Game Pastas Are Stupid

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.

When I got to Richard’s house, he greeted me in a state of horror.

“What is it, Rick?” I asked upon noticing the abject terror on his face.

“W-well, I was waiting for you to come over, and I was g-getting impatient, and decided to play myself, and…”

His voice trailed off into a whimper. “Just come with me,” he said.

I followed him inside, into his living room. There, he had the game system hooked up to the TV.

“L-look,” he practically squeaked.

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.

“C-can’t you tell?” he fearfully stammered.

“If I could tell, I wouldn’t be asking now, would I?”

“L-look! Can’t you see? The words are all – ” he started yelling, then dropped his voice to a frightened whisper. “ – red..”

“And…?”

“It’s too red! It’s almost like blood!” he screamed.

“Rick, it’s, at best, probably a minor technical glitch. Listen, how about we play it, and you’ll see it’s nothing?”

He whimpered, which I took to be a yes.

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…

…and the background changed to a hellish wasteland. Fires dotted the background, and the sky was black as night.

Richard screamed, and I exclaimed, “Cool!”

“W-what do you mean ‘cool?’” Rich inquired in a stammer.

“The whole ‘hellish wasteland’ thing looks pretty awesome.” I explained.

“B-but it’s different from the normal game.”

“So? Still looks cool.”

“IT’S PERVERTING MY CHILDHOOD.”

“Rich?” I asked, sweetly.

“Yes?”

“Stop being a pussy.”

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.

“Rich, what the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.

“Didn’t you hear that? That scream?” he replied.

“Well, yeah.”

“Didn’t that disturb you at all?”

“No. Should it have?”

“Yes! That was the scream of a real living being! Didn’t you see the look in his eyes as he died? He felt real pain.”

I facepalmed. Hard.

“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.

“W-what did you do?” he stammered.

“I freed Mario from his prison hellhole or whatever. Happy now?”

Rich’s only reply was to cry, and scream to heavens, “MARIO! NOOOOO!”

Some days, I have no idea why I put up with this man.

Credited to Dorkpool