Game Pastas Are Stupid: Difference between revisions

My name is Sarah Evans. Recently, my boyfriend – Richard – decided to reclaim his childhood by playing some old Mario game on the NES. Naturally, he invited me along to play, and me, being curious, accepted.

I took a look. I wasn’t exactly sure what the screen normally should’ve looked like, since I never played the game myself, (chalk that up to parents who weren’t exactly the biggest fans of video games not buying them for me as a kid) but what I saw…wasn’t scary at all. It just said “SUPER MARIO BROS” in dark red on an orange rectangle in front of a sky background. “Ok. What’s so scary?” I asked.

I took the controller, selected the “one player” option, and was transported to a seemingly innocuous level. Rich seemed to visibly relax. I started moving Mario…

I continued playing the game, jumping on koopas (that’s what Rich said they’re called; honestly, I didn’t give a shit), which exploded into blood and gore. I personally found it kind of cool at first, but after a while it got boring. It got even more annoying when Rich yelped every time I killed one of the little bastards.

Soon enough, I ended up dying by falling down a pit. I heard Mario scream in pain. Rich howled along with him, tears in his eyes.

“What?” he asked. “Can’t you feel any sort of empathy? There’s a living being trapped in that nightmarish hell of a game! I felt his pain! Didn’t you see the blood on him? The realistic blood? One might say it was hyper-realistic. It was real, like Mario, like you or I!”

He was so invested in his insane rant that he didn’t notice when I walked to his kitchen, rummaged through his drawers and cabinets, found a hammer, took the cartridge out of the game system, and smashed it to bits with the hammer.

{{By-cpwuser|Dorkpool}}