AIM: Pancaek Beast | E-mail: shdwdde@gmail.com | Denny's House of Pancaeks
Crono vs. Bowser, Auron vs. Sub Zero (Points: 56/62 Matches: 42/47)
The ensnaring light bathes your body, and your eyes close calmly, assured of the comfort that white silence brings. Sin seeps out of your skin and diffuses into the light. Fatigue oozes from your nostrils and mixes with the lather.
"Ho ho ho!" A raucous cackle pops the bubble of unconsciousness. "What have we here?"
Your body, you find, is hunched, your arms wrapped lovingly and protectively around your knees, tucked into your chest. And your vision is dark. The white light is gone, but even so, this is darker than the usual fare. You look up gradually and discover a large shadow in which you are currently curled up.
Inexorably, your gaze meets that of someone larger than you. It is a reptilian creature with fiery eyes and childish complexion. Heavy, yellow, kerotin armor plates its frontside all the way up to the underside of its face. "Don't you look like quite the delicious morsel! Wonder what Peach will say once King Bowser bring her her new pet monkey! Gwa ha ha!"
Disbelieving of the creature's abrasive voice you unroll your body and rise to your feet. Subconsciously, the reptile's height jars you. You now see directly eye to eye with it. But its expression has changed from the most condescending confidence to an awed arrogance.
"Oh..." Its voice falters a little as it surveys your serious business facial expression. "It looks like I misjudged you. You're not a pet monkey."
Damn straight you're not.
"You're mother****ing Donkey Kong... Well, this changes things!"
The accursed beast strikes before you are ready. Its clawed punch is slow enough for you to block, but the absolute force of it knocks you back nonetheless, into the dirt behind you. Absolute dirt and wasteland stretch around you, expanding to the horizons of your vision. You land firmly on your caboose and grimace a little.
"Aw, did that hurt?" Bowser waddles over to you as you rub your ass. "Not used to feelin' pain? Well, guess what? Me neither!!" He bellyflops onto your gut, and you yelp as your lungs ejaculate the air. You swing arm and leg to get him off, but he merely shifts his weight so that his spiked ass resides on your naked navel. Your punches, so apt to bleed blades and shatter shields, bounce easily off of Bowser's protective armor coating. Stretching his limited arms, he places his paws grimly on your biceps, pinning them to the ground. You howl and give pelvic thrusts but cannot dislodge the Koopa.
"Oh, man, this is epic!" he chortles, tossing his head backward. "King beats Kong! Mushroom Kingdom's Stud beats down the world known Mother****er! Talk about rich!"
And he leans forward, baring pearly teeth. "Know why these are so clean, Donkey?" he asks in such a thoughful tone that for a moment you stop resisting.
Then his mouth opens, and the stench and inferno of hell explode at you. Fire surrounds your eyes, ears, and nostrils for five excruciating seconds, a heat that chars you, jolts all of your limbs back to their full angsty strength.
He continues to smirk when you manage to detach your eyelids. "Well, it's not because of my impeccable hygiene! HAW HAW HAW!"
Finally, you summon the power. You lash your body like a whip and buck Bowser off of you. He does not soar in the air but rather skids off of your searing face, chuckling a little. You swing your arm as Bowser turns 'round. "Don't mess with the King!" he says, as if incapable of producing any dialogue beyond a quotable one-liner.
You unload an uppercut on Bowser's jaw. It is a power that might decapitate a normal opponent or at the very least make him an illegal immigrant to the moon, but Bowser merely flips over onto his front, eating dirt.
A scuffling sound distracts you. You turn around and see Alucard, sword drawn, clashing with a... is that a blue ninja?
Sproing! Bowser's rear end crashes down on your cranium. You do not consider how he has managed to get that repugnant ass of his that far up in the air, partially due to the Milky Way that you see before your eyes, mingling with the sight of Alucard encased in utter ice. Your vision fades, and you stick out your hands uselessly, feeling around, watching as the self-assured ninja walks forth and grips Alucard's head.
There it is. Your fingers close around something spiky and fat, and instinctively, both hands clench it. "Yo!" yells Bowser, "Hands off the merchandise! NO ONE touches the tail!"
But are not any "one" or indeed anyone categorizable by "no one." You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you swing Bowser down hard. A pit forms in the shape of his heavily spiked back. With colossal tug, you maneuver a fulcrum to smash Bowser into the blue ninja. Your club's landing on the ninja's head knocks the ninja five feet into the ground, so that he is but an unconscious head. The force sends tremors through the ground, shattering the ice that imprisons Alucard. He shivers a little.
"I'll take it from here," he says, instantly as authoritative and professional as he has always been. With a whirl of the cape, he vanishes ninja and koopa from sight and from mind.
"Ignore the fact that that ability has never appeared in any of my games," he instructs you suavely, "It's all a part of the Plan."
(A) Wait around expectantly for the white light to show up again. You're mother****ing Donkey Kong, but even you can recognize a blatant pattern.
(B) Make yourself a sammich. The Plan makes you hungry.
(C) Take a nap. You're tough.
(D) Stay awake. Taking naps seems to be a good way to get your ass kicked by large reptilian creatures.
SD
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Solid Snake vs. Squall, Yoshi vs. Dante, Sora vs. Gordon Freeman, Ryu vs. Mega Man, Sonic vs. Vincent, Kirby vs. Luigi (Points: 54/60, Matches: 41/46)
You are unable to see, but blindness of no consequence. The third time is the charm, especially if you happen to be mother****ing Donkey Kong. Which you are.
And thus, you stretch your arms in a gorilla-hug and curl your fingers. Unquantifiably, your grip enshrouds a solid piece of the light. Eyelids firmly locked shut, you pull, hard. Showers of light rush by your face and your ears. The floaty energy offers no resistance to your tugs and pounds. Light's fabric bends and shrinks and curls up into a small, manageable form.
When you open your eyes, you are unable to look directly at the figure in your hands, but its shape upon your digits is absolutely telling. Banana.
Squinting and averting your gaze from the light-imbued fruit before you, you deskin it righteously and methodically and place it slowly into your mouth. Your throat engorges its pulsating length and even the flaps of peel around it. There is no physical sensation upon the insides of your mouth, only the elusive pleasure that you get when you beat Minesweeper - a feat that you have only accomplished once. Nonetheless, you caress the flavor of victory with your tongue, and it does indeed taste like a banana, only more philosophically and symbolically enlightening.
The entire length of the nutritious package slips down your esophagus, unchewed but coated generously with saliva. And as the light fills your stomach and your metaphorical heart, your eyes snap open.
It is a dingy town with no livelihood. Though organic beings appear to drift in and out of mud huts, their souls are as soiled as the real estate which houses them.
But you are oblivious to the poverty that surrounds you. Instead, you take a genuine, sincere interest in a hygienic-looking, lavishly dressed, incredibly sexy young white male, holding a bladed contraption. He sports a red armband.
He mutters something incoherent and badass and immediately casts some sort of voodoo magic on you. Flames dance along your fur for no discernible reason, igniting your skin from six layers within and giving you a few sixth-degree burns - not that they affect you. You retain control of your combusting Balrog of a body and catch the fascinating weapon as the man swings it. Your smoldering eyes bear into his emo ones for a split second before the sword explodes out of your grip, and he escapes unharmed.
All around you, you hear natives oohing and aahing. You are unsure exactly what has transpired to screw you over so royally. With the fury of the Enlightened Banana, you spontaneously explode, making the flames even bigger and your aura even more badass, if indeed that is possible. You lunge and thrust your Fist of Fire at him. The gunblade meets your fist halfway between the second and third fingers, but even as it explodes to deter one punch, your other transfers several trillion newtons into his body. The heat and force tear a gaping mouth in the air of the village, and its vortex sucking powers accept your victim wordlessly.
"You look demonic enough, Balrog!" yells a voice behind you.
Two bullets pelt the back of your head and ricochet off. You spin around and see a white-haired man brandishing a black gun and a white gun. He leaps instinctively and fires two more rounds. Unsure of his intent, you swat the bullets with the back of your blazing hand. They slam into the chest of their originator and kill him instantly. The portal caused by your previous incident opens wide and accepts the white-haired gunman as a second offering.
You stand, a pillar of flame, before the leering mouth of another dimension, daring any to attack you. The villagers cower before you and make offerings that you promptly toss away, including sheep, cows, and a certain orange-clothed man in a jumpsuit.
"Halt!"
The villagers desist in their Devil-worshipping ways instantly and flock to an Asian man in shotokan karate gi. "Ryu, save us!" one of them cries out.
A little miffed that your cult has abandoned you so quickly for such a pitiful savior, you grab them all and shove them all into the portal. The effort involved is akin to that of beating Solitaire, so you're doing all right. The martial artist merely looks on impassively at your gluttonous waste of lives until you finish taking out the population of the village.
"Now we will fight," says Ryu, and he sets upon you with all the righteous anger of a stereotypical Japanese samurai. Fist and foot fly to you, guided by decades of dedication and unforgiving sparring.
He misses entirely; you sidestep him, and he falls into the portal along with all of the others. Generic badass with guns #3 shows up, but you toss him out, as well.
No more challengers await. You toss your head back and laugh, the spitting image of Satan...
Until you yourself are sucked into the portal. Utter blackness surrounds you. Your fiery complexion is smothered on the interior of this creature, and all the thrashing in the world cannot save you from a very undignified excretion.
Before you stands a pink ball of fluff with a devilish fire surrounding him - a mockery of yourself. You advance and prepare to demolish it, but it begins to talk, and in spite of yourself, you stop.
"Stop! Look at me."
You examine it and recommence your assault, but again it interrupts.
"I am you! I am your shadow! I am the devil!"
So what?
"Is this what you want to look like?"
You examine it very thoroughly. It looks a lot like you, except that instead of having an ape's body, it has a pink puffball.
"You look like the devil, just as I do! And guess what?"
The epiphany hits you like a bad simile, swallowing your mind and bending it to the point where it wants to commit suicide.
"You are not the Devil! Defeat the inner darkness! You filled your soul with light but is that what you want to be?"
You know the answer, but even as you regurgitate the light and send the fiery ball flying to Kingdom Come, its voice speaks the truth that you again embrace.
"This is not you! You are mother****ing Donkey Kooooong!"
And the light from your mouth swallows you up again.
(A) Curl up fetally and wonder how you could have been so stupid as to eat the light. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you feel sick.
(B) Try to go on another power trip, this time by folding the light up into a cape and flying around like Superman.
(C) Look deep within yourself and try to find the answers to Life, the Universe, and the Kiddies Waking Up In The Morning.
(D) Take a nap.
SD
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Aeris vs. KOS-MOS, Yuna vs. Joanna, Chun Li vs. Lara Croft (Points: 44/48 Matches: 36/40)
The white light surrounds and blinds you, but you fight back, rebel that you are. Ki runs rampant through your mighty arms, and you flap them regally. Light disperses around you like little air molecules. You rise in the sky like a majestic raptor of the skies. Suddenly, as you realize the uselessness of this simile, the light vaporizes once again. Your arms continue to undulate and fight the air.
Bearings flow to your senses. The sky is endless about you, the island a small speck beneath you. A hundred yards above where you hover, limbs beating the air mattresses for support, a GIANT ROBOT is also floating, seemingly without effort. The Earth is blue, but there is no God.
With an air speed of twenty meters per second, she skydives you, a package of mecha, cleavage, and blue hair. Her head smashes into your face in a decisively inorganic crunch, and you howl in pain. Her acceleration combines with that of gravity and pushes down on you, but you beat your limbs ever harder and stay afloat. Her cyborg but life-like eyes bear down upon yours, her nose pressed hard up on yours.
"Succumb, being of flesh," she says, but you only flap harder, now kicking your feet as well. Were you anyone else, you might marvel at the ease with which you rise in the sky with tons of robotic steel pressing on your forehead. There is no legitimate way in which you should be able to withstand the almighty force that is capable of crushing multiple universes. But your cranium holds its own remarkably against the galaxy-crushing power of the KOS-MOS. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and flying with weights on your skull has long been one of your "closet talents," as they say.
Finally, you decided to stop flapping. The drilling pressure above you continues, but you ease your head out of the way and, for all the great justice in the world, do a barrel roll. KOS-MOS crashes straight into the island at a speed much greater than the initial velocity of twenty meters per second and makes a mile-wide crater. The good earth promptly swallows her up, and you gravitate mildly toward the center of the pit, your arms now forming a makeshift parachute.
At the heart of the wreckage, there is a narrow and bottomless well that you are absolutely sure leads to the planet's core. You do not know why you hold this belief with such strong conviction, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and the last time you were wrong was in the Nixon administration, and even that was only a "further" and "farther" error.
Landing is a pleasant sensation. Your upward acceleration has resulted in a very feasible final velocity, and your feet contact the earth rhythmically. You tap dance a little to steady yourself, slightly drunk with high altitude air, and staggeringly scale the walls of the crater. But just as you pull yourself over the edge, you hear the familiar voice.
"Hold it right there!"
You freeze, knowing somehow exactly what lines follow.
"Now turn around and lower your arms, real slow."
And as you turn around, you look down into the pit and see a redhead, blue and shiny like a NASCAR racer. Both of her hands are wrapped tightly around an American goverment-issued handgun. Her stance is absolutely flawless and professional. "Where I can see them!"
Just as your fingers wrap tightly around your weapon, the woman speaks again. "And if you bust out that Coconut Gun, I promise you that you will not live this day d -"
Her words bore you quickly, and her accurate guess of your course of action is rather insulting, you find, so you kick her gently in the face. Her gun goes off, but her aim is totally lost, and you casually disarm her and drop her down the narrow hole through which KOS-MOS met her fate. You tire quickly of deja vu experiences.
This in mind, you also pay no heed to the next slut with guns attempts to bullet-rape you from behind. Attached to a blockily protuding chest and hardly clothed body is an androgynous, repulsive face that appears to have been hit by a train. You decide to give it an equivalent treatment and thrust your fist in it. The twin guns drop unhurriedly to the ground, and the owner of the guns flies up and out of the pit, far from the island. Its flapping skirt affords you a glance between its legs, and you queasily ascertain that it is a male with breast implants.
But this "development" is totally inconsequential. You drop it from mind and allow the familiar white light to cascade upon you.
(A) Swim through it, because you can.
(B) Take a nap. You are getting damn tired.
(C) Mold the light into a banana and eat it.
(D) Yell really loudly. Pointless? Yes. Totally mother****ing Donkey Kong? Hell yes.
SD
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Samus vs. Ada Wong, Rikku vs. Kairi, Tifa vs. The Boss, Jill vs. Peach, Zelda vs. Terra (Points: 36/40 Matches: 32/36)
A few disjointed twitches. The light oppresses you, breaks your dreams, vaults you out of what you intrinsically know is the halfway point. But you are not passive in the incident. You do as any being with common sense would do: Attempt to garner Alucard's attention.
The second time around, your communication is far smoother and requires less bloodshed. You simply extend the forefinger and thumb of your right hand, twist your arm enigmatically, and grasp the two ends of the tie and use them to constrict the trachea, making sure to ensnare the entirety of your Adam's apple in the process. You let the ends dangle asymmetrically. Then comes the tricky step; you perform a swirling double loop thread-through backflip knot, colloquially known as the Heimlich maneuver: Conjoin the thumb and forefingers about the neck of the snake and have it fling itself around the shorter segment. Adjust the right digit, ring finger, and mandible, threading and restating the hypothesis. Dilute the piece in the left hand and pull it gently through the habeus corpus. Instigate the Bolshevik intelligensia and alert them of imminent Armaggeddon.
"So you want to know what to do?" Alucard's inflection retains every shrapnel of its epic qualities. You not, face hot from strangulation. Be there any way to see yourself, you are sure that you would be purple-faced.
"Here's how it works," he declares. "Having you run around everywhere in a matter of hours is getting tiring, so I'll just have this generic white flash take you everywhere you need to go to fight your opponents."
Remembering the benefits of sign language, you slam a fist under your armpit and arch your spine at a feminine angle. "Deus Ex Machina," confirms Alucard cryptically, "All part of the Plan."
The white light intensifies and vanishes, leaving your ill-adjusted eyes desperate to discern heaven from earth in a new world. A trumpet blares out some stereotypical fanfare music is totally unrepresentative of the instrument's full musical range. Its rude, brassy quality forcibly restores your vision whilst utterly owning your audition.
Deja vu.
You are upon the side of a mountain; the atmosphere is so thin that your mere inhaling causes the trees to quiver. The earth beneath you is a mess, mutilated by the erosion of your footsteps. A diminuitive stream burbles uphill... and an Asian chick in a red dress runs unreservedly at you from twin sidearms. Unable to hear, a few dozen bullets pelter your chest before you acknowledge that the sparks generated by the gun's nozzle actually represent pulls of the trigger.
The gap between the two of you vanishes extraordinarily quickly. You abruptly acquaint her face with the bottom of the brook and give her entire curvaceous body some intense shot putting action, up and over the mountain. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, but even you realize that that was a terrible attempt. As Ada Wong soars, skirt flapping, over the mountain's peak, you sprint upward to meet her. Ignoring the fact that it took you several hours last time, you get there in a few seconds to hunt down your prey.
"Not so fast."
A veritable coalition of females has assembled to greet you. Nursing around eighteen different broken bones is Ada Wong, who is somehow still fit enough to stare at you down the rear of a business-like shotgun. Surrounding her are another femme fatale Girl with Big Guns, a dominatrix with white hair and shiny white leather, a creepy creature around ten years old with an unnerving smile, and, curiously, a sickly looking white girl with green hair.
You extend your fist toward Ada; she is the only one who has incurred the wrath of mother****ing Donkey Kong, at the moment. A few rounds chip off some latent skin from the tips of your fingers, but they do nothing to stop the inevitable descent of the fist of fate.
And then something crushing hits you, something with genuine stopping power and sincere desire to kick your ass. The glittering montage of silver spandex smashes your chest, arms, thighs, and neck with rigid form and intimate knowledge of every martial art imaginable. Somehow, she maneuvers behind you and pulls your neck inward with her biceps, immobilizing you for a moment.
A moment is all it takes for something extremely hot to blacken your skin and arouse everything you hate about magical creatures at once. You are sure that your mushrooms are incinerated now. The shotgun rounds splattering your body are not of particular help, either; the fire has elevated the sensitivity of every superficial nerve imaginable, and you actually twitch a little as they impact your impenetrable hide.
Finally, you get tired of "putting up a show." Pain wasn't supposed to be part of the equation. You slam your chin down onto the front of your chest, and the martial artist grunts in pain as her wrist cracks. She does not shriek ferally. You calmly place one hand over her entire chest and the other beneath her battle-hardened buttocks and snap her hold on your neck like a Graham cracker. You throw her hard, into the dirt, and kick her at the other four. The eerie grin girl and the anemic chick with the green toupee manage to avoid the projectile. The ones with the shotguns are somewhat less lucky and are borne gracefully and parabolically away.
The eerie girl then randomly collapses from blood loss. Apparently, the strain of not having a heart catches up to her quickly. On your other side, the anorexic greenhead has metamorphosized into an anorexic flaming energy ball type thing with super flying powers and fire magic. You gather a bit of saliva and spit at it. The glob easily extinguishes the flaming thing and reduces it to a puddle of drool and green hair, sizzling slightly on the mountainous ground.
A flash of white light occurs again, and you look hazily around.
(A) Keep both feet planted firmly on the ground. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and no one's takin' you anywhere.
(B) Head for the beach.
(C) Take a nap.
(D) Soar in the sky like an eagle. Is there anything you can't do?
SD
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Kirby vs. The Prince, Luigi vs. Zero, Crono vs. Falcon, Bowser vs. Leon, Auron vs. Alucard, Master Chief vs. Sub-Zero (Points: 28/32 Matches: 28/32)
You meander off, dazed and somewhat starry-eyed. You are not sure why, but you have a giant sensation of pressure. Survival on the Island of Champions is a task that few can surmount, but you are quite game.
Somewhat ruefully, you notice that demolishing six acres of forestry has not severely impaired the oxygen level of the island. In the same vein, you recall that you are mother****ing Donkey Kong and that you don't need oxygen to survive, anyway.
It does not take long for trouble to find you. You feel somewhat jarred and jaded that you did not succeed in discovering a foe this time, but that you were discovered. You hate the passive voice.
Dark, wild-haired, iron-clad, fast. A skilled chop hits you right between the shoulder blades. You jump a little in surprise. The warrior dislodges his sword from you, finding a few chunks of manly ape fur on it, but no blood. Sticking your arms out, you spin like a horny slot machine and grin like a dancing queen. The world is your burrito. But the generated whirlwind and fist-flurry somehow fails to connect and incapicitate your nemesis. Decelerating allows you to regain your bearings, but even as scenery returns to focus, you do not spy the beast that struck you.
Then you look up, and forever gone is your misconception that white men can't jump. For descending from ten yards above you is the fighter. Even as you bound out of range of the strike, you notice a certain Iranian royalty about his manner. But there is no time to consider this. The prince comes easily out of his dive and lunges at you with his sword. It penetrates your left pectoral by a few millimeters and snaps. The prince's eyes meet yours. They contain not fear, but a slight bemusement.
Again, the prince tries to leap from danger. Locking your gaze inexorably upon his aerial path, you whip out your Coconut Gun and fire twice. The first round slams into the prince's butt, spinning him into a somersault and eliciting from his mouth several very unprincely words. The second coconut lodges deep into his stomach, and he takes off in the general direction of the dark side of the moon.
The ocean is several miles away, but for the purposes of melodrama, you can hear its waves splattering upon themselves and making obnoxious noises, observing the prince's flight not with wist, per se, but with a definite genuine scientific interest at the trajectory's nonchalant disregard for the laws of gravity. But even this poetic moment is not spared to you. As you replay the tragic Prelude in C-sharp Minor in your mind's ear, a wounded cry pierces and wrinkles the melodies.
"What am I fighting for?"
You turn around and see a red androgynous android with alluring long blonde hair and a glowing sword. He is the spitting image of Ancient Greece's Achilles, except with communist undertones and robotic parts. Even this classical symbolism cannot deter you from owning his ass, though; you take a rather amused pleasure in walking over and ripping its head off. The wiring inside it, you note, is quite sophisticated, and its head portion even has dynamic facial expressions.
"ZELLO!"
The same voice is calling again, and you drop the head in abject terror, stomping on it several times. But it is of no use, for the call comes out again.
"WHAT AM I FIGHTING FOR!?"
Your eyes travel slowly, sanely, from the prone corpse on the ground to the destroyed mess that was its head. And then, disbelievingly, they rotate and fixate an entirely whole android in their glance, just as blatantly Republican and even more Greek than last time.
"ZELLO!" it calls.
It is a ****ed up, without question, but you think quickly and bury your fist in the chest armor plating of the machine. Its face looks slightly confused, and then its eyes flicker out and die, the glowing sword thingy losing its glowingness and fizzing out as well. You toss the de-wired heap of stainless steel back with the first one. Your nerves, in spite of yourself, are somewhat frazzled. But they do not rest.
"WHHHHAAAT AM I FIGHTING FOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!?!?!?!"
Totally out of ideas, you try to run from the android, away from the island. This is too much for you. You seal your eyelids, shutting out all disturbing recurring beasts.
Whump. You feel something smacking into your chest and flying several yards forward. While it does not do you any damage not stop your motion, it does cause you to open your eyes. It is yet another incarnation of the robot, which looks up at your towering form with a pained expression. "ZELLO!"
There is almost some sort of sympathy in the outskirts of your mind as you realize the only way to end this plague upon you. You slip the bongos from your impenetrable hide, hurl your head back, facing up at the sky, and howl in anguish: "ARHUGARHUGARUGHARUUUAAAAAAARGH!"
The frequency of your pitch is explosive, and you start pounding on your drums to build to the crushing climax. As you rise, you hear one final "WWWWWWw ---- FIIIIIIIIIGHTING ------ OOOOOOO ----- OOOOORR---!!!"
And then, in a theatrical and totally unnecessary flash of white light, all is silent, and the last traces of the most dangerous creature to walk the earth have disintegrated.
No respite blesses you. A different voice now, far more testerone-charged but equally obnoxious, accompanies a fiery strike. "FALCOOOOOON PAAAAAAUNCH!!!"
The punch is indeed powerful, and it shoots you outward in a straight line, and suddenly, you have defined a plane in which you will stay, thirty percent pissed off by seventy percent tolerant. The Captain, whom you recognize from your twenty-minute affair with Tifa, continues his strike with "FALCON KICK!" He slides along the ground and boots you, but you take the hit like a man, still half and half. It is when he begins to jab unnecessarily that your pissed off meter breaks a hundred percent.
You enter mother****ing Donkey Kong mode, and it is over. Hands, paws, feet, punches, kicks, backbreakers, buttstomps, and pelvic thrusts become fair game as you pound the Captain to a pulp and kick him violently out of sight. He makes a loud grunt as he vanishes, and some voodoo force yells out, "GAME!"
Feeling incredibly foolish, you strike a few ill rehearsed poses and get the hell on with your ass-kicking life.
With this spirit, you do not even notice it when someone fires a shotgun at your head. The round ricochets off. It turns out to be some long-haired guy with a bad fashion sense and an even worse sense of humor - "Hey, you've got something on your face - YOUR BRAIN" - so you casually and vaguely dispose of him.
Because there are much more interesting things to watch, such as, you notice, Alucard fighting with some grizzled guy with a massive sword. Despite your detached cynicism regarding the geezer with the sword, however, you begrudgingly acknowledge his skill. The geezer twirls the weapon with adroitness unbecoming of the blade's girth. It skates and figure-eights through the air, but not a single stroke of it is wasted. Each flicker pursues Alucard beautifully, subtly, a rooster striking out at the snake. Alucard's return strokes are vicious, vindictive, vampiric.
The battle appears to be even. Neither's blade has touched the other's blade or the other's body. No metallic sounds accompany the glistening light on the frolicking blades.
CLANG! The geezer throws grace to the winds and smashes downward with both hands on Alucard's head. The half-vampire swings up to counter and diverts the slice a little, but Alucard's sword flies far out of range. Even as the hilt leaves his fingertips, Alucard melts liquidly into a dark violet canine. The geezer pulls out of his colossal swing, but he is not fast enough. The wolf tears out the throat of the old man and vaporizes, dripping blood and chunks of larynx and trachea from its presumed center, as the geezer takes one last swing at him.
Alucard rematerializes a few seconds later, six feet from the dead man's body, unfazed. He looks over at you. "The Plan takes no survivors," he intones. You nod, remembering all the glories of The Plan.
You hear a gruff, masculine voice saying, "Don't move, monkey." You ignore the command entirely and look over your shoulder. You are rewarded for your disobedience by a large plasma bolt in the face. Unable to see or breathe, you roar primally lash out wildly with your fists. They find contact at a few points, enough for you to get a strong grip on what feels like a robotic arm and a robotic head.
Slowly, the blindness fades away, and you see that you are, in fact, holding a robot of sorts. It wears green armor and has, in its captive hand, one end of a very serious-looking weapon. You take the liberty of grinding it to a pulp.
You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and there is stress to relieve. This robot has not wronged you more than anyone else today, but you must release.
And so the barrage follows. You bestow the judgment of Anubis, the wrath of God, the thunders of Thor, and the retributions of Poseion upon this robot. Fists and feet crush the helmet, shatter the battle armor, break the knee joints, obliterate the life force. You grab it like a whip and crack it against the ground several times before disposing of it rather mesospherically, in the form of a drop kick.
You do not think it is Alucard's voice that speaks to you from above, for it is far more credible and overpoweringly decisive. White light engulfs you, and the one word descends.
FATALITY.
(A) Walk around blindly, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
(B) Ask Alucard something. How will you ask him? English, mother****er! Do You Speak It!?
(C) Take a nap. Try to put it all out of your memory.
(D) Blink a few times and get rid of that light. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you get played by nobody.
SD
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Sonic the Hedgehog vs. CATS, Ganondorf vs. Vincent Valentine (Points: 23/25 Matches: 23/25)
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. You bound toward the forest with renewed sense of purpose. You hug a tree and scream, powering up. Ki energy begins to materialize all around you; dirt flies out of the ground at the force of your roaring and disintegrates. Backwards you lean, and the tree is utterly uprooted. Shards of dirt explode upward in total defiance of any physical law.
"HA HA HA"
You spin around, a process that takes you a couple of seconds due to the several-ton tree trunk pressed against your torso. You tilt your head at a most curious angle, regarding a most curious character: a grey-skinned, semi-metallic humanoid. A flowing amalgation of purple cloth adorns and shields the entirety of its body.
You are mother****ing Donkey Kong. Deep thought does not become you. But even you cannot help but ponder the philosphical question that this vision arouses: Why the hell does this thing exist?
For indeed, the creature itself seems to be questioning this as well. Its singular functional eye grips you with malice and its mouth's movements are not quite synchronized with the primitive, broken voice that it emits.
"YOU HAVE NO CHANCE"
A pause. The malicious glare warms up somewhat and quickly becomes one of distrust. "MAKE YOUR TIME," it insists. You merely look on, bemused, wondering vaguely why the creature is still speaking in capital letters.
Then, a very human and personable voice. "I say, old sport, you don't find me abominable? You haven't laughed once at my deplorable grasp of the English language!"
You realize that your eyebrow has risen so high that it were it any colder, it would be snow-capped. With a conscious effort, you bring your contorted facial expression to a more neutral one.
"A good conversationalist is so hard to find these days," says the alien rather absentmindedly, still smiling. "Glad to make you're acquaintance. I'm -"
Getting somewhat bored of the spiel, you release your hold on the tree and prod it gently in the direction of the incessant speaker. An explosive thud, the crashing of leaves and wood, but more ostentatiously, the solid sound of metal being crushed. Though the forest has not yet recovered from the fall, you drag the tree out of the forest. The mess is ridiculous, and you hate messes. You notice the small conglomerate of metal on the underside of the tree and lay it to rest on the outskirts of the woods. The tree rolls a little, and the wind blows the smear off of the wood and toward the shore of the island.
This momentary distraction over, you return to task, the ultimate demolition of the forest. To avoid drama, you act far less overtly this time. Trees fall to your mighty punches like East Asian countries falling to communism, but not once do you apply your larynx or unseal your lips. The ruckus you cause is incredible; dirt, leaves, and disgusting wildlife cascade wildly into the air.
"The wind is blowing..."
In spite of yourself, you cease your wreckage. Through the vaguely symbolic clearing dust clouds, a shadowy figure emerges. "Greetings," it says. You are impressed by the sinisterness of his voice. A mental picture forms of a redheaded, hideous visage of a human, probably dark-skinned, since you're slightly racist.
Your mental conception turns out absolutely correct, of course. The unpleasant figure becomes painfully more apparent as the dust dematerializes, the spitting image of ugliness. And he is smiling.
"It takes a lot to get me out of bed," he snarls. "I'll let you decipher the innuendo in that, but I mean it quite literally, and now, by the name of Din, an ass-kicking shall become quite necessary."
He lunges at you through the remains of the forest, feet not touching the ground, and unleashes a punch to your sternum. A mild leap avoids the attack, and you swivel your right arm in anticipatory windup. The King of Evil looks up at you and glides at you, but he has forsaken all hope. You land, still preparing the mammoth delivery.
The timing of the release of your punch is almost poetic. Your fist smashes into the King of Evil's chest. The brunt of the blow directs him in a masterfully straight line. He cuts a beautiful path straight outward and you feel extremely satisfied that he will not deviate a millimeter from his one-way path to Loserville for a long time.
(A) Fall on the ground and writhe, twitching, because all the oxygen's gone.
(B) Nap like there's no tomorrow.
(C) Whip out your bongos and try to make an emo song without lyrics.
(D) Go looking for trouble. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and where there's a will to kick ass, there is a way.
SD
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Dante vs. Hayabusa, Sora vs. Tingle, Phoenix vs. Gordon, Kratos vs. Ryu, Mega Man vs. Axel (Points: 21/13 Matches: 21/23)
Alucard's words echo mysteriously into your mind. They strike you with inspiration and wipe out your sanity, much in the same way that a meteor once wiped the world of dinosaurs. An Ice Age descending upon your mind, you decide to gain the "upper hand" by inverting everything.
Literally.
You plant your head on the ground and lift yourself to your full height and begin to spin on it. The drilling force of cranium against soil would normally propel you dozens of feet into the ground, but you juxtapose your weight between a few bumps at just such an angle that no such calamity befalls the earth beneath you. You flare your legs to gain some intense leverage and begin to rap.
This is a story all about how
My life got flip turned upside down
I'd like to take a moment just rap to you
'Bout being on the D. K. Crew
Your spinning goes out of control; you are aware of Alucard muttering something like "Time is short," but you merely rap louder, switching into the third person.
He's the leader of the bunch
You know him well
He's finally back
To KICK SOME TAIL
At this comment, you bound off of the ground and land on your feet. The tremor causes a change in the landscape, and as you become more enthralled with the sound that your vocal cords are producing, your movements become more and more reckless. You perform backflips continuously, covering immeasurable distances. Green earth and black spotted sky cycle in your vision, and you are not sure exactly what is happening when you stomp on something black on the ground, as well.
In West Nintendo born and raised
In the palm trees is how I spent most of my days
"You killed my father!" The black ninja rises to his feet and waves a Dragon Sword at you, leaping to keep pace.
Eating, napping, rapping all sweet
While lookin' for some ninjas that I could beat
You deviate slightly from your path and stick out your foot. The random acceleration guns the ninja far into the air and out of sight. Your range of vision isn't exactly superlative, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you have an affinity for knowing when you have completely and utterly owned someone. And this is one of those times. In your burst of egotism, you cannot help but brag about your arsenal.
His coconut gun
Can fire in spurts
You stop the flipping abruptly on stop. A male fairy, green-clad, floats above you, dangling from a red balloon. Recognizing the significance of the red, you snatch the sprite out of the sky, a single hand gripping both ankles. Using the string of the balloon as a second handle, you stretch the two apart to form one of the more agreeable slingshots you have ever seen.
If he shoots ya
It's gonna hurt
You release Tingle from your grip, and the elastic force of the slingshot easily launches him from the island. Parting is such sweet sorrow for some, but in this case... well.
Then one day K. Rool, he was bored
Started stealin' my banana horde
Rhythmically, you find a man in a business suit and a man in an orange jumpsuit. Unsure of which to rid the island first, you stare at them prolongedly, scratching your head. The moment of hesitation passes quickly, however; the business guy raises his finger and yells something obtrusive and unnecessarily loud. Almost wistfully, you grab him and sprint to the edge of the island and pitch an admirable curveball.
And then the universe implodes. There is a flash of white! And then all is dark!
When you come to consciousness, you are staring into the face of the God of War. Painted a terrifying assortment of red and white, it leers at you with chains on its arms. You and he engage in an epic head-on battle that lasts for several hours, involving fire, blades, screaming, and a certain Coconut Gun.
To cut a long story short, you kick his ass and toss him into the water and stomp out Axel, too. Details are hazy, sure, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and if anyone wants to question your means, he can talk to you in person.
(A) Try to find the remaining pieces of the universe. Y
(B) Eat a mushroom. What do you mean, "you don't have it"? You are mother****ing Donkey Kong. Of course you have mushrooms!
(C) Hang around on the beach and see whom you can apprehend as he passes.
(D) Run around and methodically tear down trees, attempting to deprive the island of oxygen. It'll be tough, but you think that you can do it.
SD
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
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