That Freaking Marshmallow

by Stratocaster

Chapter 1: 147 Mistakes

"Ladies and Gentlemen! You can NOT be ready for this hot-tense action! Homestar Runner and Strong Bad are neck and neck in the final leg of the Scalding Lake Dash! Folks, you have payed for the whole bleacher, but you only need the uncomfortable edge! Who will claim victory?! WHO?!"

The hyped up voice of the Announcer rang throughout the sports field as the action intensified. On the track that circled the athletics area, a long-held rivalry was raging on between the two most active contenders in Free Country, USA. Homestar and Strong Bad sprinted along the winding track, now close enough to easily collide. Neither of them were willing to hold back their power for this particular event.

It was the seventh annual Scalding Lake Dash, a foot race measuring the entire circumference of nearby landmark Scalding Lake. The two racers would simulate the distance around the much shorter running track, a distance that Coach Z had already lost count of almost halfway through the race. The winner would be awarded with a trip to Scalding Lake with no guarantee of a leech-free swimming experience, as well as a golbol. But the only prizes for Strong Bad and Homestar were bragging rights and Marzipan's affection, respectively.

The various crowd of FCUSA residents cheered from the bleachers on the side of the track, really only for Homestar since they knew how this old song and dance would play out. Coach Z stood close to the track keeping a sharp eye the racers' distance.

"Come on, Homestar!" shouted the coach. "Ya gotta kick it out like FloJo, yo! One fort in front of the other!"

Out on the track, Homestar kept his breathing steady as he strode with fleet swiftness. He turned his head to his left, looking back at his oldest rival. "You know, Strong Bad," he said, speech impediment ever present. "It's just like old times. Me and you competing in a sports contest. Me beating you in said sports contest. It's a real Kodak moment!"

The stout wrestleman gave a few heaving breaths as he struggled to match the pace of his biggest nuisance. "Cram your face full of shut, Homestar!" he rasped. "This year's gonna be different! I'm finally gonna beat you in a race! And then I'll have royalties coming out the wazoo!"

"Eww!" Homestar flicked his head in response. "Well if you keep running like that, you're gonna end up tearing your wazoo!"

Strong Bad grumbled to himself. "Come on, boxing boots! Start living up the fame of your arm-borne brothers!"

"You got this, Homestar!" Marzipan called out to her boyfriend from the stands. "If you win, I just might be able to ignore your rancid havarti breath enough to kiss you!"

"Man that kid is fast!" cheered Bubs. "I can't wait to unfairly use his likeness to market my athletic bran cereal! I'll call it...Homestar Wheaters! Nobody use that! It's trademarked!"

"I don't know why I bother showing up to these things." Strong Sad sulked to himself. "Strong Bad always makes me cheer for him and he always loses."

"I told you not to even come, Dumplestiltskin!" Strong Bad shouted as he ran past.

Strong Sad sighed again, heaving his husky body. "Even when he loses, I lose."

As the two competitors rounded the last lap of the race around the track, it had become apparent that Homestar was once again about to claim the glory, pulling his distance with Strong Bad farther and farther.

"Alright, that's it." Strong Bad muttered to himself as he struggled to keep running. "I was hoping to win this one fairs and squares, but it's now or never." He then procured a walkie talkie from his pants. "Come in, Strong Mad! The chicken is approaching the bucket! Repeat, the chicken is approaching the bucket! Employ spice!"

Right on cue, Strong Bad's behemoth older brother rose from a bush several yards away from the approaching Homestar. "CHEATBALL! I CHOOSE YOU!" he bellowed as he hurled something in Homestar's direction.

"MEHHH!" Careening through the air, The Cheat bore down on his target, with a series of rusty steak knives duct taped to his arms and the sides of his anvil-shaped head.

Homestar yelped. "AH! The Cheat is a blade man!"

But before the armed-to-the-teeth The Cheat could make contact with Homestar's face, his trajectory was suddenly knocked off. In came Pom Pom flying from the outer track, executing an aerial side kick to the bladed living projectile. As the inflated martial artist landed on the inner track, The Cheat hurdled away with a scream until landing in his boss's boxing gloves.

"The Cheat!" Strong Bad scolded as he ran. "I told you to be more foreign object and less soccer ball! What good are you for The Cheating anyways?!" He then tossed his disgruntled little lackey over his head and continued his losing run.

"Thanks, Pom Pom!" said Homestar as he strode on. "That wild tiger was ready to stab a brother!"

Pom Pom merely bubbled discerningly at his old friend's immediate confusion. The rest of the crowd cheered even louder as Homestar at last gained upon the finish line where Coach Z waved a checkered flag.

"This is it!" the coach said. "It's definitely the end o' the race, since I totally didn't lose track o' distance! Lock it in, Hamstray!"

"Nice try, Strong Bad!" Homestar called back to his wiped opponent. "But no amount of cheating will get you this year's title! Everyone loves the me! I'm a terrific ath-" Suddenly, a fiery twinge of pain was felt in Homestar's gut, enough to cause him to collapse on the track. He was only three meters away, now writhing in pain. "OWW! Somebody help! I need medical resistance! I think I pulled my pretendix!"

The crowd gave a collective gasp as their hero curled up on the ground and screamed in agony. But as Homestar became incapacitated, Strong Bad saw his advantage and ran past his rival over the finish line.

"OH YEAH!" he cheered as he slid on his knees in celebration. "I did it! I finally freaking did it! Now you may all start doing some serious basking, under the godly glow of my victory! Let us away, big bro! Champion style!"

"THE CURSE IS BROKEN!" Strong Mad added happily as he lifted his gloating brother up onto his shoulder and carried him off the field. The Cheat followed them hurriedly, covered in mud and grass blades.

"Oh well," Strong Sad said and walked off to join his brothers. "I guess a victory pummeling should be better than a defeat pummeling."

"Aw nuts," sulked Coach Z, watching the Brothers Strong exit. "I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Homestar lay on the ground as he came down from the rush of pain in his stomach, oblivious of the huge upset. Pom Pom stood next to his defeated fellow athlete to make sure he was not seriously injured.

"Ugh...I think I'm alright now, Pom Dawg." Homestar gurgled. "Man, that hurt more than a burnt crust biscuit. Did I at least look good crossing the finish line?"

"Bubble de bubble bub bubble"

"Strong Bad won?" Homestar then sighed. "Oh well, I guess he was overdue. Thanks for coming to support me anyway, Pom Squared."

"Bub bubble de bubble bubble bub"

"What do you mean can you have my locker from now on?" asked Homestar.

"Bubble bub bubble de bubble bubble bub bubble de bubble"

"Hey! It's not my problem you can't share a locker room with a loser!" Homestar glared up at him. "I don't like this shade you're throwing down, Double P."

"Bubble bubble de bub" Pom Pom glowered and bounced away.

"Yeah well same to you, man!" Homestar called after him as he laid his head back on the ground. He then saw his broom-shaped girlfriend glide over to his side. "So, Marzipan, were you impressed at my chariots of fire?"

"Homestar, when I said I wanted a choker, I was talking about a necklace." Marzipan discerned. "But I think you still deserve the victory cake I baked for you."

"Oh that thing?" replied Homestar. "I already ate that yesterday. It wasn't very good. What did you use, like, hummus for the frosting instead of chocolate?"

"It was carab paste, you jerk!" snapped Marzipan. "You can just sleep out here tonight for all I care!" She then left him in a huff.

Immediately, the King of Town waddled up to the dazed Homestar. "I lost a bundle bettin' on you, ya washed up whippersnapper!" the old man scorned. "How am I supposed to pay the Poopsmith in thirty-two dozen jerk chicken wings?! I won't last the week! Thanks for nothin', hasbeen!"

Homestar sighed as the king left. "You're welcome."

With everyone else having vacated the field, Coach Z approached his fallen star athlete. "Come on, Homestar." He said. "Step into my orffice. We need to talk about what happened."

...

After mustering up the strength to get back on his blue-soled feet, Homestar followed his coach into his office, better known as the locker room. The mixed odor of spray deodorant and unwashed jocks remained ever present in the air, along with the steady drip of leaky pipes. A spider had nearly completed its web in the trophy case by the door. Homestar noticed a pillow and blanket draped over the wooden bench next to the lockers.

"Um, Coach Z," said Homestar. "Are you still sleeping on that bench? I thought it gave you back problems."

"Well ya know," replied Coach Z, taking a seat on the rickety bench. "With back problems, that means less physical labor I have to do around here."

"Ohhh, I guess that kinda explains why the shower heads are still leaking Listerine." Homestar remarked.

"So what happened out there, Strammy?" asked Coach Z. "Ya never bit the dust right before the finish. But lately you been lookin' kinda sluggish durin' parctice."

"I just don't know, Coach." Homestar sulked. "All of a sudden my stomach just started crampin' and ceasin' up like a cinnamon twister. I have a feeling Strong Bad put something in my pre-workout meal to make me sick!"

Coach Z then turned to the row of lockers behind him, looking at the far left. "Well it doesn't look like ol' S. Bad has been trying to break into yer locker this week. But I'll take a look just in case." He then pulled out a master key from under his hat and opened Homestar's locker. "Hmm, let's see here...Spare star shirt and propeller cap, Melonade caffeinated sports drank, my butt patting workout tapes, everything seems to be in...hold orn a minute!" He then reached down toward the bottom of the compartment and held up a bag of Homestar's favorite treat. "Homestar, have you been eatin' Florffy Porfs before the big race?!"

"Um, duh!" Homestar rolled his eyes. "I've been eatin' thems before every event and practice! You know how it is. Before I have a tall glass of Melonade, I eat about a hundred-and-forty-seven Fluffy Puff Marshmallows...Hey I finally got it right!"

"Well it's no wonder ya cramped up out there!" Coach Z exclaimed.

"Coach, are you trying to say my Fluffy Puffs gave me a stomach ache?" glowered Homestar. "'Cause it says right on the bag 'Does not induce stomach cramps or labor in pregnant women'."

"I gotta tell ya, Homestair," said Coach Z. "This is just plain unhealthy. And yer talkin' to a guy who drinks espresso with shower water. I call it an Ameri-coacho. The point is, ya gotta cut it with the marshmellers."

"Alright, Coach," sighed Homestar. "No more marshmallows before practice. I guess I'll have to find other opportunities to make corporate plugs."

"Not just practice." Coach Z replied. "Ya gotta quit 'em altogether if ya wanna stay in tip torp condition."

"What?!" blurted Homestar. "Coach Z, you might as well be asking birds not to swim! Fish not to fly! Jackelopes not to elope! I'm too hooked to quit marshmallows!"

"Sorry, Homestar," Coach Z put his hand on Homestar's lack of a shoulder. "But if ya don't quit this diet of yours soon, there's just no room for ya's on my fierld. Besides, it might not just be a stomach cramp next time. Why don'tcha just go on home an' think it over?"

Homestar looked down in dejection, pondering the possibility of giving up his most favorite vice. "I guess I will, Coach. I guess I will." He turned toward the exit, before quickly turning back around. "Just let me have a few more puffs!" he exclaimed as he lunged at Coach Z voraciously.

"Ey, no! Back orff!" Coach Z ordered Homestar, holding him off. "These are goin' in the contraband pile! Right next to the over-powdered jockstraps!"

"Eugh! Never mind." Homestar sank and walked off again. "I'm sorry, Coach Z. I'll see you 'round I guess."

"Don't worry about it, Homestar." Coach Z called after him. "Just don't let these marshmallows ruin yer life. I know you'll pull through."

...

As the sun set over the oblong bushes that lined the grassy field of Free Country, USA, Homestar stormed away from the athletic field stewing over the embarrassment of his defeat that day. The thought of giving up his most favorite weakness only left him feeling even more disgruntled and bitter.

"Stupid Coach," he grumbled. "I don't need to give up my mallows." He procured a few marshmallows from under his beanie and began munching. "These things aren't gonna bring me down." He said to himself with a mouthful. "If anything they've saved my life more times than I can cou-"

But as he spoke while scarfing them down, Homestar began choking on a marshmallow. He knelt down on the ground, ready to slip into another fit of agony caused by the confections, when he was hit in the stomach and coughed up the lodged marshmallow. The impact came from a combat boot hurled at him from the front of Marzipan's house, at which he had just arrived seconds earlier.

"Homestar Michael Stipe Runner!" shouted Marzipan from her front stoop. "Did you stuff marshmallows into my couch?!"

Homestar shook his head from the shock of choking, this time in the literal sense of the word, and turned toward his girlfriend. "Um, I wouldn't say 'stuffed'. More like...'stowed'. As in, stowed away for safe keeping in the winter times. I figured you wouldn't mind."

"There was marshmallow oozing out of the cushions when I sat down!" she retorted.

"Really?" replied Homestar. "Maybe I'm not the one who should go on a diet then."

"You are so not staying here anymore!" Marzipan scolded. "Why can't you just go back to your own house?!"

"Marzipan, you know I barely go back to my house anymore." Homestar said. "The squirrel who lives in my attic moved in all his friends! There's enough woodland creatures in there to make up a whimsical sing-along movie!"

"Well then maybe one of them can be your girlfriend from now on!" she said.

"Eww!" came Homestar. "Wait, do you mean..."

"We are through!" snarled Marzipan. "For reals this time!" She finally slammed the front door, causing a cascade of marshmallows to fall from the gutter above.

Of course this hadn't been the first time his girlfriend slammed her door on him. But in that moment, for the first time, it felt like it would not reopen for him again. He got back on his feet and turned away from the house he had crashed at numerous times.

"My best friend doesn't support me." He thought aloud. "My coach suspends me from practice. And now my on-again-off-again-maybe-could-be girlfriend doesn't wanna see me anymore. I've really become a user and a loser. And it's all because of these little enablers!" He picked up one of the marshmallows that fell from the house and hurled it into oblivion. "Hi-ya! No more! It's time I made a change!"

...

Over at his ever reliable concession stand, Bubs occupied himself with cleaning up shop. The chicken feathers and worcestershire sauce had finally been cleared off the counter when one of his best customers came jogging up.

"Homestar!" the shifty salesman greeted. "If I had known you was gonna choke at the race, I woulda had ya covered in my questionable medical coverage. I just upgraded myself to sports-related injuries minus concussions."

"I didn't choke, Bubs," said Homestar. "My stummy did. And that's why I came here to see you."

"Alright then," replied Bubs, leaning in close to him. "Open up and say 'ahh'. And pretend I'm a licensed physician."

"No, Bubs." Homestar stepped back. "Now I know this is gonna sound crazy. But..." He paused to muster up the willpower to say it. "I need you to cancel all orders of Fluffy Puff marshmallows."

"What?! That's just bonkers!" Bubs blurted, taken aback. "You haven't gotten all soft on me, have ya?"

"I can't help it!" replied Homestar. "Coach Z says I'll never be in top condition if I don't quit these things."

"You really gonna believe that one-faced liar?" scoffed Bubs. "Marshmallows ain't gonna kill ya. Can I at least interest you in some quote-unquote 'diet' Fluffy Puffs? They're puffed with real air from a fitness trainer!"

"Sorry, B-man," Homestar shook his head. "I need you to get rid of all of it. Fluffy Puff Malloweens, Nibblers, Red Translucent Dessert Related Substance, Mayonnaise, and even the Fluffy Puff Marshmallow infused cardboard breakfast cereal. I can't take any chances."

"Well, whatever you say, Homestar." Bubs shrugged. "I suppose I'll make a call to Fluffy Puff and stop all shipment. But hey, I got others ways to bleed people of their cash."

"Thanks, Beezubs." Homestar said. "I don't want marshmallows to be the reason my life got flip turned upside down."

"That makes sense." Bubs replied. "And I can always turn you on to some other habitual vices for when ya go through marshmallow withdrawal."

"I knew I could count on you, Bubsy." Homestar told him as he walked away. "That bring me that beat back!"

Bubs then began chanting and dancing behind his stand. "Checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout checkitout..."

...

In a remote land far from any country, free or otherwise, a starkly designed factory loomed over a rocky precipice as lightning raced through the cloudy night sky. This was the headquarters of the Fluffy Puff Corporation, the nucleus of all marshmallow production whose location was known only to its anonymous workers. It also served as the lair of Fluffy Puff's enigmatic leader.

Inside a shrouded room with a view of the grim scenery, a lone figure sat in an enclosed mechanical throne facing the windows. The figure was hooked up with an anesthetic breathing mask, supplying him with compressed marshmallow air from a tank beside the throne. The droning sound of the slow, sickening inhales was suddenly interrupted by the room's twin metal doors opening.

A pair of Blue Laser minions, from the realm of the Cheat Commandos, entered the hollow private chamber. The nameless drones approached the turned away chair and addressed their new master in their similar monotonous voice.

"Sir, we just received a trade report from Free Country, USA." One of the minions said. "They've stopped all shipment of Fluffy Puff Marshmallows and all other products."

"And why should that concern me?" the figure seethed lightly in between long, pained wheezes. "What harm is there in losing one location of distribution?"

"Well actually, sir," the other minion replied. "Free Country, USA had only one customer ordering from us. In fact, he was our last remaining customer. Without him, the corporation will go bankrupt."

A longer wheeze sounded before the enshrouded figure responded. "Who is this last customer?...This traitor..."

"We believe his name is...Homestar Runner, sir." A minion answered.

"HOMESTAR RUNNER?!" Marshie screeched as he yanked off the air mask and quickly levitated out of his throne in a fit of rage. "You're telling me that armless jagaloon has been the only one keeping this company afloat?!"

"I'm afraid so, sir," said one of the minions. "It doesn't look we'll be able to recover after this drop in sales. Homestar Runner has been responsible for almost half of our total profit. And now it seems he's completely cut us off."

With a press of a button on his throne, Marshie activated a monitor that raised from the floor. The screen showed a view of Homestar returning to his house looking sullen. Marshie stared at the athlete with seething anger.

"So, Runner," he hissed. "Flubbing my Fluffy Puff commercials wasn't enough for you, eh? Now you've gone and destroyed my fortune! I sweat to you, with every sugary fiber in my supple body, I will tear your world APAAAAART!"