Disclaimer: I don't own Smash Bros or Solid Snake. I do own a song in this chapter, however. If I owned Super Smash Brothers, the Snake Eater song wouldn't have been the instrumental version.

It was a Saturday morning in western Maine. The sun had just begun to make its long journey across the heavens; its rays were shining through the hazy sky above. A family of rabbits emerged from their burrow and hopped through a forest below in search of food. A sleepy owl perched on a tree branch above and coughed loudly, spitting out an owl pellet that hit a sleeping black bear below.

Snake stood on the long steel dock by his house and looked at everything around him. Every morning before most people woke up, Snake liked to come out here and admire the beauty of it all. He could hear the waves rolling off of the shore nearby and the sounds of birds singing in the woods nearby his cabin, welcoming the start of a new day.

He inhaled the fresh summer air. It was a great day to be alive.

The man was again dressed in his camouflage pajamas and pink bunny slippers. He reached for the holster at his side, pulled out his 9mm and fired at a crudely-drawn, cardboard effigy of Wario with horns and a really evil look on its face. He stepped off of the dock and walked to the effigy on the shore, which was riddled with hundreds of bullet holes.

He looked at the cutout and surveyed the newly-made hole. Huh, right between the eyes, he thought. Too bad I can't do that to the real Wario…

He walked back to the dock and turned around to face the target. Since he was feeling lucky, he closed his eyes and fired the firearm.

His eyes shot open as he heard a woman scream. From the dock, he could see that a woman in a white bathrobe lay on the ground near his tool shed by the lake. He ran off the dock and approached the woman, flipping her over.

Oh nuts, he thought when he saw her face. It was that hot blonde that lived a couple houses down from him, that girl he had wanted to go out with for years who always rebuffed him. Seeing as how the woman had no pulse and had a nasty gunshot wound on the right side of her head, Snake concluded that she was dead.

But what would he do now? His fingerprints were on her neck and the bullet. No doubt he would end up going to jail and then the story of the crime would be retold by that old guy with the annoying voice on Dateline.

After a few minutes of thinking it over, Snake knew exactly what he had to do. He had to own up for his misdeed; he needed to do the noble thing, and that's exactly what he did. He grabbed the dead woman (Man, she was heavier than she looked) and chucked her corpse into the lake. He really hoped that some of those piranha-frogs lived in there now.

Putting his hands behind his back and whistling innocently, Snake walked back to his cabin. He turned the brand-new doorknob of his front door and began to step inside when one of those rabid locksmiths came out of nowhere. He was dressed in a blue baseball cap, had a long black beard, wild eyes and a white shirt and blue jeans; drool was running out of his mouth like a waterfall.

"Urrghh…. Need costumer feedback…"

Snake sighed disgustedly. He shot the locksmith in the gut and caught him as he was about to literally drop dead. He brought the corpse down gently and started whistling and calling for his dog.

"Frank! Frank!"

Around the corner came a three-year-old black and white furred Siberian husky. He panted loudly as he looked up at his owner.

"Frank, I've got a new chew toy for you," said Snake softly to the dog. Frank panted, putting his jaws on the corpse's arm and dragging him off to his doghouse.

Snake smiled and stepped inside his home. He had just bought the dog two weeks ago and was surprised how quickly it had come to accept him as his owner. Technically, Snake never bought the dog; he stole it from the Grouchington's house after he knocked them out/killed them and dumped their bodies into the lake. Since he had always had a thing for huskies, and had wanted a dog badly ever since Kirby ate his sleigh dogs four years ago, he took it upon himself to take their dog.

Snake took the blueberry coffeecake he had made yesterday out of the fridge and placed it on his kitchen counter. Getting a cup of Nicaragua's Disappointment, he took the coffeecake to his filthy sofa and turned his television on. It was almost time for that pundit guy's show that he liked on Fixed News, the most unreliable name in news.

Frank came running into the living room with one of the locksmith's tibia in his jaws. Snake smiled as the dog sat down on the floor and stared at the television while gnawing on the bone. As Snake looked at Frank chewing the bone, he couldn't help but get the feeling that the guys who wrote Criminal Minds were watching him from somewhere far away.

On the television, that annoying beep from 24 was playing as various images flashed across the screen. The White House, Capitol Hill, the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial briefly appeared. A video clip of obese New Yorkers walking in Times Square appeared next. Then, a photo of some guy wearing a tinfoil hat who was waving an American flag and holding a handgun appeared. This picture was then replaced by various cityscapes.

Then random audio clips of politicians reciting epic and inflammatory statements played in the background while photos of the Constitution, a statue of Thomas Jefferson and a poster of Uncle Sam appeared on screen.

Then, a woman off-screen said in a seductive voice, "What you are about to watch is the fusion of entertainment and conspiracy theories galore; hard-hitting journalism, mixed with right-wing propaganda. This is Cut the Crap with Donkey Kong." An awful-sounding rock song with stupid lyrics played in the background as the title card appeared.

The host of the show stood by a news desk. He was dressed in a black suit and his usual red tie. Behind him, big pictures of dead presidents and lots of TV screens were mounted on the walls of the studio.

"From the Charlie Sheen #Winning Building in downtown Los Angeles," said Donkey Kong in his usual overdramatic style. "This is Cut the Crap with Donkey Kong. I am Donkey Kong, your host. Rather than address the headlines, let's go to the boards."

Snake watched as DK walked to the right and came to two large chalkboards. One was covered with a bunch of pictures of Wario's friends and mentors, while on the other was a drawing of a tree in the center of the board with Wario's picture at the top. To the right of the tree were the names of Wario's closest friends and advisors and at the tree's roots there were pictures of famous radicals and Italian and French chefs from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

DK gestured towards the chalkboards. "Yesterday on my show, we were discussing how President Wario is the poster boy of the radical Marxist-Italian-Frenchist plot to control our nation's supply of garlic. He has shown where his loyalties lie by the implementation of his insidious six percent tax on garlic, as outlined in his Six-Six-Six Tax Plan."

Snake had been watching Donkey Kong since he had gotten this show on Fixed News a couple years ago and he still wasn't able to figure out what the point of the chalkboards were. Were the majority of Donkey Kong's audience schoolchildren, people with short attention spans or maybe did he just have a weird thing for visual aids? Was he trying to subconsciously tell the world that he really wanted to be a teacher and had missed out on his true calling in life?

Snake concluded that some things in life were just beyond human understanding, like why the Kardashians were considered celebrities.

Donkey Kong came up to the board with the drawing of the tree and continued his rant. "As you can see indicated on my Tree of Paranoia—"

What the ape had said was drowned out by the loud ringing of Snake's codec in his ear. Groaning, Snake got up from the couch and put his hand to his ear.

"Yes, sir?" said Snake in an icy voice.

"Snake, report-a to the White House," said Wario's gruff, nasally voice. "It's-a time for another mission. I'm-a sending transportation to get-a you."

Snake swallowed hard. "It isn't going to be a helicopter, is it?" asked the man, his voice like steel. "Because after what happened last time…"

"Oh-a no, Snake," said Wario. "I wouldn't-a dream of sending another helicopter." Snake swore he could hear Wario laughing quietly at the other end of the line. The communication then ended. Snake angrily threw off his clothes and dressed in his sneaking suit and headband. No sooner had he finished dressing, the doorbell rang.

Before heading to the front door, Snake shut off the television. Donkey Kong was doing that fake crying thing that he does when he wanted to elicit the viewer's sympathy. Snake now went to the door. Opening it, he could see two guys dressed in black suits and sunglasses standing on his porch.

They motioned for him to come with them and he followed them to the street out in front of his house, where a black limousine was parked. Some of Snake's geriatric neighbors had gathered out on their lawns and porches and were all staring. Snake rolled his eyes as both he and the two guys got into the limo.

These old folks really need to do more jigsaw puzzles, thought Snake as the car drove off.

After a day on the road and a night in a fleabag motel in Atlantic City, Snake had finally arrived at Washington. The next morning, he stepped into the Oval Office, where Wario was talking to two tall French guys dressed in chef's clothes and hats.

Snake was taken aback. Gee, could Donkey Kong's crazy rants really be true after all…?

The President saw the man standing in the doorway, so he said quietly to the two chefs, "We'll-a talk more about-a this tomorrow. I have-a company…"

The two men nodded. One of the men placed an envelope on the desk and said something in French to the other guy. The other guy nodded and they left the room, giving Snake looks that would have killed a normal man on their way out. Thankfully, Snake wasn't a normal man. After all, how normal was a guy who liked to incapacitate his neighbors and dump their bodies in a lake or kill a guy and give his corpse to his dog?

Anyway, Snake looked at the repulsive little man and said, "You called?"

"Ah, yes I did, Snake," said Wario. He quickly grabbed the envelope on the desk, which Snake could clearly see had the words 'Illegal Campaign Contributions' written on it and stuffed it into a desk drawer.

"Your new mission is—"

Before Wario could finish, a secret service agent came through the double-doors of the Oval Office. "Um, I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. President, but some packages have arrived for you." Behind the man two other agents appeared, each holding a very heavy-looking briefcase.

Wario held up one of his hands. "Hold on, Snake, this is-a important business."

The two guys dragged the briefcases over to Wario and dropped them on the desk. They stepped back, nodded to Wario and went with the other agent out of the room.

Snake could see that each briefcase had corporate insignias inscribed upon them. One read 'Goldman Sachs', the other 'ExxonMobil'. Wario rubbed his hands together in anticipation and opened the two briefcases, which were lined with many, many pictures of Benjamin Franklin.

The president sniffed the money and sighed happily. "I love-a the smell of bribes in-a the morning…" His mouth opened and a torrent of drool flowed out down his suit.

Snake impatiently cleared his throat. "Mr. President…?"

Suddenly, Wario snapped back to reality. Shaking his head, he reached into his breast pocket and took out a red handkerchief, using it to dry himself.

"I'm-a so sorry, Snake," the president apologized, grinning. "It's just-a the sight of-a the money…" He opened his mouth, making a moaning sound a la Homer Simpson.

Snake covered his face with his right hand and shook his head. At least Nixon tried to hide his crookedness. But this guy…

"Can we please get to my job?" asked the operative angrily. "Why is it every time I come here, you end up getting distracted?"

Wario smiled and pointed to his head, wordlessly blaming Roachie. Snake rolled his eyes, wordlessly annoyed by the man's antics.

"Come-a here, Snake," said Wario. Snake came up to the desk and the Skinflint-in-Chief opened a dresser drawer and held out an evil-looking black manila folder. He placed it on the desk.

"You see, Snake," started he. "Being that it's-a summer and all, the politicians and I have a little get-together here-a in Washington once a year where-a we throw-a a big barbecue, have-a some drinks and try-a to forget how much-a we hate each other. Every year, we-a hire a celebrity chef to grill-a for us and some musicians to entertain us from-a the monotony of-a the political scene. But-a you see, the chef and-a the entertainers for this year's party backed out at-a the last minute and now with-a the party three days away, there's-a no way we can get-a anybody else to come."

Wario was beginning to get an evil smile on his face. He turned to face Snake. "That's-a where you come in, Snake. I need-a you to go get-a the chef and-a the entertainers and 'retrieve' them for me." When Wario said the word "retrieve", he made quotation marks with his fingers.

"What do you mean by 'retrieve' them?" Snake asked in an extremely cynical tone of voice.

"Oh, you-a know," said Wario in a passive tone of voice. "Drugging, kidnapping. Stuff-a like that."

Snake sighed loudly as Wario opened the folder and handed him a page. "These are-a the persons in-a question."

Snake could see at the top of the page were two paper-clipped pictures. One showed Dr. Mario smiling and standing by a kettle grill and the other showed Fox, Falco and some bespectacled guy who looked at lot like Pit playing in a rock band at an arena.

Some years back, Dr. Mario became intensely dissatisfied with his regular job as a respected medical doctor and his weekend job as an infomercial quack that peddled pills made from ground-up dinosaur bones (which he marketed as a cure for arthritis). So he became one of those celebrity rehab guys. Things were going good, until Kirby had checked himself into rehab because he had ate his audience during a taping of his cooking show and had recently gone through a messy divorce with his wife Jigglypuff.

To make a long story short, Kirby ended up eating Dr. Mario, sending him into the nebulous pit that was his stomach. Somehow, Dr. Mario escaped from Kirby's gut using a box of Uncle Ben's rice and a bottle of Dr. Pepper he found floating around in there. He then went on a spiritual journey to try to forget all the nasty stuff he saw in there. He climbed the Himalayas and met Lucario, who lived in solitude in a monastery up there. Lucario taught him that the way to inner peace was through grilling stuff. Returning to the United States with this powerful revelation, Dr. Mario dedicated himself to a new life as both a doctor and barbecue aficionado.

Wario began to regurgitate this story to Snake, but Snake cut him off. "I know the story about Dr. Mario." He pointed to the picture of Fox, Falco and the guy with glasses. "But what's the story with these guys?"

"They are-a known as-a The Drunken Slurs, one of the biggest blues rock bands in-a the biz today," said Wario. "They are known for their number-one hit 'Loosen Up', as well as other—".

Just then, Wario jumped on top of his desk and started jumping around, playing air guitar and singing horribly off-key in a gargling, throaty voice.

When stuff gets-a bad,

When you feel-a sad,

When you're in-a bad mood,

I'll-a be your dude,

I'll-a be your dude.

That horrible urge to vomit that Snake had last month was coming back on him again. Wario's singing was so bad that he actually made Willow Smith, Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj sound pretty good. That awful grating voice, like knives in his ears…. He could feel the stomach acid rising within.

"Um, I hate to interrupt your jam session, Mr. President," said Snake in a very annoyed tone. "But I don't have a clue where I'm supposed to go to find these guys!"

Wario was too busy jumping up and down, playing his imaginary guitar and "singing" to pay attention. Snake groaned loudly, loaded a blank into his 9mm and fired at the ceiling.

"WAH!" cried Wario, falling on his well-padded posterior on the floor in front of his desk. His face grew furious. "Hey! I had a good-a thing going there!"

"Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't have a blasted idea where I'm supposed to go!"

Wario's expression brightened. He picked himself up off the ground and said to the man, "Don't-a worry about it, Snake. There's a plane waiting for you in-a the hanger. I've assigned Major Thomas Aholl to be-a your overseer for-a this mission. He'll explain all-a the fine details to you."

Snake nodded. "Alright. I guess I'd better get going then."

As Snake prepared to turn and leave the room, Wario felt Roachie doing a cardio workout in his brain, which caused the president to jump up and start doing said workout as well. Wario then grabbed some money out of the briefcases, threw it up into the air and began to "sing" another Drunken Slurs song.

There was no fighting it now. The bearded man ran out of the Oval Office and into a nearby bathroom, where he threw up violently.

After that disgusting experience, Snake cleaned up the horrible mess he had made and then ran as quickly as he could to the hanger. Normally, he wouldn't be in such a rush, but hearing Wario sing almost made him want to be locked in that room again, listening to "Firework" and The Dave Matthews Band instead.