Tale of Suckage, a Mario Death Story
by Mario Always Dies
Summary: Because you vile lumps of suck are terrible at video games, I now present to you: Every possible way Mario can die, the fanfic!
Mario Takes His Sweet Ass Time
In ye olde days, back before the fucking hills developed large, judgmental eyes to watch you turds masturbate, Mario was taking his sweet, 8-bit ass time strolling through the Mushroom Kingdom like he do.
"Hit'a the blocks? Why'a the fuck not? Gli spaghetti!" he cried, destroying every block that was once a person. That's right. The Mushroom Kingdom citizens King Koopa turned into blocks and bricks, because people suck and no one likes them, including Koopas (especially Koopas! Fucking asshole Toads playing Toadball with their shells scrambled their already feeble brains!) Apparently Mario hated people, too, because he was harvesting them for prizes! And prizes he got! He celebrated how awesome he was by eating a red mushroom he found in a glowing block with a question mark on it. Kids should always trust those.
It was totally worth it, too, because he grew into a FUCKING GIANT and took his big, meaty muscles and beat the shit out of every brick and glowing box he found. Why? Because he fucking felt like it, that's why! Then he squashed Goombas like insignificant bugs for extra points. He didn't have anywhere else to fucking be, so why the hell not? That timer at the top right corner of his life had no business telling motherfucking MARIO how to live his life!
He had everything a guy could possibly want in this world. He was devilishly handsome, had access to as much money as he fucking needed since it was conveniently floating around everywhere, all the princesses wanted him, and he didn't even have to help fucking grease ball douchebags unclog their rancid fucking toilets anymore. You know why? Because he kidnapped some stupid monkey's barrel-throwing dad once and got famous for it, or some shit. Anyway, gone were the days he picked condom jizz, squishy tampon, and straight up doo-doo out of his glorious mustache. He was a changed man. "Wee-hee!" said he with glee-hee. "Fuck'a goombas! Fuck'a monkeys! Fuck'a King'a Koopa! It's'a motherfuckin' Mario time!"
But then the background music that followed him around on all of his journeys started to speed up, and he could feel his heart race, his sweat roll down his brow, and his bowels quiver all of a sudden. Whatever the fuck was going on, he needed to get the hell moving. He ran and he ran, hitting the occasional brick as he ran, and was shrunk by an asshole goomba along the way. He got his revenge and stomped the little shit, though. The satisfying crunch of its bones would have been nice, but since this was the 8-bit era, Mario was not afforded such luxuries as gratuitous gore and violence.
He could see the coveted flag along the horizon, but the counter at the top right of his early existence read 0:04. "Oh, a-NO!" said Mario, running like he'd never run in his life, only to die mid-jump toward his life-saving flag. Gone was he, because you weren't fast enough. Fuck you!