It was a dark and stormy Tuesday night. I remember it clearly in my head. I was headed home from Tombstone Tacos, wandering through the streets, probably drunk off my ass. The Groose didn't need to stay all caged up, and after that Pompadoured Push-over started floundering in VGCW, I needed a fix. The bottle of cheap wine in my hand sloshed back and forth as I stumbled down the sidewalk. As I reached the end of the street, I was met with the daunting task of standing upright without the support of the walls lining the buildings along the previous avenue. I failed miserably. Slouching down against the light pole, I collapsed on the ground. I could've died on that street corner for all I cared.
As I marinated in a pool of rain, alcohol, and tears, three shadowed men began to approach from across the street. Without looking both ways, they slowly began their march across the roadway. Their steps echoed off the wet pavement, ringing like the beat of a drum in my ears. Managing to collect myself for the time being, I steadied myself with the light pole, bringing myself up to level with the three men. As they drew near, I could make out three distinct orange jackets. The footsteps drew to an abrupt close as the men stopped.
The two men in the very front didn't seem to notice me very well, but the man in back seemed to give me a dirty look. My suspicions were confirmed as he spit on my shoes, then kicked me in the shin as I keeled over in pain. "Ey, Jon, what do you think you're doin'?" one of the men in front called out.
"Hey Arin, I want to see if this bum here has good game feel."
"Jon, you're an asshat, you know that?"
"You're full of shit, Arin."
"The 'Not so Grunt' logo on the back of your shirt doesn't even match the correct shade of black."
Jon, obviously angered by this, punched the bus stop window next to me. The glass shattered, peppering Jon in the face with tiny shards of broken glass. As the small droplets of blood ran down the disgruntled man's face, his focus reset on me.
"N-no…" I stammered, struggling to regain my composure. "You can't *hic* do this to me… I made a *hic* logo… or somethin'… that one time…" Jon scoffed. "I made… *hic* I did that promo the other time…"
Jon grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me up to his face. The smell of cheap cologne and bird shit filled the air around me. His mouth hung a crooked smile, and his eyes dug into mine like the sharpest of daggers. He whispered only one word to me.
"Ech." he said.
Suddenly, he lifted me off my feet, locking me into the Grump Hug. I screamed, I kicked, I tapped, but there was nobody to save me. Or so I believed. As I was on the verge of passing out, a mysterious glimmer caught my eye from high above the dark streets of the city. A man stood tall atop a building, the light of the moon gleaming off of his smile. As soon as I had noticed him, he leapt off the building, accelerating towards the ground like a torpedo. He shot down, coming closer and closer. He lifted his leg, and delivered a flying Rough Ryder to Jon, knocking him out upon collision. Jon's suit was tattered and scorched by the sheer awesomeness of this man. The other two men hoisted Jon on their backs, and ran off into the night.
The light of the street lamp slowly faded onto the face of my client, KoopaLandInc. I shook his hand that night, and we made a pact to conquer the Lame Grunts and any other forces that stood in our way. VGCW: ARENA would never be the same.