I do not own smash brothers... 3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751058209749445923078164062862089986280348(gasp)(collapses from exhaustion)


Upon a dry board, Mewtwo carefully dissected and refined his plans. The level of eloquence and thoroughness that was devoted into process of his plans would have others gape in awe at such mastery of thought.

He stood back and admired his work. Than with a sigh, he started to erase the board.

"Hey! What're doing?" Asked Falcon.

Mewtwo chose to ignore him and continued cleaning the board with increasing hostility. At the last stroke of the brush, he braced himself against the board and sighed again.

"You realize that to implement that plan, I need a partner who is not a raging alcoholic."

"I'm not drunk now." Pointed out Falcon.

Mewtwo glared at him. "I also need an accomplice who can recite the entire alphabet of the English language."

Falcon scoffed. "I can do that: A, B-"

"Can you recite it backwards?" He challenged.

Falcon grinned wildly. "Of course I can. It fools the cops…until I crash into their cruisers."

Mewtwo gripped his paw and slapped his head. "Shut up! I don't want any stupidity infecting my perfect mind!"

Both stood in silence, which was broken by Falcon opening a can of Coors.

"So," he asked between sips, "What's the plan, cat."

Mewtwo ignored his verbal jab and pulled out a chalkboard.

"When I was conceiving a plan to restore your tarnished image, what's left of it, I discovered immediately that it would be impossible."

He flipped the chalkboard. There was a drawing of Falcon with a dunce cap while exploring his nasal cavity with a lit bottle rocket. "You're simply too stupid!"

Falcon casually chugged down another can. He let out a loud burp. "Go on."

Mewtwo chucked the chalkboard at Falcon, which broke against his head. "It means that any plan will end in failure!"

The racer choked on a mouthful of beer. "But if you don't do anything, those nuns will beat me to death!"

"You brought that upon yourself!"Mewtwo said with a sneer. "Who in their right mind would try to molest a chaste woman?"

Mewtwo regarded Falcon with glint of darkhumour in his eyes. "Present company excluded, of course."

Falcon fell to his knees and grabbed Mewtwo around the ankles.

"PLEASE!" begged a crying Falcon. "They've started using crowbars. I've been hit in the crotch with nine irons! NINE IRONS! Hell, they even started constructing an automatic beating machine!"

Mewtwo crossed his arms and smiled smugly. "Interesting, I wish the best of luck to them."

"PLEASE! THINK OF FULL METAL… –SOMETHING!"

Mewtwo nearly forgotten about the reward that enticed him into this scheme. He cursed inwardly.

"Very well, I shall attempt to devise the most mundane of tasks that will provide the desirable impact while minimizing the need for you to think."


"Stretch out please, I'm not rubber man."

The racer slopped another pile of stew into the bowl of a homeless man. In an effort to defuse the public's scorning, Mewtwo managed to arrange several hours of community service for Falcon. Today, he was working in a shelter for the homeless, serving food that was recently donated by a certain Nintendo tyrant.

A member of the queue tipped his hat. "Bless you, sir."

"Yeah, yeah, get along you bums."

Around noon, Falcon experience sharp hunger pangs. He tapped the shoulder of another volunteer.

"Hey, I'm gonna take a break."

The volunteer nodded and Falcon walked around the counter and through the exit.

Once outside, he started searching for a liquor store. Alas, there was none in sight. Curse those damn merchants. It was always location, location, location.

He started to head back into the shelter, when he spotted a homeless guy sitting in an alley, holding a dark green, thin-necked glass bottle.

He shrugged. "Plan B."

He rubbed some dirt on his face and uniform and walked towards the hobo. He sat right next to him and tried to start a conversation.

"Hey man, since we both are poor, how bout sharing the booze."

The hobo blinked. "Ain't you that disgraced racer?"

Captain Falcon shrugged. "Well, don't I deserve a drink than? Just to remember my glory days?"

The hobo scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose so," he admitted. "Hold this bottle for me, will ya? I'll get ya something."

As soon as the hobo turned his back, Falcon started gulping down the contents.

The hobo turned around, holding a bottle of scotch.

"Here we go," he said with a smile, "this beauty's been aged 17 years and-"

The words died in his throat as he watched the racer drink the entire bottle.

"Good Lord! We've got to get you to a hospital!"

Falcon staggred and struggled to strike his trademark pose.

"SHow...showw M...ne... UR MOoovES!"


"…Sadly, despite the heroic efforts of the fire department, the fish died shortly after its rescue from the water."

Tom shook his head gravely. "That is a tragic story there, Diane."

He turned his head towards camera. "On a lighter note, actor Perry Bepper, who was researching a role for a comedy, as an impoverished singing masseuse, came to the aid of the disgraced racer, Captain Falcon."

In right corner of television, a mugshot of Captain Falcon was displayed . "The racer consumed the contents of a prop, which contained pure alcohol."

Tom chuckled loudly. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that Mr. Bepper would've been more of a hero if he had left the racer vomiting on the sidewalk."

"Tom," interrupted his co-anchor, "your disdain for life disgusts me."

"Diane," he scolded, "you got to know your role. Don't forget, I'm the man here."

The countenance of his partner flushed red with rage. "Is that why you never show any respect for me, Tom? It's all because I'm a woman!"

"That's not entirely true, Diane." Replied her partner, with a casually tone. "I respect you moderately more than the hookers I slept with."

"Bite me, Tom! Every single one of those whores was crying when they left your room!"

"I'm surprised you could hear that crying, Diane. With the ruckus made by the men parading into your room, I'm surprised you noticed anything else!"

Diane grabbed a pair of brass knuckles. Tom eyes widen at her implement of pain. He bolted, prompting Diane to chase after him.

"Tom, You can just go Fu-!" (click)

Mewtwo switched the T.V. off. He shifted his gaze to the bed-ridden racer.

"I suppose this is an unfamilar scenario to you," said the Pokemon, sarcastically, "for this MUST be the first time you've been treated for alcohol poisoning."

Falcon just blinked in response.