"The Motley Band Crew." Mr. Game and Watch declared, rather despondently. Mr. Game and Watch stood in a two room shed with Captain Olimar, Rob, Yoshi and Dr. Mario, forming a ring around a small soap box in the center. It was being used as a table and held a file with some papers sticking out. Yoshi had brought it in. The room was completely empty otherwise; the floor and walls were bare wooden planks. Through the door to Game and Watch's left was a bed, a mini fridge and an old black and white antennae based television.
"No, the Fuck Ass Dicks Gang," Captain Olimar said behind the small soap box, "It makes us sound more badass."
"We're here to help people, not…do that," Yoshi reasoned.
"Don't be a pussy, Yoshi," Olimar said as he slapped the green dinosaur in the knee cap. Olimar could not reach his head due to his height. "The Fuck Ass Dicks Gang is beast!"
Game and Watch shook his head. "No, that sounds like we want to screw them in the ass. As a collective gang."
"With our dicks," Rob added.
Captain Olimar frowned. "Well, fuck me. I ain't no bitch. And Yoshi's gay ass name makes us sound like queers."
Rob shifted around uncomfortably on the shag rug. He was deliberately looking for attention.
"What?" Olimar snapped, "Don't tell me you still think you're a homosexual?"
Rob looked down, "Well…"
"You're a fucking robot. Shut the fuck up." Olimar retorted, throwing a punch at the robot's mid section. Clanging against the metal, Olimar quickly withdrew his fist to hide the pain.
"Enough Olimar, enough," Game and Watch picked up the file on the table and skimmed over it. "How about the Motley Band Gang? That way we all have parts representing each of us in the title."
Yoshi smiled gleefully and nodded enthusiastically. Captain Olimar crossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders.
"Whatevs, man. I don't even care. It don't mean anything anyways."
Game and Watch scratched his head. "So we're back to Crew?"
"Fuck no. Fuck that."
Game and Watch sighed. To get things straight, no one truly liked Olimar. The collective members of the Smash Mansion even formed a club, aptly named No One Likes Olimar, or NOLO for short. The club bustled with new members, and grew in number weekly. When Olimar discovered the group existed, he mistook the name to mean "YOLO," a common adage of the time used by those popular enough to justify foolish and oftentimes inconsiderate actions of unabashed self-importance. He was denied access to the club on three separate occasions, convincing him he was not "YOLO-ing" enough. Because he was as impressionable a man as any developing child, he strove to impress his peers with an egregious usage of what he considered the vernacular of the cool kids. However, his multiple refused entries into the NOLO club somehow inspired a self-fabricated form of confidence, resulting in the misconceived notion that he was cooler than the cool kids. Olimar created his own mental clique, admitting only himself as a full-time member. He fashioned a new club, known as CHOLLO, as in "Can't handle only living like Olimar." The name of this club did not sit well with the local Mexican gangsters who soon saw themselves misrepresented and felt their image confused with that of what they referred to as "that little, loco astronaut man-child."
The club was consequently disbanded when one former member, Young Link, had begun to taut around admittance to CHOLLO in the presence of a Mexican gangster while downtown. His announcement must have been construed as mocking the well-respected Mexican gang, for it was a long six weeks in the infirmary. Dr. Mario could attest to the event, and even declared Young Link dead before he was laid on the examining table. He was not, much to his dismay. Dr. Mario preferred not working to working, and doctoring seemed too much of a hassle. He was a sham of a doctor, to be certain, but since no other reasonably practiced Ph.D. in the community would agree to work at the Smash Mansion, its sole proprietor, Master Hand, had no choice but to keep Dr. Mario on the staff. He was not so constricted in Mr. Game and Watch's case, however.
Mr. Game and Watch lived in the garden shed on the outskirts of the mansion. A thin, unkempt gravel path led from the richly, underdeveloped garden to the wooden shack of a house. And since the garden consisted of only a plastic potted tree that Peach bought at a Wal-mart and a painted kiddie-poll filled of water that Yoshi had placed at the center to attempt the essence of a fountain, there was no reason for anyone to come down to the garden shed. For such a wooden debacle that now housed the "retired" smasher, Mr. Game and Watch had created quite the homey feel to it. Being situated on a dirt-desert hill with no sight of plant life, Mr. Game and Watch took it upon himself to shovel clumps of grass from the front yard of the mansion and drop it on his new property. Master Hand was furious when he saw large dug out holes before his esteemed estate, but never thought to traverse down the widely forgotten path to the garden shed. Upon being informed that Mr. Game and Watch took up residence off the garden, his response was: "Who's Mr. Game and Watch?" He immediately then went back to his work, setting up new tournaments so that he could generate an income.
These tournaments that were held at the Smash Mansion, however, were more of a ploy for cash rather than a competition to see who was the ultimate warrior. For Master Hand, and the Super Smash Brothers, too, income was pretty bleak. The tournaments, while hugely successful in the past, were now more laboriously boring symbols of amusement and fun-like baseball to a Seattle Mariners fan, or perhaps like Christmas morning for a single mother of four ungrateful miscreants. Each week a new set of battles would take place and citizens around the town would gather and pay money to see the fights. The more ridiculous and flashy the battles were, the more attraction they held. More attraction led to more people and with more people, more profit. But the people became disinterested in watching gratuitous violence. Master Hand attributed this phenomenon to the local gangs and their vile moral turpitude.
Once, in a desperate attempt to generate money for the monthly quota, Master Hand had set up a vast array of lights and amplifiers and stage effects to draw in a massive crowd. The battle would be between Mr. Game and Watch and Roy, a swordsman known for his flair in battle and flare in his swing, in a battle to determine the livelihood of their fighting careers. Mr. Game and Watch never liked the swordsman's pompous tagline or pretentious, princely ego. Roy was also a rather dense fellow despite his high birth. He would replace the water in Mr. Game and Watch's bucket-a part of one of his signature skills-with oil in an attempt to sabotage the fight. So it came to pass that when Game and Watch saw an opening to extinguish the mighty flame work of the swordsman with what he assumed was water, Roy truly flared in every sense of the word. The fire spread actually very slowly, considering the bucket could only hold about a liter of liquid and only really splashed on his torso. It was his decision to stop, drop, and roll on top of his flaming sword that would leave his face horribly disfigured and Mr. Game and Watch verily detested by the public. Roy was also sponsored by same Latino gang that took offense to the CHOLLO club, thus allowing Game and Watch another opportunity to make enemies within the community.
Master Hand was left with little choice but to sever his connection with Mr. Game and Watch. In fact, he was kidnapped by the rival gangs twice. And when interrogated about his relationship to Mr. Game and Watch, Master Hand responded: "Who's Mr. Game and Watch?" Luckily for him, the gangs had never been schooled on the art of lying. They were the two most honest gangs in the world. The last contact Master Hand had with Game and Watch was a mailed letter inviting him to leave the premises. Since then, Master Hand continued his feigned ignorance of who Mr. Game and Watch was, and never bothered him again for fear the gangs might return with a vengeance. He also took on the habit of locking the doors and windows every night.
It became known that Mr. Game and Watch had taken up residence outside the mansion by the fighters, too. They did not really care, for it always seemed they had their own problems to deal with. It did not bother Game and Watch, he did not particularly care for any of the Smashers that took up lodging in the Mansion. The only people who cared enough to acknowledge Mr. Game and Watch were the four people in his home. They were now his only friends. And that was stretching it. His apathy externalized. Mr. Game and Watch led a life of resignation now. He didn't get to pick his friends.
"Fuck fuck fuck," Olimar suddenly chanted, trailing off.
"What is it Olimar…" Game and Watch muttered remorsefully to his "friend".
"You got a fucking big ass spider." He pointed to the wall. They all turned to the wood board wall.
"Holy shit," Dr. Mario stated coolly, inching slowly toward the door. Everyone else soon followed.
"What in God's name is that?!" They all hovered near the doorway staring at the monstrous spider scratching on the wall. It was at least three feet in length and width. It scattered around like the hands of a over strung clock, and its carapace shone gold in the light.
"How did it get in here without anyone noticing?" Mr. Game and Watch asked his companions.
It was then they heard the creature gurgle out an inaudible sound.
Mr. Game and Watch focused on the monstrosity on his back wall, "Did it just speak?"
"Fuck this, this is fucking garbage-like. I can smell bad shit everywhere up in here!" Captain Olimar said as he turned to walk away, "I'm out dudes." With that he half ran, half hobbled up the path to the mansion. His short legs made him move like a circus act.
Yoshi hesitantly stepped back toward shed, and was stopped by Dr. Mario holding his arm, "Dude, that thing is the size of your head."
Yoshi shook him off, "I think it just wants to get back outside."
"Take it as my professional opinion. That thing is going to eat your balls off, man."
Yoshi looked disappointed at his choice of words. Mr. Game and Watch welcomed the brazen bravery of the kindly dinosaur, realizing that he would not have to deal with such a giant-ass spider.
"You're not even a doctor," Game and Watch pointed out. "All you prescribe are Flintstones vitamins. You have no idea what you're talking about."
"At least let the robot go in first. He can't feel." Dr. Mario pushed Rob ahead of him. Rob resisted, and skidded back behind the doctor.
"I have feelings!" He protested.
Dr. Mario shrugged, and a faint insult came from down the path outside the shed. "Pussy!"
Yoshi shook off the pseudo doctor and positioned his ear dangerous close to the gurgling body of the spider. For a few moments he stood still, listening. Then he went back outside to the others. He was smiling.
"Just as I suspected, he needs help!" Yoshi cheerfully expressed.
They looked blankly back at Yoshi. Mr. Game and Watch responded dumbfounded. "What?"
"Yeah, he says he's been cursed and he needs us to kill similar looking spiders and collect the tokens they drop and give them back to him so that the curse is lifted!" Yoshi said, believing every word.
Mr. Game and Watch was skeptical, "That sounds made up."
"We live in the most honest city in the world! How could he be lying!" said Yoshi. "And besides, this is exactly what the Motley Band Crew is all about! Right?"
Yoshi looked for the support of Dr. Mario who merely shrugged again. Rob cowered his head.
"Could you explain this whole idea?" Dr. Mario interrupted.
"Weren't you with us fifteen minutes ago when we were discussing this?" Yoshi asked.
"I was probably here, and sleeping," Dr. Mario had to think for a moment, then resided on the fact that he was probably right and nodded his head.
Yoshi sighed and proceeded to explain. "We, the Motley Band Crew, dedicate ourselves in the pursuit of helping other people solve their problems. We are the problem solvers. Our little fraternity, stationed here at this establishment, will attract and attend to the citizens of and around the Smash Mansion, for a nominal fee. We are here to aid and assist!"
Dr. Mario was taken aback, "Whoa. Dude, did I sign up for that?"
"Earlier. You signed when we guaranteed a paycheck." Mr. Game and Watch reminded.
Dr. Mario looked satisfied, "Oh. How much am I getting paid?"
"A dollar more than what Master Hand pays. Assuming we get the customers."
"Hold on, Master Hand doesn't pay me anything, man."
Mr. Game and Watch ignored his statement and begun conversation with Yoshi about the giant spider.
"So about this giant spider…I really don't think this qualifies as an assignment."
"Why not?" Yoshi asked with confusion.
"Well," Mr. Game and Watch tried to settle on the right words, "He's uh…a giant spider for one."
"The Motley Band Crew does not discriminate!" Yoshi proclaimed happily. He pulled out the file from the folder on the soap box and pointed to a section of a contract he wrote up about the organization.
"There's no reason we should be accepting an assignment from a giant atrocious spider. That speaks English."
"He said he was rich," Yoshi added in.
Mr. Game and Watch hesitated. He peeked back into the shed to take a look at the big, slimy, disfigured spider on the wall, hair and pus sprouting out from its boney segmented legs. It was hideous. Mr. Game and Watch's mind was settled.
"Alright. Let's do it. Did he leave a name?"
Looking down at his notes, he read, "Mr. Skulltula."
Mr. Game and Watch nodded while thinking of what to do. He never managed an establishment like this before. He just showed his face, fought, and got paid. He only agreed to start this help clinic at the whim of Yoshi because he was tired of the boredom that came with being unemployed. It also would give him a steady flow of cash, assuming it all worked out. So Mr. Game and Watch made his first executive decision of the day.
"Yoshi, you go talk to Mr. Skulltula and get the details of his dilemma." He directed his next statement to Rob. "And please, force him out of my home. He's disgusting."
Yoshi exuberantly bounced up and headed over to the spider, and morosely Rob followed. Mr. Game and Watch closed the door and walked back on the path down to the mansion with Dr. Mario. Olimar was waiting for them.
"So what's the situation, bro?" Olimar asked as they approached.
"I don't know. Don't really care. I'm sure Yoshi will let us know." Mr. Game and Watch did care, though. He was rather partial to spiders inhabiting his home. But more so, he wondered if this crew idea could find him peace of mind. When they reached the mansion's back door, Mr. Game and Watch said farewell to the doctor and the stout astronaut.
Once inside, Olimar turned to Dr. Mario. "How are we," he started, irritated, "supposed to get the bitches with a name like the Motley Band Crew?"
"Are you referring to bitches in the literal or metaphorical sense?" The doctor asked lazily.
"Bitches ain't no metaphor bull-shit, bitches be bitches. I say what I mean, bro, and the Motley Band Crew is a gay ass name." Of course, Olimar never actually meant what he said, and very rarely said what he meant. It was as if he was an alien to the planet and picked up the elements and speech patterns of the average douche bag in a pitiful effort to fit in. Needless to say, he was an impressionable child.
As was his custom, Dr. Mario shrugged.
"All I'm saying is we need bitches up in this bitch." Olimar crassly motioned toward his pelvis.
"I mean my dick," Olimar clarified. "Not that it's a bitch, my dick. My dick is not a bitch."
Dr. Mario walked out of this conversation, unaware that it continued despite his departure.
"I figured you were confused, I don't mean to say I'm a bitch either. That much is pretty obvious, I'm like the antipathy of bitches!" A fleeting sense of incorrect dichotomy passed over Olimar. Now alone in the corridor, Olimar sighed. He felt a feckless pang building up. His stomach growled.
Rubbing his tummy, he muttered, "I need some milk up in this bitch."