Princess Peach has a Pool Party!!
I own nothing. Not even my own name.
A/N: Dedicated to J and P! And everyone else… just be forewarned… you will soon be sucked into the maaadddnesssss. Or not. The choice is yours!! Or not. Or so. I couldn't really say.
I also don't really like Mario. He's a fruit… but I wanted to write this anyway! Just kidding.
Chapter One: Attend or DIE!
Mario was outside raking leaves, when all of a sudden, a letter was thrown at him by a mysterious force. The letter, despite its weight and paper-thin mass, crushed into Mario's upper regions with a devastating blow. Mario fell backwards onto his freshly raked front lawn, and then ripped open the royal looking envelope in which the letter was sealed.
Dear Mario –
It is I. The dearly beloved Princess who often wears Pink, and is named after a very special fruit that everyone loves. Yes. Yes, you are correct. It is I, Princess Peach. You are cordially invited to my 68th birthday party! It's a pool party, of course, and I hope to see you there!
Princess Toadstool
PEACH
"What? Princess Peach is turning 68?" Mario cried out to no one in particular. "You mean… all this time, I have been chasing after a senior citizen, who is similar to that of Joan Rivers in the amount of plastic surgery she has received?"
Mario began to rethink his current feelings on the Princess who was actually a lot older than he had ever dreamed. "No," Mario said in disbelief, continuing to talk to himself. This attracted the attention of some local citizens. They became very frightened of the schizophrenic plumber, so they ran far, far away.
As Mario watched the gap grow larger between his body and the masses of the running peoples, he grew weary and finally decided, "I will not attend the party of the Princess, for she has deceived me for far too long!" Mario fell to his knees in defeat, and hung his head low as he was quite depressed to find out that the love of his life was practically born in 200 BC, or sometime similar to that.
Mario stood up, rake in hand, and kept on performing maintenance to his front lawn.
Several minutes later, a similar face-crushing blow swept Mario off of his feet. It was another letter, enclosed in another royal looking envelope, addressed to the same dear old plumber, Mario.
Dear Mario –
Again, it is I, once again, secondly, and again and again forever and ever. Yes, yours truly. The one and only Princess, of whom you adore – Princess Peach. I would just like you to know that despite my age (67 years, 11 months, 28 days, 14 hours, 3 minutes, and 6 seconds), I have never had Plastic Surger…
At that point, Mario noticed that the penmanship of the Princess seemed to trail off, but was restored to its normal caliber, as a new sentence began;
Sorry, Mario, dear. I just had to reattach my nose, which fell off due to complications from my last Plastic Surgery. Okay… so maybe I lied to you a teensy-weensy bit. But that cannot stand in the way of our love!
I must warn you Mario. If you do not show up at my pool party, for any circumstance… THEN OFF WITH YOUR HEAD! As you know, I am the Princess with a fruity name, and I can easily have you killed by a raging goomba if I so please. Now, take care, my Plumber with an Italian name!
Princess Toadstool
PEACH
After reading the second letter, Mario feared for his life. Though he now viewed Princess Peach as a disgusting, senile creature… he would go to her horrid pool party and withstand her upsetting old age, for he was Mario! And he… had nothing else better to do that day.
A/N: Please do not ask. It is currently 2:38AM and I probably wrote this in ten minutes because my wish is not to sleep. Though, this story scares me a little... maybe I will call it a night now.