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Have you ever heard of hot pockets? They're rather fine culinary cuisine.

Hi, my name is Timmy Taylor. I'm 45 years old, though I have the brain of somebody who is much younger. My understanding is that my mom took herpes medication during her pregnancy, and I was the result. Oh well. I like trains!!!

In any event, if you're like me and I'm like you, you were really looking forward to Super Smash Brothers Ultimate. And how could you not? The game had good music, was fun to play, and most importantly of all, it had good graphics. Unfortunately, I received a rather rude awakening that smashed me super the day that the game was supposed to arrive.

Me, I'm a responsible gamer. In fact, I'm so responsible that I had my mom legally change my middle name back when I was a lad. She cried and cried her way to the town municipal building because I changed my name from some shit that honored her dead brother to 'Gamer', but fuck that, it's my life.

So, I ordered the game well in advance. Well done, so well in advance. I waited by the mailbox, even on Sundays. I was so overwhelmed when it finally arrived. It had the Nintendo logo on the package for some reason, even though I ordered the game from Circuit City online, but I paid the thing no mind. I ran upstairs, grabbed granddad's toenail clippers from the bathroom, and began slashing open the game that would change my life...

For the worse...


I really should have known. I mean. I really, really should have known. When I saw that the title was off, I figured that there was no way that this was the game I had ordered. Super Smash Brothers Disheveled? What the hell kind of name for a video game was that? I got really, really mad and considered mailing the game back to Nintendo, but then I realized something: what I had unknowingly received was a rarity, and could one day be worth a lot of money. But fuck money! I wanted my smash. Oh well. Contemplating a tad bit further, I concluded that this was likely one of those illegal bootleg games that they sell on the black market in Taiwan, so I felt kinda better now. But what I didn't really get was the box art. Super Mario had his hat off and held it in his hand, while blood gushed from a presumed single bullet wound in his forehead. Strange, but that wasn't even the end of it. Kirby's name was 'Krabby', Link was wearing a dress, and Star Fox was now an anthromorphic mule. I let out a scream, but it was far too late. This game had already been made, I had already received a copy, and I now had no other choice but to pop it in and play it. I ran back into the bathroom and got grandpa's Switch out of the cabinet below the mirror, and worked on setting it up. Admittedly, I'm not so good at hooking things up, so I sat in silence for fifteen minutes in the hope of divine intervention. Since nothing happened even at that point, I went downstairs and got grandpa to hook it up. He was in the middle of watching golf and studying a Playboy mag from the roaring 20s, but he loved me very dearly and put it all aside to help me out. What a pal.

Now, at that point, I was scared because I knew that there was no turning back. This game was a mystery, and mysteries often have difficult endings. Blood, guts, bone, sinew, etc. But I figured that I wasn't gonna be a scaredy cat like Luigi. I just had to know the shocking truth.

The game began as normal, I guess, since I never got to play Ultimate so I don't know what normal would even be. What struck me as being a little strange, though, was the copyright notice. "December 25, 1942." Now wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. ... Wasn't that the year that Christopher Columbus discovered America? Perhaps you could even play as Christopher Columbus in this game. Knowing what he did to the Natives (I learned about it in school on Indigenous Person's Day), a shiver went straight down my spine.

I realized that the game was missing a lot of characters. Where was Ness, Captain Olimar, ALF, and Dr. Mario? But that was when I recalled that Smash games have unlockable characters that you can only play as if you win a bunch of fights. That was when I went to do just that. I selected my favorite--Captain Falcon--and perused the icons of all of my potential opponents. Something seemed off with all of them, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. ... Ah, yes. Their eyes were missing. I have a rare psychological condition that keeps me from recognizing people's faces, so I didn't pay too much attention to eyes. I could tell something was off and sinister, though. There was definitely bloody, empty eye sockets on the face of every single character. Oh well. Perhaps this was just a Halloween edition of Super Smash Brothers Disheveled.

I selected Peach as my rival, and the battle began as normal. That was, it only began as normal. I was so, so excited to charge up a falcon punch--my favorite move. It was normally accompanied by Captain Falcon's battlecry of the eponymous 'falcon punch' name, but this time, things were different. "Build the wall!", Captain Falcon exclaimed, punching Princess Peach square in the face. I dropped my controller down. Not because my parents were Democrat, but because... of what happened next.

Princess Peach. Princess Peach. ... Princess Peach had a black eye. What the flipping flying flim flam flannel was this? I was disgusted. So disgusted that I turned the game off. I opened my desk drawer and pulled out my diary and a pen, prepared to write a letter of complaint to Nintendo's HQ in Richmond, WA. I had been a Nintendo fan all my life, but now, I was a Sony supporter.

"Dear Mr. Fills-Aim, I have never hit a girl before until I played your Smash Brothers game, and now I hate you. Signed, Timmy Taylor. P.S., You're next."

I jammed the letter into an envelope, and went downstairs. I quickly gulped down a medical emergency peanut butter and jelly sandwich to squelch my diabetes, and then I went outside to the neighborhood mailbox. It was a freezing, icy cold Winter's day, but something seemed off. I normally liked Winter weather, as well as Winterfresh bubble gum. Had I somehow changed inside? Oh well. My mind refocused when the large blue mailbox on the corner of the road came into view. I stepped off the sidewalk onto the road, and...

Well. This is really weird, but something... something happened. I slipped on the ice in the driveway and into the street. I felt like I had become slightly more vulnerable. I went to get up, and I found a rogue snowball sitting in the middle of the street, among the rest of the snow mounds. Maybe a kid had started molding it, but went inside his house, maybe to play the new Smash Brothers game? Oh well. Call me a snowball thief, but it was my snowball now. Letter in one hand, snowball in another, I made way for the mailbox. I was ready to drop it in, but as I got closer, I could make out that someone was standing there. Because I have trouble with faces, I couldn't make him out at first (not 'make out', I don't mean it like that). I could tell from the yellow and black spotted windbreaker. It was him. The school bully. Damien Isaac!

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Timmy the Tool.", Damien asserted. "I just wrote a letter to my dear old grandmom. But here you are. Disheveled."

"Listen, Damien Isaac, I'm not hurtin' nobody."

"Hurt? Whatcha gonna do, hit me with your petty little snowball? Disheveled? Go home, kid. Before I loose my cool. Disheveled."

Okay, fuck this. I clenched the snowball and grit my teeth. Damien Isaac advanced toward me, and I knew he was going to kick my ass, but maybe I could bother him with a cold shot right into his fuzzy face. I tossed the ball with every ounce of strength I had, and, uh...

Well. I know, this is fucked up. But. He soared off into the air, uncontrollably!

That was not something you ever would've expected. I know I didn't. In fact, if you were expecting something to happen next, you'd expect highly realistic gore to fly everywhere once he hit the ground, but what I can tell you about that is that I never saw him hit the ground. Now, I've heard of helicopter parenting, so maybe, like, his parents had come to get him in an invisible helicopter? But that couldn't be. After all, invisible helicopters did not exist, or at least they don't at the time that I'm writing this right about now. I considered going to the police and filing a missing persons report, but then I remembered that I had an angry message to send to Nintendo headquarters, so I did just that.

I went back home after that. Life continued as normal. I had some hot chocolate and, strangely enough, the soreness from slipping on the ice went away. I figured I was just imagining things, since the school psychologist who got me off of being sent to the 'mental ward' (not really sure what that is) told my parents that I was just an imaginative young man. Whatever. He was a faggot. That means cigarette. Anyway, life continued as normal for a few weeks and I forgot all about the game, even though that doesn't make much sense and you'd expect someone whose life changed like that to not forget such a life experience so easily, but maybe you're just a judgmental prick, so leave me the fuck alone. ... O.K., fine, I admit it: I went out of my way to forget about the game. I watched Richard Simmons workout tapes. Listened to a lot of Weird Al Yankovic. Took out a musty old Saved by the Bell VHS tape and gave that a play. Anything to make me forget about the fact that I had killed somebody my age accidentally by throwing a snowball at him.

Oh, yeah. That. I stopped forgetting about the game one day when I heard a tap, tap, tapping on my chamber door. I opened it up, and mom and dad were there, paused and all tense like. "We heard that you killed a 43 year old boy, son.", dad began, squinting really hard at me through those stylish Buddy Holly glasses of his. "Is this true, son?". "Oh, no. Not our boy.", Mom insisted, crying into a bloody handkerchief. I guessed that there was no point trying to hide things now. It was true: a video game had killed Damien Isaac, and not me. I rushed off to my dresser drawer and pulled out the optical disc copy of Super Smash Brothers Disheveled. "This game is evil.", I explained to the police officer. "Here, let me show you." Now, I know you're not supposed to touch a police officer, but I wanted to show him over to where my guests sit when they come over my house to play games with me. ... Okay, I don't have any friends, shut the f*** up, but if I did, there'd be a seat reserved for them, and by that I mean I was going to permit the officer to sit on the floor while he watched me supersmash the heck out of giant metal Dr. Mecha Mr. Game & Watch Slippy Toad or some shit what the hell do I know I'm not even a real gamer I lied. But... but that was when something ever so horrifying happened. Again.

The police officer's handlebar mustache twitched. Come to think of it, he looked an awful lot like Luigi Mario. He had a green hat and a vacuum cleaner and I'll assume blue eyes because why not, but maybe he was just doing a typical courtesy police vacuum cleaning of a civilian's domicile. Anyway, yeah, it happened again. At first, Officer Luigi's eye popped onto the ground, but then... then... he went jumping. Like, I know Super Luigi jumps really high, but this time he jumped so high that he soared into the ceiling and up through the attic and passed a smiling 8-bit cloud and what I could only assume was the sun. "Mama mia!", his partner screamed in horror. He pulled out his handcuffs and tried to cuff me, but in a fit of ninja stealth defense I opened my dresser drawer again and grabbed a baker's dozen of pretzel rods, throwing them so hard that it hit him in the eyes and I can only assume blinded him.

"You've gotta run, son!", father exclaimed, while I attempted to formulate an escape plot. But it was too late. A master sword had been piercing into his groin! An evil man with elf ears and an impish looking smile beckoned me to come towards him. "Wh--who are you?", I muttered. There was no response. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then it all hit me. It was Link, the mentally challenged mute from the Legend of Link series. In a fate of rage, I grabbed his hat and ran around my room with it before throwing it out my window. I instantly regretted it. He pulled an arrow out of his satchel, and I instantly shit my pants. Link the midget was going to strike me in the center of my heart with a motherfucking arrow! Also, he killed my dad. No, this would not do. I ran over to the window, and I grabbed onto the clothesline. "Go back to Hyrule, you jolly green midget!", I exclaimed, as I frantically moved one hand after another and climbed my way down toward my unkempt lawn. "Yeah, that's right! Cut my grass for some rubies, ya stupid prick!", I hollered... as he shot me square in the SHOULDER! Blood squirted everywhere. I screamed. I fell off the clothesline...

...And into the air. Again? This wasn't how the laws of physics worked. I didn't have time to scream again, this time for my life, if I ever even had one. I went spiraling back toward the ground... where I landed safely. On my feet. As if nothing ever happened.

There was a rat running around my frontyard. It was shooting lightning bolts. I didn't know if it could hurt me, but I guessed it would suck to get zapped by lightning. So I stomped off its head. I went on screaming down the road. If I got hit again... would the same fate that awaited Damien Isaac await me? And what was even that fate that I was awaiting? Was it death? Or a fate worse than death that could be awaited for? ... Well, you know what, NO! Not me! Not little Timmy Taylor Jr., son of the late Timmy 'The Tool Man' Sr.! I huffed and wheezed my fatass all the way down to the corner store, where a pay phone was safely in reach. I didn't have any quarters, so I called Collect. It was going to cost the police tons and tons of money to accept the call, but that was the taxpayers' problem, not mine.

"Uh. Hi.", an officer mumbled between chewing sounds. I guessed he was chewing cud, because pigs chew cud and all cops are pigs. Either that, or he was eating a donut. Pig. "Hello, Mr. Officer! I'm Timmy Taylor! Sir Link, midget king of Camelot, killed my dad with an arrow and my shoulder is gushing violent crimson blood in spiral squirts, and, and... Officers Mario and Luigi sleep with the piranha fishes!".

The officer stopped chewing. Or making obnoxious smacking sounds with his lips. Bitch. "Oh, no. That's a problem. How about I send you 100 wumpa fruit, Crash? Or is that 3 masks? 3 masks for invincibility?". "Now's not the time for JOKES!", I exclaimed. "Oink oink. Go fuck yourself", the officer slammed down the phone with a chortle.

I turned around to leave the phone booth when I felt something wet touch me in the netherregion. It didn't penetrate my undergarments or anything, but I instantly recognized it for what it was. It was a tongue. A tongue of a dinosaur.

"YOSHI!", Yoshi the dinosaur screamed, banging his head into the phone booth repeatedly while Falco the Falcon sat on his back eating an ice cream cone. His tongue was so skinny like a Megan Star Fox that it managed to slide its way in through the slit in the glass door. I was horrified. I vomited in the phone booth. Then my adrenaline kicked in, and I had a brilliant idea. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out my much trusted Swiss Army pocket knife. "If someone tries to touch you in a way or a place that makes you feel comfortable, that's... NO GOOD!", I battlecried, cutting Yoshi the Yoshi dinosaur's tongue right off! He bled to death, then flew off into the air.


CREEPYPASTA- Super Smash Bros. Disheveled