understand that if you're going to live a certain way, the last thing you need to be is ashamed of it. Go big or go home, I guess (this time I'm not talking about penises). Whatever your moral standing, or whichever standards of right or wrong you live by, you should at least live it with a sense of confidence. Not to say you shouldn't be humble at times and open to correction, but blatant pride in anything is stupid at best. Today's topic isn't even about the psychological effects of pride; imagine that. To be honest I'm thinking about instantly changing the subject to the economic development of donkey shows in America, now that you can't get that huge, hairy donkey scrotum out of your head. Seriously, you should forget about that and let me get back on topic.

I, personally, am not gay. There's no reason for me to hate gays. To me, being gay is like a smoker vs. a non-smoker, or someone who doesn't wear underwear. I absolutely hate mushrooms, but is there reason for me to hate people who love to eat them? ... maybe.... My point is, Having sex with the same sex is just something gays like to do. I have nothing to do with what they like to do, so why should I impose myself onto their personal habits. I bite my fingernails, but I don't see a coalition conspiring to convince America that God hates nail biters. God hates all sin, and yes I believe homosexuality is a sin, but I also believe smoking is a sin, which includes myself, so why, oh why would I completely ignore the fact I like to do something I believe is wrong, yet abhor people that do something that doesn't even involve me. To be honest, I know smokers who really piss me off, but every gay I've ever met has always been pleasant to be around. Still thinking about that donkey penis? Good. Today's topic isn't about homosexual religious convictions either. Jesus Christ why don't I get with it already?

What I want to talk about is how much it pisses me off that some gays shove their sexual preference in my face. what do I mean by that? I'm talking about things like gay pride parades and over-the-top flamboyancy; things that don't need to be out in public. Why? Let me explain. Sex is fun of course. I'll admit, I for one put it at the tippy-top of my list of things to do for the day; but like any respectful person should, I keep my sex life private, behind closed doors. I don't have parades honoring the fact that I like to put my junk in my wife's trunk. I mean.... I should... I totally should... but I don't. I don't because my sexual preference and/or lifestyle doesn't need to be out in the streets, and neither does anyone else's.

"heh, heh... Donkey show..."

The fact remains that if you either like to smoke pole or munch the sideways sloppy joe and you have the same parts, it's still a sexual preference. I'm not arguing whether or not it's a choice. It is a choice you make, but it's also not a choice whether or not you want to be that way. Like I said, I hate mushrooms, but I can't consciously make the choice to like them, because I don't. You can't just make yourself like something you don't like. Where's your free will now, fundamental christians?

My point is, sex, whether it be with a man or a woman, should be a private matter. Putting your gayness in a public setting, just because you're prideful of it, is imposing on me details about your sex life that I didn't ask for. That's the thing. What about kids? Do they need to know about total strangers' sex lives? "Oh, it's okay honey. They're just putting on this parade to show who they like to have sex with."

"Why?"

"Because they want everybody to know."

"Why?"

"Because it makes christians mad."

"Why?"

"Because they think God hates fags."

"What's a fag?"

"It's a cigarette; now shut the f*ck up and look at the floats."

"What's f*ck?"

"It's what these guys like to do to each other, hence the parade. God, what are you, stupid?"

"I'm 3."

Then people wonder why I'm having this conversation with a total stranger's child. Hey, she asked. What was I supposed to do? Ignore the kid and be rude?

I hope you've read all the way through this post and understand, like I'm telling you now, that I feel no need to debate nit-picky issues and that being said, I'm not going to. If your opinion is negative in any way, your comment will never see the light of day here, so good luck with that. This post had the intent of opening avenues of thought and to make you laugh a little; it will not in any way shape or form fuel your agenda, no matter your stance.......... DONKEY PENIS!!

That's Just... Special Needs?

When I was a kid, we used to call each other names, like butt-head, momma's boy, and dingle-berry (those little chunks of poop that hang to the hair on your sphincter). We said things like, "I know you are, but what am I" and the other kid would try to say something new, as to expand their vocabulary skills. Some people said those things to make others feel bad, some people like me used to say them just to get a laugh out of everyone else, but most of the other kids used those words primarily to hear the words themselves come out of their mouth, as if it was some sort of a rite of passage into becoming an adult. Nowadays, I don't really think it's all that different. We call each other fagot, retard, nigger, spic, cracker, fat-ass, bitch, and sometimes Chester the child molester. A lot of the time, friends will use these words to joke around with each other without any kind of hostility; it's just a way for them to express their comfort level with each other and maybe get a laugh in here and there. The only difference between this and when we were kids is that all over the country, not only do people make videos of two chicks licking their own poop out of a cup, those terms are used within a context of deep-seeded hatred towards the people they speak against. I can't help it if I likes 'em young... and retarded....and usually wearing food themed costumes... which in a sense leads me to my subject for the day.

I apologize in advance; this post is not about food themed costumes.

I don't usually go around calling people names (I have a much more colorful vocabulary to exercise), but I do appreciate being able to use words for their meaning without ignorant yuppies duct taping my mouth because they get offended in the name of other people, taking the blame to steal the credit in so many words. Ah, the college hippies and preppy schmucks in this world love to find things that'll make others notice them. They should find a cup and have at it.

What I'm talking about mainly is the word retarded. Now so far I only know of a few uses for the word; someone that's mentally handicapped, when you think an idea or situation is dumb in nature (i.e. the fact Obama is still in office is retarded), or possibly when something is slow and doesn't work right (i.e. my printer is retarded). First of all, I want to go to the core of the word itself and find it, not in a back alley doling out penguins for smack, but in a dictionary somewhere... possibly looking for meth. Let's take a look at what it says at dictionary.com:

re·tard·ed

 adjective

1.

characterized by retardation: a retarded child.

   

 noun

2. 

( used with a plural verb ) mentally retarded  persons collectively (usually preceded by the ): new schools for the retarded.

 

But now lookie what somebody snuck in at thefreedictionary.com:

re·tard·ed  (r-tärdd)

adj.

1. Often Offensive Affected with mental retardation.

2. Occurring or developing later than desired or expected; delayed.

Often offensive? Why does that definition have nothing to do with the second one? One of them is the actual definition, the other one sneaks in a little usage in there; but it's completely subjective as to what's offensive, isn't it? Here's my point. I have someone in my family that is mentally retarded. If I talk about him to anyone, that's what I say. I say he's retarded. I've been told that he's not retarded, he's a special needs child, or he's mentally handicapped. I don't see a difference other than the fact that people these days don't want to face the truth. If a child is mentally handicapped, they're retarded by definition. I know you feel bad for them; I do too, but you're acting retarded.... and stop licking that doorknob!

 Let's talk about the term special needs. I have an overwhelming urge to get off at least five times a day, so much in fact it impairs my better judgment (there's a little fun fact about me for you). That's a special need. You can call it a want, an addiction, or even a hobby; I call it a need. Smokers have the ability to choose to quit smoking... or do they? Most of them need to smoke, otherwise they wouldn't keep doing it for lack of better judgment. Some people smoke those godawful clove cigarettes. I'd consider those people in the special needs category. Circus clowns who have to wear custom-made, comically large, medically prescribed shoes because they have comically large flat feet. That's pretty special.  My point is, you can use the term for a wide diversity of things without ever touching on the mental aspect. Retarded means retarded when earnestly describing a person. There are those who call it "the R word". Seriously? I'm sorry you're not able to handle a group of letters made to create a sound that comes out of your mouth and is used in a derogatory or vulgar way, but you can't simply erase the words themselves and replace them with more flowery words in an attempt to mask your insecurities about what it means. If everyone did that, we could lose the words tease, cow, chicken, whale, toothpick, fairy, cupcake, princess, spade, eggplant, yellow, cracker, jerk, junior, and fruity just to name a few. If you really want to split hairs, the word special is used for people to make fun of each other by insinuating they're retarded. Let's get rid of that one too. We'll have to come up with yet another charmingly spoken, non-offensive sidestep term for a word we already have. Let's just call them not retarded. That's what you're going for isn't it? If they're not retarded, you should be able to call them, not retarded. Yet, you come up with a new term that means the same thing in order to push your agenda that the person in question isn't retarded, they're just underdeveloped mentally. Wait..... We HAVE a word for that! It's called, retarded. If they are retarded, you should be able to call them retarded. Sorry, but we don't have a word that means retarded but not retarded. I doubt we ever will. We might, however, have solar powered socks one day... I don't know the science behind it, but doesn't it sound expensive?

 

This is what retarded looks like with money.

I just thought this was funny. Enjoy.

Don't get me wrong, the word retard isn't really necessary, even though it has a hint of meaning the same thing; it's use is always derogatory and I can understand when someone takes offense, but that's still no reason to deny others' freedom of speech. I don't care what people call me, they're allowed to say anything they like, and in return I'm allowed to say anything I like. That's the way freedom works. Instead you have all of these stuck-up bigots with retarded kids and nothing better to do, trying to take freedoms away, knowing full well that there isn't one single retarded child taking offense.




So, the message for today is: Stop trying to pretend certain words shouldn't exist because of the way others use them. Not only that, stop getting offended about every little thing! The rest of us are running out of room to breathe. Besides, ff you really want to replace the word retarded with another word that has similar meaning........ how about, Juggalo?

Pro Life, Pro Death, Pro Choice, Pro Choiceless

Sometimes, there's a need to be serious. This is not one of those times; but if I'm known for one thing, I'm known for controversy. Why? Because it's fun and it's free. It's fun because people get offended all day long and I was put on this Earth by God himself to put my finger in your face and poke you over and over, asking you if it's annoying yet. Why do people get mad because you dislike, disagree, teach/preach against whatever it is they're promoting? That's simple. People hate your opinion because they want their peers to think their opinion is right. When you challenge that absolute authority, you're trying to get a piece of the lion's elk. Sometimes you can have the end that loosened up postmortem, but they usually save that end for Kathy Griffin.


People ask all the time, are you "pro choice" or "pro life" ? Do they ask because they're curious like asking you your favorite color? Hardly. They ask you because they're dying to tell you their stance on the issue and most likely want to debate you on the matter if your opinion differs from theirs. People love to shove highly debatable grenades in your anus, just to see if it explodes out of your mouth. Now me, I like anus bazookas... That came out wrong... What I meant was, I enjoy shoving back; especially with points that make sense. I hope no one got as turned on as I did right there... Did they?

See, I have no idea how long people will argue about whether or not abortion is morally right or wrong, but that's not the only way to argue the issue. First of all, Why are the two stances called Pro life and Pro choice? Either you're aborting the baby or you're not aborting the baby, right? Aren't those opposite choices? Either you do it, or you don't do it. (Kind of like... you got raped by a gang of 80-year-old women dressed as Storm Troopers, or you didn't get raped by 80-year-old women dressed as Storm Troopers.) Maybe they should be named as such. Instead of calling it Pro life and Pro choice, call it Pro life and Pro death (or even "Pro prevent life"). Why don't they call it pro death? That's pretty obvious; no one can push their agenda when they blatantly say they favor death. What's funny is, Pro life is in the perspective of the baby, Pro choice is in the perspective of the mother. Isn't that a little odd, that one "choice" is named to favor the one that can't consciously make a decision and one "choice" favors one that can? On the other side of the coin we could always call it Pro choice and Pro choiceless. In this scenario, Pro choice being in the perspective of the mother and Pros choiceless being in the perspective of the baby. Seems only fair, don't you think?


You would think if it's the woman's body and she has the right to make the choice to play God, whether or not to give someone the chance to live, then the state should have a right to also play God and tie that b*itch's tubes so she'll never have the need to make the choice in the first place. Did that sound a little harsh? I mean, gee Wally... How do I even know this woman we're talking about is a b*tch in the first place? I don't know, probably because she's erasing some guy's future wife, who lightly kisses him and wraps her arms around him when he gets home from work, or some little girl's father who teaches her how to ride a bike and put sprinkles on her cookies...I might be an *sshole, but I'm a softy *sshole... Now that I think about it, that sounds like a horrible ice cream flavor.

In fact, no one that's aborted as a fetus, will never get to experience any joys in life. They'll never get to have kids of their own or watch a sunset. They'll never fall in love, read a book, drive a car, fly in an airplane, get corn stuck in their teeth, or crap their pants because they trusted that fart too much. Even with all of these things that these women prevent on an emotional level, I don't really think arguing emotionally will solve a problem. Everything should make sense on a logical level as well, which is why I think the choices themselves should be renamed to reflect the reality in the contrast. That, and I think Olive Garden should be renamed "Stand Outside and Wait Three Hours for Obese Southerners to Finish Eating".

But let's think about it another way. Let's say a woman considers herself professional; she has a career, a mortgage, an unwillingness to close her legs; a whole life ahead of her. I agree having a baby isn't the most logical choice to make. Deciding what color to paint the walls in the bathroom is a big decision too. (if you trust your farts too often, you'll be seeing those walls a lot) However, one choice ends or prevents the life of a human, the other merely inconveniences another. Of course there are cases where there could be complications and having the baby could kill the mother. I mean.... no person would sacrifice their life for their child, right? That would just be too noble to give up a part-time job at Starbucks. The fact of the matter is in most cases, you do something that can result in unwanted consequences and somehow you can dispose of those consequences, like spending actual money to see The Village. I can't get that money back, people. But this isn't a movie that can be over with in a couple of hours. This is something that the natural process will turn into a human life, something that's more valuable than your budget, your car, your cell phone bill, your career, and your newly painted bathroom combined. There is no excuse someone can come up with that will justify what was more important than letting that baby be born. Nothing. The baby's gonna be retarded (excuse me, mentally retarded)? My nephew is like that and he's the best behaved, most awesome child you'll ever meet. The experiences he's given the people around him since he's been born are priceless. Plus, as he gets older, his poop gets bigger and that's just hilarious for whoever has to clean that up.


 With everything else in life, people have to take responsibility for the choices they make. Not this time bubba. Joe Pesci comes over and says, "scrape that tissue, end the issue" (You can quote me on that, you heard it here first folks.) it's a little hard to whack an embryo from the inside with a baseball bat, but you'd be surprised how resourceful Italians can be. I know; they tell me all the time.

Anyway, that's enough for today. Tune in next time when I wear my underwear backwards to ward off those little river bugs that crawl up your pee hole.

Facebook Changes and You Can't Stand It

I've been hearing rumors going around lately that it stings when I pee. Why is it I'm always the last to hear about these things? You would think for once I could be the one to come up with a new rumor, but every time I think of something, I have to stop what I'm doing to go to the bathroom... and it hurts really bad.

People have been complaining a lot lately about what Facebook is doing with its interface. Apparently people dislike change; so much in fact, they use Facebook's new interface to bitch about Facebook's new interface. All day long for at least the last two days I've seen statuses pop up basically stating that Facebook needs to stop changing the mechanics in how we use it to convey important information like what song lyrics explain our entire lives, which chain letter about Jesus and breast cancer we can copy and paste from our alcoholic aunt's wall to guilt trip our double cousin into "raising awareness", and finding just the right angle to capture the artistic pulchritude of the cleavage while still maintaining the integrity of the bathroom sink. Our day-to-day lives are so crucially important in fact, if we don't find a music video from the 80's on Youtube to share with "friends of friends" that coincide with our mood immediately, the moment will be lost forever and some guy in Birmingham Alabama will never understand why I got mad when my strawberries in Farmville didn't show up. I can't tell you how many times I needed those few extra seconds that the newly interfaced news stream stole from me, the twelve second, low quality video that my one good friend (I can't remember her name at the moment) uploaded of her cat sitting on the toilet seat like a little person almost interfered with my work schedule. I blame Facebook for that.

 

"Meet singles in your area now!... They all look like this, I swear!"

 It's become so difficult to do anything on there now, they should know me well enough that not only do I enjoy clicking on the stock photos of big breasted teenagers on the side bar, I also can't learn good. Do they really expect me to take an extra three minutes to get used to all the changes they made? I have to keep up with what my Sim is doing before it goes into the red! Do you understand the gravity of the situation? It's already going to take up most of my free time tagging myself in the two hundred and eighty four pictures my sister uploaded yesterday from her ultrasound. Facebook needs to understand that I'm a big deal and if I don't comment about how everything is epic and awesome sauce with enough time to watch Rebecca Black's impersonation of a telephone operator, I'm just going to delete my account and say to hell with it. I totally didn't know that yesterday was Thursday, today it is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday and Sunday is afterwords, and I need my news feed to be back the way it was... back when life was simpler.


Facebook doesn't need to worry about making money and it sure as hell doesn't need to try to find new ways to advertise so companies can get their products to sell by using my interests and key words that I talk about on my wall. They have no idea what I want. They don't know anything about what's going on with my friends, like when Brad called Jenny a bitch 'cause she's totally a skank and she cheated on her boyfriends when she was drunk and now she's pregnant with twins. We all deal with important issues that facebook doesn't even know about and can't relate to on a personal level; like this time we all got some coke and broke into the book store because we wanted to see if there was a book on shutting off alarms and window repair. Facebook doesn't even care about Jesus because it didn't copy and paste a poem about the troops. Whoever doesn't agree with everything I post is an idiot and they don't love God the way I do.

The fact of the matter is that Facebook is ultimately a business and they make money by other companies getting to advertise their products to you. That's all it's about. It's not about you; it never was. Every time Facebook changes something, people bitch about it and eventually get used to it, then they bitch about it next time and eventually get used to it. Are we getting the picture? People hate change. That's all it comes down to. Things these days change on a daily basis and Facebook isn't any different. Some day Facebook will be gone and something new will take it's place. Until then, have fun bitching about your news feed and not unimportant things like famine, war, and the economy. Besides, I don't know what the news is anyway... I can't seem to figure this f*$%ing Facebook thing out.