Powder Keg

Yep, it's another patch 1.1.1 origin story. Don't hate me, but I had to explore this idea a little bit!

In his room, he sat there sulking, as he had been for the past hour or so. A chance at a marvelous victory, stripped by that stupid, green clad bean pole! He dreamed of this and looked forward to this—him creaming the puny idiot until he couldn't take anymore—until he was sniffling and whimpering and sobbing and crying out for his mercy—but he just had to take it from him with that godforsaken ground pound! Things were going just as he'd planned, and he was owning the guy with blow after blow until he pulled his secret weapon out of his sleeve—a grab, a butt slam, and then boom. That stupid man in green got his revenge, so to speak, as he executed combos until he ran out of breath, only for him to re-grab and start over. And again and again and again, trying to escape, to DI—only to be read and set upon even harsher—that plumber had a bit of a grudge against him, and who could blame him? The only escape from this Hell came when Xander, the announcer, mercifully called "Time".

"Scrawny little squirt!" grumbled the salty loser, taking another gulp of his Red Bull energy drink. "Why did I have to lose to you—a coward, of all people?"

D—n that plumber. And d—n Master Hand for inviting him here! Later that night, the loser was going to hit the bars and get—er—Super Smashed—as the images of his thrashing at the hands of the mustachioed man in green continued to drum across his mindscape.

1.1.1

"NOOOOOOO! God—nit!" Salty scrub number two (or twenty-two, or two-hundred, or whenever you stopped counting) screamed in his head as he reached out and grasped him in a firm hold, his blue eyes twinkling with energy and exertion. "Not again, God, please!"

His prayer wasn't answered, as he was slammed down with massive force, butt-stomped and subjected to the umpteenth combo of the current match. His mind was scrambled. How could he escape? DI towards him? Read like a book! DI away? Tech-chased! Air-dodge? Also read! Tech with an aerial? Read so hard! He tried every defense option in the book, but this guy knew how to read! Could anyone stop this fighting machine?

Not really.

After everything was said and done and the man in green clinched the victory while being humble about it, as always, the loser stomped to his room, slammed the door and sat down on his bed. He was frustrated and didn't know what to do. The back of his mind admonished him to get some practice, but he ignored it. Wouldn't it be easier to just fume and rage over it? Fine! Fuming and raging it is!

"Enough is enough!" he growled, kicking over a chair. "I have had it with that freaking plumber and his freaking down throw!"

1.1.1

"[Bleep] this, I'm on freaking stream with my freaking hands up! You freaking stupid [bleep]!" seethed yet another recipient of a nasty defeat at the hands of a certain man in green, nursing an ice pack on his forehead. "This stupid, freaking, justice, self-righteous freaking [bleep], Luigi, is doing this [bleep]! You freaking [bleep]! I swear to God, once I get my hands on you…"

He ranted on and on until a thought struck him. "Okay, you know what? Everyone, type in the chat, 'Luigi is a stupid [bleep]'. Just type in the chat, 'Luigi is a stupid [bleep]'. [Bleep] it."

1.1.1

Match after match, they wouldn't let go of the saltiness. Their friends coddled them and encouraged them to get some practice, but they didn't need any practice. They were the best, for [bleep]'s sake! It was that man in green's fault, not theirs, that they were losing so badly! Him and that godforsaken down throw! And when they connected via social media, they got to talking. Perhaps if they charmed the powers-that-be—manipulated a few "hands", as it were (pun intended)—perhaps something could be done about that pesky down throw of his.

This is the story of such a "something".

The story of the last 30 days leading to patch 1.1.1.

Intrigued? Talk to me.