Do you remember the Wario games? The classic cartoon character and Nintendo mascot was created for older fat people who wanted a more mature, adult version of Mario. I played the first Gameboy game when I was eight years old, and to be honest it disturbed me.

-Let me explain. In the original Gameboy Wario you would collect coins and treasure which added up to an overall tally at the end of the game. Prizes ranged from a fucking birdhouse to your face on the goddamn moon. It was an incredible reward and it really made you feel like you owned a house or the moon.

However, I must confess that When I saw “Wario’s Pancake Adventure” on Amazon Prime this time for 26.666 I was concerned. Not just because the cents were in the thousandths, but because this game was never for sale online.  What happened is a series of terrifying Wario-related events that I will never forget until this day.

Now- I’m warning you, what happened is so disturbing that the last few people I told it to actually went into the hospital because it made them sick. See, Wario is kind of a sick game. This might turn your stomach. I’m just warning you.

I bought the game and it came in the mail fifteen minutes later. … Fifteen minutes. How could this be? Even the fastest postal delivery man in the world could not deliver mail this fast, but there it was. The cover was frayed, and Wario had pancakes in his eyes on the color. The quote “Eat my face!” was beneath his face. When I opened the old original Gameboy cart, I swear I smelled what smelled like pancake batter, burnt toast and burnt human flesh. The smell of burning hair, some pieces of sand and a few grains of rice fell out. It made sense since there was a level in the original game called rice beach.

I picked up the old Gameboy Game. “I’m a gonna win!” was written in sharpie on the back. It was old, worn, dirty, smelly. This wasn’t a new game someone had repackaged the cellophane.

I got out the old Gameboy that I keep on my mantle for safekeeping. A prized heirloom. I put it in.

The cover screen hurt my eyes and I couldn’t tell what was going on. It looked like a dirty brick wall and some 2d pixel of macauley culkin. What the fuck was this? I pressed start to play. Wario was making pancakes, as evidenced by the hot griddle and batter. Disheveled Wario walked two feet, slipped on a marble fell out a window and died. I literally pressed two buttons and the game was over.

A shot of the Nintendo characters, everyone from Princess Toadstool (Now peach) to Bowser and Luigi were all standing over a casket, scowling at me.

They looked really upset. The artist that did this must have been working on it for a long time to really capture anger and disappointment in such a manner.

It was disturbing.

Then there was an email at the end. Mrwariofu@gmail.fart

I contacted the email, demanding to know the meaning of this disturbing scart. I got an email back quickly.

“Dearest friend, it has come to my attention that you have allocated one of the seven missing Gameboy Carts. We know you are davethusless, and we know what you did to our friend. We will be coming for you soon, Reggie Fils-Aime is not happy with the current development of events, and trust us when we say that Nintendo does get its pancakes. The animals are not happy, David. We’re not happy. We’ll be serving up your hubris with an extra serving of hot, sticky syrup and butter real-butter goodness. I hope it was Butterworth it, after all these years.


What the fuck. What the fuck was this. I looked in the box. There was a Gameboy camera in there as well. I heard it whirring and it appeared to be a newer model that was recording the audio in the room. So this was all an attempt to bug and survey me while I played the game.

A few days later I woke up and turned the stove on. I strangely had the desire for pancakes. All this talk about pancakes had given me quite the desire, and the local Ihop was at least 30 miles away, so I decided to make some at home griddle cakes.

Little did I know that what would happen next would make me never want to eat pancakes, waffles or Toaster Streudels again.

I heard some low-level bass music and there was a rustling at my chimney. It was the rice beach theme, after all these years, someone was playing the fucking wario rice beach theme. He fell out of the chimney, dressed as santa claus, covered in soot.

It was fucking October. He smiled at me. The fat, sweaty Italian man had a crooked mustache and evil dollar signs in his eyes. Wario was a real man. I knew it after all these years, it was true. I just knew as a kid he was watching me through the screen, plotting his theft. “I get all the treasure hot meatballs.” He said. He was evil. His purple nose was lacking circulation and his slumping purple suspenders could not conceal his marmalade jelly gut.

“It’s a mini-game.” He sizzled, his evil eyes grinning. He followed me into the kitchen. I was going to reach for the phone to call the police, but he had tied it to a string. He dangled it over my fish tank. “Wario’s pix-up mixup can you access the phone before it’s too wet” he hissed. He dangled it over the fish tank where my pet lionfish Mufasa was playing with the hermit crab. I struggled to get the phone but he kept dangling it, pulling it away. It was a real puzzler. I had to solve this so I could call the police and have him arrested for breaking and entering. Whenever I reached for the phone, he would pull it away. The tricky solution appeared to be to wait until it was very close and quickly snatch it. I did so, but he dropped the phone into the fish tank.

I heard a bloody sizzle as the sinister man both electrocuted me and killed my fish. I ran into the other room and locked the fucking door. I live in an efficiency, so I had to hide in the bathroom. “Knife’s up! Gotta pretect yer toez!” He yelled. Oh god another mini game. He was shoving a knife underneath the door frame and trying to cut my toes. He was also beatboxing. It wasn’t good beatboxing, I think he was trying to add exciting game music.

After three hours he left, and I opened the door. I looked around. He was gone? What he said next shocked me. “There are some supernatural phenomena in the world that just can't be explained!!" Oh, I had to find him. This was another real puzzler. A head scratcher. I found the hat on the couch, the purple suspenders over the fish tank and… oh god.

He was naked, in my kitchen, making pancakes. He had a tattoo of the mushroom kingdom on his ass. “Flip ‘em hot!” He yelled. Oh god another mini game. He instructed me to pick up the hat and try to catch the hot griddle cakes as he flipped them over his shoulder. I caught one, but it was scalding hot and I got third degree burns over my hands as the batter slapped against my body. Wario had no desire to play minigames, he was simply stealing my silverware. It was low quality silverware, but I saw him hiding it under his gut fat when I turned around.

I had had enough of this shit. I wasn’t gonna put up with this anymore. I picked up a marble off the floor and threw it under him as he approached the second story window.

He had slipped. Wario snickered, laughed, had a fit and stabbed himself with my silverware as he fell out the window naked. The dead fat mushroom mascot just lay there. I heard the sound of a hideous crack, like a chicken bone snapping while somebody smacked a sponge.

Wario was dead, I had killed him.

I called the police and the coroners arrived, ID’d the body and he was buried in an unmarked grave just outside little Havana. It was ruled an accident, and due to Florida’s stand your ground laws, the marble could not be considered a murder weapon.

A few days later I got another email. It was Nintendo.

“Dearest friend,

We know what you did to Our Wario. That was Our Wario. The magical pachinko mascot that captured the minds of jewel-eyed miscreants nationwide, and you murdered him. We offered you pancakes. We offered you friendship. You were going to be the next great mascot, you just needed to play the games. You didn’t play the mini games, it was only three mini games and you didn’t play them. The pancake adventure is just starting. Mark our words. Mr. Miyamoto will be there soon, and he is going to show you the International House of Pain, the likes of which you have never seen before.”

The email closed and someone signed out of my yahoo account and shut the computer down. It looked like someone had backdoored my system and was deleting my hard drive.

My doorbell rang.

The Nintendo characters were all out there. They were all scowling at me. Princess toadstool looked really agitated and upset. Toad was disappointed, but scowling. Bowser had a tear in his eye. Bobomb just turned away, sadly.

“Murderer!” Yelled luigi. “You’re a fucking murderer!” They began to protest outside my house. It was Monday morning and I needed to go to work. They shook their signs in unison, drawings of me, the words “Davethekiller” and “HEY! Open the vortex for me you warty little frog” written in sharpie.

“He was just a prankster and you killed him.” The goombah cried. “You killed a valued member of the community. A valued member.” His little goomba legs kicked around and he scowled. I touched the top of his head by accident and he screamed, his raspberry brains flattening and spewing out while triangular bone chunks shot out of his screaming bleeding face.

That was when Luigi set up a little stand, put on some spectacles and a spotlight appeared.

He began to recite a prepared eulogy for his now deceased friend.

“He was a fat man, an Italian Man He loved sausages and he loved pecans At times he would plunder for treasure on the beach When not physically assaulting princess peach He offered you pancakes, friendship and fun You killed him with a marble, you fucking piece of shit What is this fucking home alone?” He just leered, and leered, and leered some more. And then he stopped moving. Or, was he moving to begin with?

He was styrefome. What happened they looked so real. I walked up and knocked on the others. They weren’t real. Props? Who was that man in my house? I told them it was wario, The silverware thief. He was preparing pancakes, I TOLD THEM. They looked so real but now they didn’t move at all, old styrefome and cardboard inserts for an early 90s Mario 3 display. Dirty, smelling of old cigarettes and pet urine.

I know what I saw. I went to find the game cart, but it was gone. The box was there, but it was missing. They’re trying to make me look crazy, liked I imagined this all. Explain the dead fish, the threatening letter. They’re trying to make it seem like I WROTE it. I know they’re coming for me.

I have a bunch of games set up for them. Paint cans on the staircase, bottle rockets on the toilet. I got a lit chimney and I’m gonna light them up like fucking Christmas geese. Nintendo can’t do this to me. What they did to wario, the apes, Mario, the others. Oh I know. The clues are all there if you’re willing to find them. What ever happened to Joseph Stalin? Do you think that this is all just a coincidence? This is the “Nintendo magic” we all know and love. When you see the Davetheuseless action figure in the store, with removable parts, or the other toys with dead dreams and broken hearts, just remember what Nintendo did to those animals. Just remember what Nintendo did to my father, that fat, wobbly nosed santa imposter who broke his legs coming down the fucking chimney. Just remember. Just. Remember. You can’t write dreams in binary.

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