The two swordsmen had finally made it to a most unusual location.

"Well, Roy, my comrade-in-arms…" The blue haired man drawled, "…it appears that our adventure is nigh to the conclusion."

Roy gave the sincerest look of confusion,

"The fighting is almost over?" Marth offered.

"Ooooooooohhhhh…" Roy nodded his head, "Why do you, like, gotta use all them big words, man?" Marth was quite sure his sigh could be heard all the way across the world, "Wait dude!" Roy yelled out suddenly, "Did you just say the fightin's like, over? What a buzzkill, dude."

"Don't worry, dear misguided friend." Marth placated, "Why I'm sure we'll appear in a sequel as two slightly different in appearance and attitude, but still grossly similar characters in the future. I just hope I don't end up an idiot with an axe."

"Well, I hope I get to keep the sword!" He pulled his blade out, swiping at imaginary enemies that seemed to manifest themselves dangerously close to his friends head. "Awww… dude, you don't look so good. What happened to your hair, man?"

(We apologize, please stand by while our favorite blue-haired swordsman (Like they run rampant around here) gives our story's resident idiot what for, then leaves to find a blue wig to replace his valued locks.)

"Now then," Marth began, oblivious to the now horridly bloodied Roy, "Come out here, you being of ultimate power, and prepare to be eradicated by my blade."

"Myahahahahahahaha!"

Heeding the warrior's call, a giant floating glove glided to the platform from out of seemingly nowhere.

"Foolish mortals!" the hand taunted, "It is you who will be eradicated."

Marth drew his sword, "Roy! Prepare yourself for the… Roy?" he looked behind him to his friend, who was currently busy digging around in his nose. "Oh dear God… Roy! Focus here, you asinine dim-wit!"

Roy looked up, finger still probing, "Oh! Dude! That ain't a booger, ain't it?" he pulled a nice large wad from his nose, and then began testing its stretchiness with his pointer finger and thumb. He finally regarded the opponent. Walking to his friend's side, he wiped his findings on Marth's sleeve, unaware of the glare he was receiving from him, "Dude," he speculated, "You think he needs a hand?"

Marth sighed, gingerly flicking the snot from his sleeve, "Roy, that had to have been the dumbest, most clichéd pun ever said concerning hands I have ever had the misfortune to have dulled my already declining sanity!"

A second gloved enemy slid in at this point.

"I trust you have met my right hand man?" the first glove replied.

"Yo!" The right-handed glove waved.

"I retract my previous statement." Marth grumbled, head in his hand. Roy's hand shot up into the air instantly.

"You have a question, mortal?"

"Yeah dude; how big are your shoes?"

"That is not important, tiny warrior. What is important is that you tremble like mortals should! What you see here represents only a fraction of my…" Roy had his hand up again, "Is this about my shoes?"

"No, dude."

"If this is a question about one of my articles of clothing, put your hand down now!"

Roy's hand slowly went to his side again. Marth piped up, "I myself have a question for you, strange being of ultimate power."

"I assume it will be more intelligent than anything your friend here can cook up." The being sighed, motioning for Roy, who was currently resuming his excavation.

"Trust me, it will." Marth sighed, equally exasperated, "How is that you, a disembodied gloved appendage, are capable of discerning our location at all. I see no eyes, and I see no other sensory organs about you."

"That's a…" The being paused, "…very good question. It's a funny story actually; you see the thing is…" Suddenly and without another word, the hand swiped the pair, sending them flying off the stage for (big surprise) parts unknown.

"So whattd'ya wanna do now?" the right hand asked. After a brief pause, he chimed in again, "Wanna thumb wrestle?"

And they thumb wrestled…

Scene Change

Captain Falcon stared down his next opponent, using his patented Falcon-Stare-Of-Death-And-General-Discomfort. "You fool!" he taunted, "Prepare to taste my knuckles!" He lashed out against it, smiling as it gave.

"Hoo Yeah!" he cheered to himself, "Take that! Eat some o' this! I'm supreme, bizzle!"

Fox, hobbling in from his last encounter (I'm so gentle with these people, aren't I?) regarded the captain with curiosity. "Captain Falcon?" he called.

Falcon paid no attention as he continued his assault, "Still standin'? Hoo-Hah! And a lil' o' this!"

"Captain Falcon?"

"Hah! Batteries not included! Hoh! Your mileage may vary!"

"Captain Falcon?" Fox's voice was edged with a hint of annoyance.

"Some assembly required! Ha-Hah! Side effects are generally mild! If you suffer an ere…"

"CAPTAIN FALCON!"

"What?" The fighter turned around, obviously ticked, "I'm in my element here!"

"Obviously." Fox responded with just a hint of sarcasm, "So tell me: why are you beating up a crate?"

Falcon looked back to the crate, which for all his pummeling still showed no signs of damage. "I have no idea." He admitted, "I just saw this thing and got the insatiable urge to beat the stuffing out o' it."

Fox was just about to say just how stupid it sounded, when suddenly he was hit with the same urge. "Dude," he called out, motioning for Falcon to stand aside. He pulled out his trusty ray gun, gave a hearty "Come on!" and began rapid-fire blasting, peppering the box with laser bursts.

Captain Falcon shook his head, moving in front of the lasers, "Fox, you couldn't hurt a dying gnat with that thing." He stood, unflinching as the blasts harmlessly hit him.

Fox nodded his approval, "I need to make this more powerful. Whatever, stand aside then." He focused, muscles tightening, until he was surrounded in an aura of fire. The Captain wisely leapt out of the way as Fox went sailing for the crate, which disintegrated instantly. They both stared at their prize, with first optimism, then disappointment.

"Is that…a hamburger?" Falcon spoke first.

"No, that's a picture of a hamburger." Fox stated matter-of-factly. He picked it up, shrugged, then ate the strange item.

"Oh my God; you ate that thing?" Falcon stared at him, jaw open.

Fox stumbled, "Okay, I just saw sparkly…glitter…stuff…and I don't feel as much pain as I did before."

Falcon nodded knowingly, "You know what this means, right?"

"That was one dang-good burger?"

"Nope, it means there was some PCP in that burger!" Falcon nodded again, "Just be careful; that stuff's pretty addictive."

Another crate fell behind the Captain. He shook his head, "Let's not mess with those things anymore, eh Fox? Fox?" he looked behind him, but this time had no time to jump away as Fox the Fireball came careening towards him and the crate.