Why Nintendo Is Stupid and 5 Things They Can Do To Not Be Stupid

 

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Hey, guys. This is Jumbo Gamer and I’ve got to get something off my chest. I know it may not be a popular opinion, so get ready for this…Nintendo is STUPID.

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Oooo, did that trigger some of you fanboys? Am I going to get a bunch of emails and tweets now about how wrong I am and how Xbox One is stupid? Well, before you do, let me explain something.

I was the biggest Nintendo fan ever. I got like 72 stars in Mario 64 and rented Pilotwings once as a kid. I know what I’m talking about. And don’t think I don’t love Nintendo. In fact, I have a sexy Zelda desktop wallpaper on my computer right now and drove 3 hours to Columbus last year to a Ramada ballroom and placed 72nd in a Smash Brawl tournament.

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So, ummmm, yeah. I know what I’m talking about, posers.

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Anywho, Nintendo is pretty much stupid now. Just look at this.

WHAT IS THAT?! That’s not Metroid! I played Metroid Prime Hunters, okay. I know. What about this?

What the jiff is a Pikmin?! Nintendo probably thinks Spongebob is still cool.

Also, Wii U was stupid. Yeah, I said it.

Now, here’s 5 things they can do to be cooler:

Voice chat in games – You all know from watching my streams on my YouTube page (JumboStreamer452) that I love me some pownage, and how can I get my pownage if can’t harass you over the internet. LAME.

 

More Midna in things – Nintendo has their best character that they do like nothing with. Why can’t we have Legend of Midna instead of Zelda. Legend of Zelda doesn’t even make sense. ITS ABOUT LINK, STUPID. Plus, she’s hot and reminds me of my sister.

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Put Mario on PlayStation – Nintendo, give it up. You can’t make systems anymore. They’re all stupid and no one will ever buy them again. I saw a kid in Walmart the other day and his Mom asked him what a Wii U was. PSSSH! FAIL! Put Mario in PlayStation and accept the inevitable.

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Make the Wii Hammer game – Nintendo has one killer app in their sleeve: the Wii demo where you swing a hammer around for no reason. Why don’t they release it? DO THEY NOT LIKE MONEY? Guess not.

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Let me marry Midna

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Nintendo needs to get woke on this before Xbox and PlayStation start putting their games on their system.  Just do it, Nintendo.

-Jumbo Gamer

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Goodbye Dogs, Hello Omnisandwich! A Report of the B’Tasty 2016 Press Conference

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We live in dark times. Crime is rampant, moral values has dropped to astonishing degree, celebrity has become more valuable than ability and goodness, dark prophecies of the return of fierce ancient gods has hit a fever pitch, and all the dogs are disappearing. Explanations for this phenomenon have varied from the ride of the Garth Brooks clan to the lack of quality dog meats in American grocery stores to allow them to hit ideal mating temperatures for breeders. While this development is disturbing and saddening to many, one company has a different message.

“Listen, dogs had their chance, and they blew it.” states Johnny Johnstackio, CEO of B’Tasty Inc from the stage of their press conference held in the John Ritter Memorial Colosseum. “Wastin’ all that time sleepin’ around on a towel or whatever, chasing mailmen or somethin’. What did they give back to society? Nadda nuthin BADA BOOM!”. At this point, he gestures wildly and his cufflinks fly off of his sleeve and hit a reporter in the eye.

“Which is why myself and a bunch of these jamokes over here at Briejcorp, we started looking at this and saying to ourselves ‘Guys, there is a tremendous opportunity to make some money and bring happiness to everyone across the Earth. But…MORE THAN THAT…stick it to those dogs…”

At this Johnstackio turns in a grand sweeping gesture to the video wall behind him with a picture of an Italian sub on it with a collar and leash attached.

“Ladies and gentlemen and good ol’ Italian pasta big boys..”, he points to several large Italian men in the audience chuckling , patting their stomachs in anticipation and straightening their sleeves, “On behalf on of B’Tasty Inc, a subsidiary of Briejcorp and Creton-Foucher Pharmaceuticals…The Omnisandwich – JUST LIKE MA USED TO DO.” The audience gasps and the sound of digital shutter releases all out of sync becomes a deafening roar.

“Dis guy right here is not only gonna change your life, it’s gonna rip a great big hole right in reality itself.” Johnstackio waves one of their participants onto the stage: a blonde haired girl in her mid-twenties holding a leash on what is most definitely a floating sandwich. the sandwich is wearing a vest around it’s baguette that says RIP DOGS.

“LOOK AT THAT! WHAT FRIGGIN’ DOG COULD DO THAT?! You show me a dog who can float and be a sandwich better than dis guy right here (at this point, Dis Guy Right Here appeared on screen as copyrighted logo), I’ll kick you friggin’ teeth in, capiche?”. He does the thing where he puts his fingers together and holds them up. He has established an understanding with the audience.

“So, yeah, dis girl right here (logo appears again) is walking what appears to be a sandwich, would it not?”. A “YES” sign directly above the stage illuminates brightly and everyone in the audience simultaneously, at least to the best of our ability, says “YES”, especially after he did the fingers thing. We don’t want to let him down. “Dis guy right here (logo) is using what’s called a zero-point energy field to manipulate the field of reality around him. You see, dis here sandwich isn’t actually moving. It’s we who are moving around it.” At this point, the audience gasps simultaneously and reaches under their seats for their own Omnisandwich. They have been trained to expect gifts under their seats, but they are sorely disappointed.

“But hold on, dis guy is also…”, he picks up the sandwich, it struggling in his grip but he managing to get the mastery over it and chomping down on the end of it with an audible crunch, “…one mean moffa of ma sammich”, he says, sentient salami and vinaigrette dripping down his double chin. Suddenly, a deep scream erupts from the sandwich, shaking the lights above. Johnstackio is looking up at the lights in bewilderment, and looks backstage at the personnel. Faintly, you can hear their voices, but it’s only Johnstackio, who is still mic’d, who comes through with a loud and puzzled “Don’t eat it? What the frig not? It’s a dam….”.

Johnstackio stops dead and a look of absolutely horror comes across his face as his gaze drops to the floor. He places his hands on his knees, and bends over as if he was going to vomit. A voice comes over the PA system that is not his own. “Ladies and gentlemen, the B’Tasty Press Conference has ended. We thank you for your participation and ask that you please head to the exits in a calm and orderly fashion. Remember to always B’Tasty!”.

As we exited, we hear a cry of anguish erupt from Johnstackio. Those who looked back could see no more than a silhouette of a man who had quite possibly bitten off way more than he could chew.

REVIEW: While B’Tasty’s Omnisandwich reveal left us with more questions than answers, the reveal was undoubtedly a hint of a game changer. This reporter is lining up day one for his own Omnisandwich. 4/5

-The Superb

Welcome to Art

 

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Hello. Yes, I am Art. Welcome to me.

This arrangement will be beneficial and good. You will enjoy this good.

Myself is one, maybe two things. I spread them across the walls and on the floor of this room here.

This small man is manipulating me across this space and others for public consumption. He gives you a swallow to take to your house and those you have discuss with.

I target a craving beam to you. Now you consume and you love and you hate me. But you eat and eat and eat and eat and eat.

We are an us now. You have written your definition in my name.

She does not eat and she is worthless to us. She is an idiot and I can’t handle this.

 

The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald – Part 3

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Catch up on Where is Ronald McDonald? Part 2

Chapter 3: A State

There I stood, in the middle of a restaurant in Santa Martinez that I knew somehow to be both an Indian and Thai restaurant simultaneously in the same space and time, with a cellphone in my hand and not a clue of who to call. No name, no number.

Where the feeling of recognition would spark in my head, a mild rush of dopamine as a reward of being a good boy and using my power of recollection, there was now a dull pressure, like that of a sinus headache preceding a low pressure system or as if someone had removed part of my brain and replaced it with cotton.

In the next 2 hours, I would find that both of these thoughts were fairly accurate as to what was actually happening to me.

The phone in my hand vibrated, followed by an unmistakable melody: the “I’m loving it” jingle that McDonald’s reportedly paid Justin Timberlake six million dollars to sing. The phone was ringing. I looked at the screen. It was blank. Without hesitation, I answered.

The Superb: “Hello?” 

Caller: (the same cavernous background was present in this call) “…Yessssssah”

The Superb: “What am I looking for?”

Caller: “….” (sounds of chains rattling)

The Superb: “What is the point of this? I know you know.”

Caller: “…what are you doing?”

The Superb: “What do you mean? Why am I here in California? Is that..”

Caller: “NO.” (in this moment, the reverb on the other end of the phone coalesced like water into a drain for one moment of clarity as he spoke this phrase. He screamed while not screaming). I’m not talking to you. There is another.

The Superb: “Another person in the room with you?”

Caller: “…746 Holly Dr. Come…on….innnnnnnnnnnn.” (caller hangs up phone)

I pried the phone away from my ear, my arm completely petrified to the side of my head. As it dropped past my shoulder, the sounds of the restaurant began to seep back into my consciousness. I took a moment to collect myself and handed the phone back to the man behind the counter.

“Done already?” he said as he looked at me completely befuddled.

“Yes…thank you. Would you happen to know where 746 Holly Drive?”, I said.

In that moment, it was as if someone flipped a switch somewhere behind the scenes. Everything became very….automated. The man’s pupils dilated and his movement became extremely precise. He left his position behind the counter and walked towards the door.

“Follow me and I will take you to….746 Holly Drive.” he said in a voice that was absolutely not his own. At that moment, every person in the restaurant, customer and kitchen staff alike, stood and walked behind us toward the door as if they were on a rail. We exited the restaurant and a moped rode up by itself, balancing perfectly and stopping on a dime in front of us. The man swung his back end completely upwards and planted it on the motorcycle as if he was a poorly animated character in a mid-2000’s video game. His face looked like a husk with black fires burning in the eye sockets. “Hey come on aboard now come on aboard now com-“. His head twitched to the side and the black fire splashed from his eyes and onto the pavement. It burnt a hole in the pavement to reveal a shimmering prism below the road.

At this point, I had enough of my presence of mind back to realize that none of this was grounded in the reality I had spent 29 years in. But now I was on the track too, and there was only one destination on this rail. I hopped on the bike with him and gripped onto his greasy red t-shirt. The customers and restaurant workers lined up in front of us in the street in three row. Raising their arms in the air, the two outer rows bent unnaturally at the waist sideways towards the middle row, who had flipped themselves upside down standing on their necks with their faces staring at us, spreading their legs apart to meet the arms of the outer rows. They were forming double arches.

“YOUR DISPLAY IS SHAMEFUL. PREPARE OF RELEASE.” My driver rev’d the engine, shifted into gear, and barreled through the middle row, leaving a trail of broken and bloody meat. As we roared down the street, I turned in time to see one of the chefs quickly shoveling the roadkill inside the restaurant.

“NOW WE ARE ON TARGET.” he bellowed as we took a sharp turn. Something felt like it had clicked inside my head.

 

To be continued…

 

Ladies, Meet Single Men Now!

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Ladies, we know how hard it can be to meet eligible bachelors in today’s Hustle-Bustle Machine. Therefore, we at The Superb would like to help you make the connection (LOVE CONNECTION) that will lead to unending and eternal happiness, or at the very least an interesting weekend. Take a look at these fine candidates all running for the office of your heart.

Jonny Lang

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Hey, girl. This is Jonny Lang and I am totally interested in having a relationship-type situation with you. Though, I must issue some caution: Ol’ Jonny has been known to catch the fever now and then, and when Jonny does that, it gets weird. But not for me. It’s just how I like it.

Yup, Ol’ Jonny’s a loose cannon. Sometimes I’ll play one chord and stare at the wall all day. Other times, my body requires more beef jerky than water to operate, and then I throw up everywhere. But the times when I get my girls up there to watch me play….oh yeah. That’s the right time.

See, you gotta be chill with me bringing in my 90’s girls in here, or Ol Jonny’s gonna have to walk. And then you’re gonna see my butt, and you’re gonna know where I make poop out of. Praise God and love me, honey. It’s the only way to fly.

Herb Bentley

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We’ve got a ten car pile up on I-75 coming out of Lexington. Looks like if you’re coming southbound, you’re gonna need to hop off well before the Scott County line. Also, the ongoing construction project on the inner loop of New Circle has shut down one of the lanes, causing a massive headache for anyone trying to get to Richmond Rd, you’ll want to build at least 15 minutes into your travel time for the day. Also, I’d like you to know that I am currently very available, and I prefer women in committed relationships that I can destroy. I don’t know what it is, maybe it has something to do with my dad, I have no answer for this. I just know it excites me more to see a ring on that finger and kids waiting in the car. This is Herb Bentley burning clean Shell gasoline, SkyWatch Traffic.

Hiro Takahashi

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(Hiro sits on the hard plastic subway seat, taking drag after drag. He holds it in for at least 35 seconds and exhales seemingly more smoke than he inhaled. Was he storing extra smoke in his lungs? He puts out the cigarette on the seat next to him. This isn’t the first time he’s sat here. It’s evident by the numerous plastic welts in the seat from countless dead cigarette. The seat looks like the surface of a forgotten blue moon in another galaxy that only a few have seen. He glances over his shoulder at you. The disgust you feel is instantly transmuted into something else…an excitement. The smoke rolls from the alchemist’s mouth, slithering up the sides of his nose and behind the black frames of his glasses. In that moment, his brown eyes seem to illuminate through the smoke. He is the UFO in a foggy corn field, and you are the corn farmer being taken away from everything you know. There is terror, but there is also a curiosity drawing you in closer and closer, yet you remain in your chair, mere feet from the new object of your runaway passion. It can’t be contained, it should never be contained. But as you rise, so does he, because the train has stopped, and he is gone. And all that is left in the lingering aroma of his tobacco and the smoke of a fire burning deep within.)

 

Happy hunting, ladies!

-The Superb

The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald – Part 2

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Catch up on Where is Ronald McDonald? Part 1

Part 2: Santa Martinez

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Using my meager blogging budget, I booked the next flight to Santa Martinez, CA, a dusty suburb of San Francisco, located in the East Bay area. I’ve visited Santa Martinez before, back in 2007 while working for my previous employer, though I have this odd memory of the name of the town being Martinez instead of Santa Martinez. Regardless, memory is a tricky thing, and this would only be the beginning of it’s trickery.

When I arrived in the town, it was as I remembered it. Very quaint and quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, but very peaceful. One of the first things I did when arriving in the town was seeking out the Thai restaurant that my boss and I visited when we came almost a decade ago. Unfortunately, when I located the restaurant, I was disappointed to find that the original Thai proprietors had sold the establishment and it had since become an Indian restaurant. The disappointment had affected my appetite, so I decided to move ahead with my purpose in coming to Santa Martinez: find Ronald.

I had very little to go off of. The operator had only told me that Ronald would like to be left alone here, which in itself, was clearly intended to get me here. It was at this point that I froze. I had been so caught up in the excitement, and genuine terror from the phone call that I never stopped to think if I was being set-up. Did the McDonald’s people expect me to follow this clue? Was it an obvious red herring that completely undermined my aspiring hopes to be a decent journalist? Did I even talk to McDonald’s? Why did I think I could afford a $600 ticket to California right now? Had I even told my wife? All of these thoughts hit me like a sack of bricks that had been plummeting from the stratosphere ever since I stepped on the plane. What was I doing here?

Suddenly, I felt very dizzy. I checked my phone to see that I had 56 missed calls from my wife and 200+ text messages. All from my wife. This was a problem. She had no idea where I was, and I had no doubt at this point, the cops were looking for my body. I had to call her, but at that moment, my phone died. I had not charged it, and had no bag in which I would have carried a charger. I just jumped on a plane and flew across the country with absolutely nothing except what was on me at the time I made the call. I had to find a pay phone or borrow a cell phone immediately before my wife lost her mind. I decided on the Indian restaurant. As I walked inside, the smell of curry nearly knocked me to the floor. A flood of memories swept through me that I entirely forgotten about. Eating curry and talking about the complexity of relationships with a man that….I couldn’t recall. But, this all conflicted with what I knew was true: a Thai restaurant in too big of a room with, honest to God, 5 tables in a 1000 square foot room. This Indian restaurant was the same architecturally, no question, but with many more tables. I could tell I hadn’t eaten while in my fugue state, so I decided to sit down and have a bite after I called my wife.

I asked the waiter behind the counter if I could borrow his phone. He was a young Indian man who smelled like an Abercrombie and Fitch store as a living thing. His phone even reeked. As I put the phone to my ear, I noticed the older woman in the back staring at me, in what I can only imagine was a look of disbelief. I had too much going on to consider what social taboo I had just violated by asking to use a young Indian man’s cellphone, but I had no time for pleasantries. I dialed my wife’s number. The phone rang and rang, and went to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Chris. I can’t take your message…”. I took the phone from my ear, and glanced at the screen to see what i had goofed up when dialing the number. Nothing. The number was exactly what it should be. I ended the call and tried again.

“Hello, you’ve reached Chris. I c-“. I looked at the phone again. Same number.

I approached the young man and asked if he had a landline I could use. He exhaled sharply and took me to the backroom.  A beat-up rotary hung from the wall. I picked up the headset and rotated my wife’s number into the phone. As I reached the last number, I realized something very terrifying.

I couldn’t remember my wife’s name.

 

To be continued…

 

Dylon’s Places of Interest: D Hill, Ackermanville, Pennslyvania

My name is Dylon. There are many beautiful places to see in this world. Some of these are more extraordinary than others. Some do not allow you to take pictures of them with earthly photography. Others are not photographed because I was streaming music on the way out and my phone died.

These are my…PLACES OF INTEREST


 

D Hill, Ackermanville, Pennslyvania

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D Hill. Spring, around 3 PM

If you were to head out to the hills of Ackermanville, Penn, approximately 30 miles past the newly constructed Sheetz, a farm can be found. The name of the farm is “Roy Rogers Farm”, but not named after the famous singing cowboy, but instead the fast food restaurant native to the Northeastern United States.

“They came up and bought up most of the land to use for throwin’ out old deep friyers and storing plastic chairs.” says Herb Jim, the patriarch of the Jim Family who has been living on the farm for over 7 years. “A bug had ate up our orchard, and our seaweed harvest wudnt doing good at the time as you couldn’t grow no seaweed on the land, so we sold the land to keep the bread on the table…except for this.” He said this to me as we sat at his ancient kitchen table. He finished his coffee for 45 minutes, had a bowel movement, did something with a wooden window frame for another 45 minutes, and then he showed me something truly breathtaking.

Herb led me through the graveyard of rancid deep fryers and rickety, busted Roy Rogers plastic chairs. “They…umm, keep tellin’ me they’re a comin back for um. The raccoons have claimed um now.” As we entered into a cluster of woods centered in the field, Herb took his hat off, and wiped his weathered, 60-year old brow. His handkerchief was flithy. “Just right up right just here.” I thought he was having a stroke and we kept on through the brush.

We came to a crick. Herb , breathing heavily, took a full 36 minutes to regain his composure, then he called me over. I wondered if I had been led along, if Herb was leading me to an early grave in chunks at the bottom of an abandoned grease trap. Instead, he pointed to a fully grown oak and told me “Poosh on it”. I looked Herb directly in the eye with visible anger.

“No, Herb. I’ve had enough. You are too old and gross to tell me what to do. You’ve wasted my time as it is.” I was annoyed and my shoes were full of raccoon feces.

“Just poosh.” Herb gestured towards the tree, coughing violently as he spewed mucus into his tattered flannel shirt. Giving into this simple Pennslyvania man’s wishes, I approached the tree and “pooshed” on it. Nothing happened. Herb chuckled and spat out a yellow mass the size of a box jellyfish into the bushes. “City boy, pooshin on trees.” Herb continued past me, giggling and gurgling at my foolishness. What a fool I was to fall for his idiot farmer games.

As we breached the woods, I, at last, saw what I had come here to see. Large stone monoliths scattered all about the hills, all of them in the shape of what appeared to be a large capital D. Some in perfect rows, without a degree of variance in placement. Others knocked around, broken. Some placed far away on distant hill.

“Here’s all this crap here.” Herb said, as he ripped a gigantic fart that erupted through the woods causing every bird to flee in fear.

Despite this man’s complete and total ignorance, I was in a state of shock. Some of the D’s looked like marble and were as smooth as butter. Others were prickly and red-colored, painful to the touch, almost as if they were electrified. It was then that I noticed a pattern: all of the D’s that were in a line together were smooth and pleasing to run my hands across, but the ones knocked on the ground with corners broken and chunks of stone torn out were almost vibrating.

“My god, man. These are living things!” I exclaimed, throwing my coat on one of the hurt. “Do you realize what this means?” Herb looked at me with a look so incredibly stupid…I find it difficult to explain without raising my blood pressure.

“THESE ARE LIVING STONES! This is a new lifeform, Herb!”. I was now caressing the smooth stone. The broken ones were far to painful to touch and left a weird banana-scented film on my hands.

Herb continued in his labored breathing, pausing just long enough to swallow some air to clear out his anus. “I dunno. They’ve been here a while. When I was youngun, they was over there on that there hill. Since then, they’ve moved over here. Not sure what they’re after. Dudint help me none.” Herb was sweating fat and grease and fat.

I glanced over at the hill where Herb had said they had started. I could see the faint outline of a rut in the ground that got barer as it neared the stones. Some ruts traveled off to the side to a pond. There were D’s in the pond, all stone as well. Would they drown? Did they breathe?

“Herb, I don’t know what to make of any of this. I was expecting Stonehenge, but I got something much more. Where do I begin with any of this?” I was at a genuine loss for words. Everything in my life up to this point seemed so small compared to this.

“I dunno.” Herb said, pulling at his tight, tight ugly shirt. His breathing was the worst thing I had ever heard, even Richard Ashcroft live. My attention was completely drawn to his pockmarked face and stupid dull brown eyes. What an imbecile, to have this momentous discovery in your own backyard, on the farm that you own, and do nothing with it. What a idiot, idiot, stupid man. I did not care much for him at all.

“Herb, why do you keep this field? You clearly care nothing about the fact that you have sentient rocks living on your property. Why didn’t you sell it to Roy Rogers Inc?” I had not noticed up until this point that my hand had curled into a fist, my fingernails digging deeper into the flesh of my palm. “WHY DID YOU KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF?”

Herb replied with a fart that, I swear to you, caused a duck to scream in the woods from fright. I couldn’t handle anymore of it, so I left. I left Herb in the woods and I drove my car really fast out of his stupid gravel driveway.

I still dream of those rocks. I went out one night one my own to try to find them, but I couldn’t located them. They allowed themselves to only be found by the one man who could never appreciate them on the level that I could, who could never tap their potential and what it means for us and our future.

Beauty is wasted on the stupid. Stupid…stupid Herb.

-Dylon

 

 

Garth Brooks on Partnership with Frito-Lay: “It’s What I’ve Worked Towards My Whole Life”

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Walk into any grocery store’s chip aisle and you may see a familiar, unmistakable silhouette. That’s right, a likely approximation of Garth Brook’s body shape on that bag of Fritos corn chips you’re buying. What you’re seeing is the culmination of nearly 20 years of agonizing hard work and dedication to Garth’s craft.

“I’ve been after that coveted Frito bag since I stated playing honky tonks in Tulsa. All of my heroes had made it there. Who doesn’t remember Hank Williams on Barbecue or Willie Nelson on Big Scoops. Those were my idols, still are, and if I couldn’t get on that Frito bag, what’s been the point of any of this.”

Garth, or “g” as he is known these days, has been lobbying hard for the esteemed front of the bag for over 2 decades. Fans of his will remember times at his shows when he would stop the show to call Frito-Lay headquarters on a phone and have everyone in the audience scream “we want g for Fritos” over and over again.

“These calls happened nearly 3 times a week.” says Henry Polcheck, head of marketing for Frito-Lay. “Long voicemails of indecipherable mob screaming. For a while, we thought were being haunted, but no, it was just Garth, coercing his fans into chanting a phrase over and over again into a Panasonic handheld phone on a stage. They would do this for hours and hours. Sometimes, he would refuse to play them music until he felt the message was appropriately delivered. But they loved him for it.” And that was true. His fans nevertheless wavered in their support for Garth and his passion.

“If g wants it, it must be so.” says Jimmy Lovell, leader of the Garth Brooks fan club, g Force. “What he’s given us as a people is so tremendous and beautiful, if anyone deserves to be vaguely represented on a chip bag, it’s him. Garth Brooks taught me to live. I had my first religious experience watching the video for The Thunder Rolls. That’s when I realized that this world is not what anyone thinks it is and that there are old and angry gods waiting to lay waste to it, and enslave us for their amusement. Once Garth opened it up to me, I was so appreciative to be set free from the imaginary Puritanical shackles, giving in to pure anarchy and ill-fitting cowboy boots, that the only way to properly convey our appreciation is to spread the Garth message far and wide, and the best way of doing that is by putting a body very similar to his on corn chip bags that will be seen in every Sunoco from here to Orlando for a limited time only.”

Garth is often baffled by his extreme fan devotion. “Haha, yeah those guys, I dunno know what they think I’m all about. They’ve always got these shrines up at my concerts and try to sacrifice things there. They keep telling me I’m a herald. I don’t know about that, man. I just want to see what I can safely assume is my body lit from the back on a bag of chips in my cupboard. I want to know what my heroes felt like when they would walk up to someone who’s casually eating a Rueben at a Rueben party holding a bag with themselves on it. I just can’t fathom it.”

But it may shock some to here that Garth has come close to being on a bag before. “Right after my cover of Shameless, Frito-Lay offered me the Doritos bag, which I would have taken, but they explained to me that if I took the Doritos, I could never qualify for the Fritos bag. That was the hardest decision I ever had to make. I passed up the Doritos, and they gave it to Tracy Lawrence, but I think he’s singing in a church somewhere in Atlanta now or something, so we see where that got him.”

Garth had another brush with Fritos when they offered him the role off permenant spokesman for Fritos Racerz, racecar-shaped Fritos that eventually became Flavor Twists. “I was extremely excited at first, but as I thought about it more, I decided to hold out for the regular bag, and good thing I did!”.

“We offered to give him Racerz after his “g force” murdered a bunch of stray dogs on our building.” explains Polcheck. “The chips originally intended to feature Jeff Gordon, but at a certain point, the safety of our employees became a serious concern. Jeff Gordon’s people were only killing themselves in their own homes. So, we offered it to Garth, who did consider it, but decided to pass since  a race car isn’t a guitar and he hasn’t figured out a way to ride his guitar yet.”

Despite all of these setbacks, Brooks has finally achieved his dream, and so has his fan club.

“IT IS FINALLY DONE! WE HAVE ACCOMPLISHED IT! THE HERALD HAS STRUCK FORTH! FEAR FOR THE COMING YEAR WHEN ALL WILL FALL! COME GORG! COME JEEIRB! PLAY STANDING OUTSIDE THE FIRE! WOOOOO!”. screamed Lovell as he shook three dogs in one hand at Garth Brooks during a concert right after the release of Brooks-branded Fritos. His g Force group has expanded by leaps since Garth made the bag, as this figures prominently into their prophetic message they have been sharing for the 12 years they have been functional. Now, half of his concerts are full of shirtless, dog-mad individuals who have formed a cult around this simple Oklahoma boy.

“Yeah, the shows are getting weird since the bag came out.”, Garth admitted at his show, kicking away a bag of Fritos stuffed with bloody meat of some sort. “I don’t know what to do about it, but I tell you what, this ain’t going stop me from enjoying this moment. I finally did it, guys!”.

THE BATTLE FOR THE WORLD STONE BEGINS

-The Superb

Villagers: Sophie Chiswell Math

Sophie Chiswell Math

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“Tell me one good reason why I can’t put the concept of mathmatics as a dependent, Oliver.”

Profile: Peach Skinned Alabama Peach

Height: 5′ 0″

Body Type: Shelly Duvall in The Shining

Memorable Quotes: “Math is my husband”///”I’m married to math”///”Let me check in with math before I agree to that bridge game, Mandy.”

Profession: Math teacher

Leg strength: <<<Mecha (Pre-Alpha)>>>

Story: Sophie was always a very smart girl growing up, getting the best grades in her school and getting shoved into every locker, toilet and under a bus that Southern Elementary had to offer. It was throughout these trials that she began to develop the most important relationship of her life.

During one particular locker imprisonment in 1st grade, she began to do multiplication tables in her head. As the digits increased, she felt something she had never felt before. A content warmth that many normal children in the hallways would have felt when around their best friends, running with wild abandon through the playgrounds and climbing up and down the incredible dangerous play pirate ship made of splintered wood. As the years and grades went by, the complexity of the problems increased. She moved along to long divisions, fractions, algebraic formulas, proving geometric proofs, and finding zeros in functions. These numbers had always been her friends, but she began to feel something more, and that warmth became a flame of passion.

She graduated from the Village University Summa Cum Laude in Super Math, a new form of math developed by the esteemed Jill Brothers. She was the first in the nation to excel at this form of mathmatics and as a result, was in high demand among universities across the country. In the meantime, her romance with math had reached a fever pitch. She would lock herself in her own closet for entire weekends, running through Super Math formulas over and over again, complicating a problem, as they would say in Super Math, “pert near four tiers deep” until she couldn’t think to breathe anymore. She was madly in love in math, but it had always been a one-way romance, unrequited love defined. Until one day when math answered her.

She was nearly seven tiers deep when she felt a presence around her. Initially, she snapped from her closet trance in shock, believing it to be someone in the closet with her. And she was right. Directly in front of her in the closet was what she perceived in the physical realm as The Sixth Doctor from Doctor Who. He sat there in front of her with his blonde afro and an air of arrogance that could be tasted.

“Yes, it is I, the concept of math, here to be your boyfriend. Let’s make out for weeks.”, Math said. Sophie laughed until she cried, and they made out for 5 weeks straight, only taking the occasional bathroom and spaghetti breaks in-between. Unfortunately, due to her romantic indulgences, she lost her position as Super Math professor at Havard University 2, which was located in Alabama but still a really good Havard. But Sophie didn’t care. She had math all to herself and she didn’t care about anything else.

Unfortunately, though, without any sort of income, she eventually ran out of toilet paper for the bathroom breaks, and spaghetti for the spaghetti. This displeased math, who was beginning to tire of their unending make-out sessions.

“I’ve grown tired of your spit and lack of spaghetti and the lack of spaghetti flavor in your spit. I’ve got to get a move on.” said math, putting on his red blazer with yellow ribbed cuffs. But Sophie was not going to let go of love that easily.

“NO! Don’t leave, I’ll get a job! I’ll feed you the best spaghetti! Just….please….I have no one else”, Sophie said with tears in her eyes. Math looked her up and down, and sighed really loud. Then he left. Sophie was alone.

Sophie spiraled into a deep depression, and without her crutch of math to lean on, it took her some time to crawl out of it. Once she did, she got a job as a normal math teacher at Southern Elementary, the very same school where she fell in love with math. But it was here that she made a shocking discovery.

One day, while having her customary tuna on a hot dog bun and Mr. Pibb in the parking lot, she noticed something in the bottom window of the school, in the basement which served as storage for chairs and pregnancy emergency dolls. It appeared to be a piece of paper. She made her way into the basement, and found the room facing the playground where was sitting when she saw the paper. On the paper, there was a series of  numbers written in blue crayon, a very similar color to the one she would use as a child. She stared at this for an indeterminable period of time, though it was long enough for her to lose her apartment and her job at Southern. But this made up for it. Now, she had what she needed.


It is now the seventh year since The Fetching. The blight has spread to all of the outposts. There is no Golden left to serve as a shield to the blight and the Pushers, with their ribbed proboscis pulsing at a rapid rate, skitter through the city. The ruins of what was Southern Elementary stand stark against the blood red sky. The Pushers run this several times a day, sometimes entering the outer portions of the school, but they sense nothing pulling them towards the center, and then down into the basement where an endless string of green numbers pour across a yellowed CRT monitor with something scrawled across the side of the casing. No one speaks the English language anymore, but if they could, they would read the name “Sophie”.

-The Superb

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The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald?

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When was the last time you saw Ronald McDonald? What was the last commercial or print you recall with his maudlin painted expressions? It may surprise you when you realize Ronald has been out of the public eye for a little while.

There are many explanations that have been offered as to why the Clown Prince of Cheeseburgers has been quiet as of late. Some of these have been offered by McDonald’s itself.

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Other potential reasons that have been suggested is McDonald’s effort to distance itself from it’s appearance of being an evil corporation who uses a child-friendly character to doomed children to a life of obesity and horrible eating habits.

Not satisfied with mere theories, we went on a hunt to find Ronald and get it straight from the clown mouth.

 

Part 1: Down to Clown

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When we contacted McDonald’s representatives on multiple occasions, we received the same answer every time, which was a repeat of the above CNN article, almost verbatim. This was done on 36 separate occasions. After this, we changed our tactic when calling. Instead of asking about the reason for Ronald’s disappearance, we began asking for Ronald himself. This seemed to the throw the support employees for a loop as it veered so wildly off of their normal script, aside from perhaps some pages in the back that dealt with scenarios in which a child would call in. After several unprepared but still canned responses from the support staff at the call center for the Golden Arches, we received an interesting response. We have posted the following discussion word-for-word as it happened on the phone.

McDonald’s Corporate Call Center: “McDonald’s Call Center, this is Rob, how can I help you?

The Superb: “Yes, this is A with The Superb. We would like to know where Ronald McDonald lives.

McDonald’s: (pause) Why would you want to know that?

The Superb: We would like to ask him some questions regarding his absence in recent advertising.

(At this point with every other operator, we would begin to receive the same response that basically asserted that Ronald was not a real person, but a corporate entity used in advertisement, effectively ending our conversation. It was here that this conversation diverted.)

McDonald’s: (pause, mixed with some background noises) Why do you keep calling here?

The Superb: Because we feel the people deserve to know the truth. The reasons given by your corporation are not satisfying.

McDonald’s: To who?

The Superb: What do you mean?

McDonald’s: Who are you asserting our answers are not satisfying for?

The Superb: Well, we represent the people, so we feel that we are speaking fo-

McDonald’s: Whoa, whoa, let me stop you right there, Mr. W. We have see-

The Superb: How do you know my name?

McDonald’s: I don’t have to answer that question, but it should be obvious since you have been hounding us relentlessly about Ronald. You don’t think we look into cases like this? We’re a worldwide corporation. We have resources. Now, let me tell you something, pal. You DO NOT represent the interests of the people, okay? We’ve seen your little blog you run. You have something like 80 followers or something.

The Superb: 81

McDonald’s: What?

The Superb: We have 81 followers, as of 10/29, to be accurate, sir.

McDonald’s: Do you know how many people ate at our restaurant across the world yesterday?

The Superb: Well, according to an article published by thefiscaltimes.com, you serve approximately 68 million people daily.

McDonald’s: Yeah. We’ve got more followers than most churches do, okay? So you need to let go of this whole idea that you’re going to create a story out of this and get any traction whatsoever, you understand me?

The Superb: Well, sir, you do realize that by answering in the the way you just did, you yourself have made a story out of this?

McDonald’s: (sound of fabric brushing against phone receiver) Listen to me, pal. I am not your enemy. I am saying this out of kindness for my fellow man….DROP THIS NOW. I know this may seem sensational or like something newsworthy, but don’t you think for a second that you are the first person to come snooping around here about this. Much larger, much more powerful people have contacted us about this and we gave them the same response we’re giving you. There is nothing more to this that what we have stated.

The Superb: Then why are you looking up my information?

McDonald’s: What?

The Superb: I said why are you looking up my information if you have nothing to hide?

McDonald’s: (Pause, followed by strange acoustical changes in the phone call. Much more reverb is introduced, suggesting a change in environment on the other end, as if the McDonald’s employee just walked into a large cave system. Also, it has been noted upon repeat replays that the sound of the man’s voice seems to have changed enough to suggest someone else was on the phone for the final part of the conversation) Yes.

The Superb: Oh…Yes, who is this?

McDonald’s: (pause, along with sounds in the distant background that resemble objects being thrown down a stairwell) Yeees.

The Superb: What is this? Who am I talking to?

McDonald’s: (Pause, followed by several clicks) I know which one you are from.

The Superb: I don’t know what that means. Could you explain that?

McDonald’s: (Pause, followed by several clicks and the immediate disappearance of the reverb) ...SIR! Are you hearing me? (Rob was back, and the creepy ambiance was gone).

The Superb: Hello? 

McDonald’s: Yes! Sir, I am trying to tell you that if you could please leave Ronald alone, he would appreciate that. He’s trying to get some rest out in Santa Martinez, California, and it would be impolite to disturb him.

The Superb: (Pause) Yes, absolutely.

McDonald’s: Have a good day, sir.

(End of call)

As you can see, there are many things that are curious about this call. Why did the support staff choose to handle this particular call of mine in an unorthodox way? Why was it Rob? Who in the world was that talking to me in the middle of the conversation? What did he mean by saying he knew “which one” I was from? And why did Rob suddenly willingly, and suspiciously vomit valuable information into the whereabouts of Ronald?

Santa Martinez held the answer.

 

To be continued…