Tales of a Mediocre Bunch

“I’m telling ya’ man, Fawful’s back!”

“So not only do you believe that Fawful has somehow returned but that he has now decided, as his great act of vengeance against the Mushroom Kingdom, to send letters about its paper usage?”

His boneheaded buddy attempts to formulate a response, the vermin’s tail and the clock’s ticking cementing how slow the gears in his head turn.

“Yeah, it’s what I’d do. Don’t ya agree?”

The sound of a reptile’s palm smashing into his face echoes across, a groan of utmost anguish following.

“Any other pieces of news ya ‘pardners’ have been telling ya about?”

“Well, there’s one about that blue-armed man.”

“Again, just a foolish rumor with no backing. Even if it was real it’s not like his strip would ever come out.”

“Okay well besides that there’s the blind lumberjack.”

“Just a figment of your imagination created ‘cause ya don’t like how Wario never shows up. Do you have anything of actual substance?”

The rumorous rodent leans back in his chair, continuing to subconsciously thump his legs, trying to come up with something that’d get his closed-minded compadre to agree. Waiting for something vaguely intelligent, the rat’s pal checks the clock hung up on the wall before taking a swig from his wooden mug. He looks around the dimly lit room, ending his sight-seeing by again looking at his white silk bag hanging over his chair, disappointed yet unsurprised that only he and his dim-witted friend showed up.

“Oh! Ya seen all of that stuff about the fake Mario? There’s something really to that man, something much bigger than what THEY’RE letting on!”

His crocodile companion bursts into laughter, spitting his drink out in the process. He rocks his chair as his hand instinctively loses grasp of the mug, slapping the table till gravity sends him falling towards the hardwood, his bag an impromptu pillow. His orange hat flying off his head, he continues cracking up.

“You ACTUALLY believe that?”

“Why not? Evidence’s pretty airtight ma-”

The laughter expands into a roar echoing throughout. The peeved rodent gets up from his chair, his veins pulsating quicker and quicker as the cackling gets louder and louder.

“The most obvious propaganda ever devised by Mario fans, that there’s apparently an IMPASTA running around that’s both losing the easiest battles ever while destroying castles and capturing princesses? Face it dude, you can’t handle losing to someone as PATHETIC, MORONIC, and FAT as you!”

He rolls on the floor, his remarks ended by his own giggling. The final words of his response send the rat into an unbridled rage. He pulls a bomb from behind his back, the fuse already lit, holds it up high, and jumps onto the creaking table the two once sat. The table’s wobbling, caused by the weight, sends its food and drinks crashing onto the floor, the motion even knocking the rat’s shades off.

“You want something to laugh at? Here, HAVE THIS BOMB!”

The enraged rodent chucks the bomb at the purple-scaled croc, his laughing becoming screaming as he grabs his bag and puts it in front of himself. The explosive, flying towards the screaming creature, is swiftly caught by a nimble glove from the room’s shadows, its sleeve covered in white-and-purple stripes. The mysterious fiend brings the bomb into the shadows and blows on the fuse before throwing it out the window. With the commotion halting the room becomes as quiet as a church mouse, the rapidly beating hearts of the two belligerents the only audible sounds.

“CAN YOU FOURTH-RATE, IDIOTIC, HALF-BRAINED, TWO-BIT, CRUDDY, IMBECILIC KNUCKLEHEADS GO FIVE MINUTES WITHOUT GETTING AT EACH OTHER'S THROATS????”

The rest of the room’s lights turn on to reveal the bestower of this fearsome rant to be none other than THE REMARKABLE ROBBER OF RICHES, THE BRILLIANT BARON OF BUGLE, THE PERFECT PILFERER OF POSSESSIONS, POPPLE! Drenched in sweat, the burglarizing bean’s now in full display to the once-arguing-now-shocked buffoons, the delinquents looking behind him to see a gargantuan cloth sack the size of an elephant. The rat and croc return to their seats and grab their accessories, waiting for Popple to catch his breath.

“While you two AIRHEADS have been endlessly bickering over petty rumors of plimbos and dumbos, I, THE SHADOW THIEF HIMSELF, pilfered something, or rather somethings, worth their weight in gold.”

The rat lowers his shades to get a proper look.

“And how’d you do that?”

“A thief never reveals his secrets, see?”

Popple grabs his bag’s ends and attempts to pull it only for the bag to stay put. His tirade continues as he keeps pulling, tiring himself.
“You see, that’s the difference… between me, THE BEANISH BANDIT, and… you… four… chumps.”

“Actually, it’s just me and Croco that showed up, Nabbit and Nicholas aren’t here.”

Popple considers raising his voice before another tug of the bag makes him realize he doesn’t have the energy.

“As I was saying Mouser, I’ve realized long ago there’s more to life… than these monthly get-togethers.. entirely focused on squabbling… over current events, see? I’ve been… focusing… on the joys of life… instead of all these… foolish conspiracies… and it’s paid off dearly, see?”

Popple meekly points back to his bag, giving it one last tug before falling into a respiratory struggle, his loot immovable. Croco sits there, amused.

“For a guy going on about his acumen you sure don’t even want to give one hint about how specifically your skills helped you on this occasion or even what you’ve got in there.”

Popple pulls himself up, immediately going back to trying to pull his treasure forward.

“I stole… one of the things… from a geezer and another… with great prowess. I’ll tell you more… when you… HELP ME GET THIS BAG ON THE TABLE!!”

Popple signals to them, Croco and Mouser getting out of their chairs to help Popple. They roll the sack of treasure as close to the table as possible before steadying themselves, lifting it up, and hurling it on top of the table.

CRASHHHHHHH

The weight of the bag shatters the table, crushing the poor furniture’s legs and creating a massive hole that goes through the table and into the floor. Popple grinds his teeth, clenching his fists in fury.

“YOU IDIOTS!!!! WHILE THE KING OF KLEPTOCRACY GOES OUT TO MAKE A NAME FOR HIMSELF YOU BUMBLERS CAN’T EVEN MOVE A BAG RIGHT!!!! GIVE ME ONE REASON WHY I SHOULDN’T CLOBBER YOU TWO!!!!!”

Though Mouser’s one insult away from lobbing an artillery’s worth of bombs at Popple, Croco leans by the bag, smirking to himself.

“It’s simple, what you got here ain’t even worth much.”

Mouser turns his head towards Croco, astonished as the crocodile remains smugly confident. Popple’s teeth furiously grind against each other to the point of becoming a fine white paste, the foam from his mouth worsening with every additional comment.

“I mean, come on, the table breaking? Probably just a prop table you swapped out when we weren’t looking. This whole demonstration’s just to convince us you FINALLY nabbed something other than a kick to the jaw.”

“ARGHHHHHHHHH!”

“Yep, whatever you’ve stolen, definitely looted something a hundred times more valuable already.

As Popple continues screaming to himself, thrashing the floor out of anger and repeatedly kicking the wall, Mouser’s interest turns towards Croco.

“If you’re so confident that what ya’ve got is better than Popple’s, why don’t ya give an example?”

“Too easy… the golden Princess Peach statue.”

The opportunity for treasure eclipses Popple’s anger, his thrashing stopping as he turns around to listen.

“The golden Princess Peach statue? You’re the reason they don’t show it anymore? What made you think you’d get it while Syrup couldn’t?”

Croco giggles.

“Unlike her I actually came prepared. Remember how every spring they hold The Mushroom Festival?”

“Ya, they don’t let me within 100 feet of the Kingdom but I know of it. Isn’t it just about games and food and stuff?”

“Yeah, but what they don’t tell ya on the fliers or schedule is at the end of the event they actually roll the giant statue out for a bit. Not a lot of time of course, but enough to make do.”

Mouser quiets down, the two taking their seats while Popple lays on his colossal bag, pretending to not be interested, yet closely listening. Mouser, though seated, continues twitching, his left leg rapidly moving up and down as his fingers hit the side of his chair.

“It was a couple hours past afternoon, the event nearing to an end. The appetizers were long gone, the actual meals themselves almost done. The parade wrapped up an hour ago and all the Toads running them were taking down their Mushroom-themed moats. The awards for the events like the three-legged race and long jump were just about done being handed out by some coot, no Italians or Princesses during the whole event. In the back of the crowd I was watching the ceremony, using my masteries in deception and tricknology (as well as a bit of help from a shade-wearing friend) to blend right in with the rest of the Yoshis.”

“Hey, I don’t remember being there!”

“That’s because you weren’t nimrod! It’s the other guy that wears the shades.”

“Roy?”

“No, the one’s that blue!”

“Kamek?”

The croc takes multiple deep breaths.

“He’s a Yoshi, a blue Yoshi, okay? The both of you don’t know who he is, but I do, and that’s all that matters. Did that answer your question?”

“I suppose?”

“Okay.

So sure, my costume was tight, the polyester was itchy, but there I was on the field, only a couple feet away from the stand, waiting for the final announcement to commence my plan.”

“Congratulations to Toadbert for winning the apple bobbing event! And that’s all the awards folks! We’ve got one last event - quite splendid - the group photo!’

Great hearing that but by the end I was drained. It was like those comedy sketches where one guy keeps going to the same place but in a different costume. How are you supposed to tell the differences between them, is it just by the Mushroom on their head having different colors? Is it even a hat or is it part of their skull? I pondered these questions both out of curiosity and self-induced delusion from being in that Yoshi costume for so long. Made me give those clones more than a second of my thoughts as I was preparing myself for The Big Plan. Finally though I see a well-dressed figure descend from the heavens above. It’s the statue, begging to be stolen.”

As Croco relays his story he remains sat in the same position, occasionally reaching out for his mug only to realize that either Mouser kicked it away or the bag crushed it.

“I don’t know how exactly they did it, rolling that giant statue out, wasn’t really paying attention to the process itself, they might’ve even used a helicopter, possibly.”

Still lying on his sack of undescribed treasure, Popple pops his head up and snaps it towards Croco.

“‘POSSIBLY????’ What do you mean ‘possibly?’ It’s a helicopter!!!! A HELICOPTER!!!! You would’ve either seen or heard it! Yes or no, did you see the helicopter?”

Mouser stops twitching, the process of formulating a response requiring him to exert energy elsewhere.

“Croco probably meant they had some sort of advanced stealthology, makes the way those Mushroomers move their indoctrination shines around completely untraceable.”

“Can both of you SHUT UP?! All I’m saying is I don’t know how they moved it, I’m only telling you two these details just to set the story’s stage! The short story’s that I stole it, the long one’s what I’m telling ya right now!”

The voices quiet down for a couple seconds, only the clock’s ticking and Mouser’s foot tapping remaining.

“..And what about the statue? Why’d they roll it out in the first place?? Shouldn’t it just be sat in one place???”

“It’s ‘cause it’s a brainwash machine! The Toads go insane ‘cause inside’s a million little robots designed to getcha! The longer you stare at it, the more you lose yourself! I knew this one guy, did that exact thing. Went from calling himself Chuck to-”

“SHUT UP!! JUST LET ME TELL MY STORY!!!”

The voices again quiet down, the ticking and twitching remaining until Croco resumes his story.

“So they’re rolling the statue out-”

“What’s The Big Plan anyway?”

A million ways to send Mouser flying goes through Croco’s mind before realizing that’s the one time since the creation of the dork club Secret Society of Ne’er-Do-Wellers he’s asked a good question.

“The Big Plan’s just that I’d get close to the statue, put some sort of tracker on it, then at night when nobody’s around I’d go with my pal to its location, break in, and then steal it. It’s simple but when you’re in a community filled with people who can’t even think five seconds into the future it’s a revolutionary contribution to the field of stealology.”

“A tracker? How’d you get one of those? You’re not saying you’re one of those outward-brained cabal types that reads textbooks, right? Inventing stuff so ya can take over and supply and conquer…”

As Mouser continues Croco’s instincts get the best of him, his body involuntarily laughing upon hearing another one of Mouser’s idiotic ramblings. The croc’s glee is short-lived however, the quickening of the mouse’s twitching causes his brain to kick in and realize the inevitable outcome if he continues. Fighting himself, he forces his laugh to a pitiful end.

“No, you id-ler… like every other moral person I stole it from someone else.”

“That’s good. You don’t want to get into that stuff, it’ll ruin your life, blind you, change you forever…”

As Croco listens to Mouser’s “speech” he notices the maniac’s twitching slow to an expected, occasional jolt of the neck, arms, legs, and tail. Any good grace he might’ve given to Mouser for his somewhat decent question disappeared as quickly as it came.

“..I mean have you seen how they make these bricks in the first place? Not with bricks, they won’t tell you that, y’know?”

A fog of silence overtakes the room due to Mouser’s ontological behaviorist inquiries.

“...But yeah, as I was saying, they’re rolling the statue out and everybody there, including the Yoshis I’m right next to, go absolutely insane! I swear they treat it like the Princess actually showed up! I’m still in that shoddy Yoshi suit, still dying from the heat, still having to adjust the costume’s nose every minute so it doesn’t fall off and turn me ugly, and now I'm starting to see lakes in places they shouldn’t be. Yet, in spite of that I’m still hanging on cause I know in a couple minutes I’ll be long gone and soon basking in stacks of goodies. The old Toad says some things about ‘lining up based on height’ and ‘a last minute surprise guest showing up’ but all I’m focusing on is the sun slowly being replaced by a woman’s face.

By the time the old dude’s gotten to me and the Yoshis, telling us where to stand, the statue’s finally in place. It’s right behind the stand, as close to me as it’s gonna get without it growing (another) pair of legs and moving. I stand there in awe, looking at its gold exterior, seeing in the reflection what my life’s gonna be like after this: running a yacht club, buying a dozen mansions at the drop of a hat, having an entire collection of the world’s most precious treasures. In just a few seconds I had planned the next 100 years of my life out. I was at peace in my mind palace, comforted by the soothing sensations of a throne constructed from billions of bullion, losing my connection to the physical realms as I ascended to the plane of kings.

‘Yoshi, Yoshi Yoshi?’

‘Yoshi Yoshi? Yoshi Yoshi YOSHI YOSHI! YOSHI! YOSHI! YOSHI!’

I snap outta utopia to see everyone, including my shade-wearing pal, staring down in shock, so I do too.

It’s my nose.

The green, poorly-painted, poorly-designed tumor off me, my hands lift themselves up to touch my nose, feeling scales instead of a rubbish art project.

At that moment I consider pondering what this means for me, only to realize such a train of thought would again lead to worse pastures. As everybody continues to gaze, from the Toads to the Yoshis to even the old dude yelling for security, I take a bite outta my costume, showing the rest of my head from fangs to hat. Like a butterfly breaking through his cocoon I tear through the rest of it, punching open the torso and kicking down the legs. Shock turns to fear as I look around, Toads and Yoshis scattering as they’re replaced by the Kingdom’s guards, spears ready and helmets worn. I hear a whistle from afar, turning my head to see my shade-wearing blue-colored buddy off in the distance, waving at me from behind a tree.

“Yo! Meet me at the spot after this! Take this too!”

Like an olympian he charges up his throw, spinning around repeatedly before throwing something at me. As it gets closer I notice its white coloring, its silk smoothness, its plum shape...

It’s my bag, and it’s aiming for my head!

I duck under, my bag barely missing the top of my hat and instead colliding face-first with a guard stomping towards me. Getting up I see my would-be attacker now one with the ground, the bag resting on his face, ready to be taken like the Sword of Excalibur. I pull the mighty bag from my fallen foe’s face, resting it over my shoulder as I look at the prize ahead and its many gatekeepers. Behind the guards the fossilized mushroom remains, using his stage presence to command them. The crowd’s mostly dispersed since my fake nose popped out, an ignorant few left. Watching the knights line up, ready for me to attack, I stand there with a toothy grin, letting them know their place.

‘Hey tinheads! Ready to be victims of greed?’

Though no response is uttered I see their poses loosening, their arms wobbling as they close the distance needed for their pummeling. With nothing left to say I look back one last time at my partner-in-crime, far off from the crime scene, panting by the side of a tree. With a thumbs up I send him away before turning back to the guards.

With nothing left to attend to I rush straight ahead, the guard closest to me stabbing his spear my way. From his perspective he barely missed out on a promotion. From mine, it’s a nice try. He attempts another prick at me, missing again, as I pull my sack from behind my back and drive it straight into his head, nailing him into the floor. The guard, dropping his spear out of shock, clumsily walks around, dazed and unable to see as his helmet’s fused to his head.

Moving onwards the guards continue swarming me from all angles. With every one that blocks my path I tail whip their legs to make ‘em fall, smack their side to make ‘em fly, or kick their center to send ‘em backwards. By the time I’ve done this to a dozen there’s somehow more pinheads left than when I started, the castle housing an endless supply of them. Though I’m not here for them it’s an additional perk of the business.

Sending a couple more guards into the sunset, with good timing I finally jump onto the stand where grandpa’s still whining about me. His words, valuable as they may be to his knights, have no tangible value to me and instead exist as the whimpers of a frail weak man.

‘Guards! Use the Star Maneuver to protect me from this… beast!’

I use his mushroom head as a trampoline to fly towards the statue’s head. The crowd in front of the statue, though barely what it used to be, gaze in awe. They’re paralyzed by the energy of it all. I’d be willing to bet the only reason they remained there in spite of the chaos was because of me, the PARADIGM example of how to rob.”

“So they stood there to see, see?”

“Yeah, cause I’m great, duh.

Up in the air I’m face-to-face with the statue’s head, seeing in its amber eyes a future of endless prosperity. I pull my tail back and with all my anger towards the Kingdom and all my love towards stealing I send the statue falling. The crowd, though obviously still enamored with me, flee the scene, the energy too much for them to handle. I land on my feet and see ahead the statue shattered into a million pieces. With guards still swarming my way I empty my bag of its rocks and replace its insides with Princess Peach’s face. Though weighed down from the baggage of success I’m still able to outpace the guards, running through the meadow into the forest, my escape guaranteed to be waiting for me as soon as I got out the other side. Though the plan had not gone accordingly it was my quick-thinking and improvisation skills that led me to successfully steal a good chunk of the Princess Peach statue. The end.”

Popple, lying on the bag, jolts his head up.

“So what’d you do with the statue’s face after that? You glue the parts together and hang it up on your wall?”

“Nah, I gave it away.”

“You mean you sold it for coins or other jewels?”

“No, the Mushroom Kingdom took it back.”

The bean rushes down the sack and confronts the croc.

“So you DIDN’T steal it then?”

“Hey, it was a competition of who stole the most valuable thing, not who kept it. Look, I had it for at least a dozen minutes or so before Mario swept in on the other side of the forest, knocked the lights out of me and my buddy, and then had us arrested. If that doesn’t count as having stolen something then what does?”

Popple, already ignited from Croco’s previous comments, explodes into a violent storm.

“THERE’S NO POINT IN STEALING IF YOU DON’T KEEP IT AT THE END!!!! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“Look, I’m just applying the standards you’re using cause this ‘thing’ you stole’s gonna blow up in your face for the exact same reason. Mario’s gonna come along, knock the green outta you, then take the loot back.”

Popple, though assumed to become more tomato-red by such a comment, instead causes a spontaneous sensation of tranquility to wash over him, a big toothy smile stretching across his face replacing his enraged demeanor.

“What’s with the teeth bean-boy?”

“Nothing much, see? Just surprised you haven’t been keeping up much with the Koopa Kronicle.”

“Stopped reading as soon as they started printing all those insane Impasta articles. You telling me you read that garbage?”

“No, but what I did today would definitely be in the Koopa Kronicle.”

From his back Mouser pulls out a disorganized heap of crumpled paper. He shuffles between them, his eyes lighting up as he yanks a piece from the middle, stumbling off his chair towards his buddies as one hand juts a paper towards them.

“You caused this Popple?”

It’s the evening edition of the King Koopa Press. “HAVE OUR STANDARDS IN VILLAINY BEEN LOWERED? MARIO’S FALL FROM INCOMPETENT TO VERY INCOMPETENT AND THE TRIUMPH OF A GENIUS” is written in massive bold lettering on the front page.

“You see Croco, Popple actually knows Impasta is real!”

Still holding the paper Mouser sticks his other arm out, pointing at Popple.

“You said it was Mario that was gonna get him but it’s actually gonna be Impasta. Impastato's gonna get him.”

Then points at Croco.

“And you”

Then at himself.

“And me, but only because he’s smart.”

Croco’s brows furrow, his fangs shining as he snatches the paper from the rat’s arms and rips it into pieces.

“You idiot! Were you even listening to the conversation? That paper didn’t mention Impasta, didn’t come from the right publisher, and it doesn’t matter what was actually printed because Fawful didn’t read it in the first place!”

“Just because the paper doesn’t mention Impasta doesn’t mean it’s not talking about Impasta. The two papers print the exact same stuff anyway, the only difference is in the headline.”

As Croco readies himself to tear off a chunk of the rodent, Popple steps in the middle of the two squabbles, smacking both in the head.

“Do you morons always need to be at each other's throats? Mouser’s brains have long been smithereens but that doesn’t mean YOU get to strangle him everytime he does something. Even if it was from the wrong publisher and even if HE won’t let go of this Impasta boogeyman based on the title alone I knew that paper was obviously talking about me. The great genius was me, see? And that fall of Mario? also referencing me, the supreme swindler!”

The rat and croc, more annoyed by Popple than each other, return to their original places. Popple jumps atop his bag in the middle and stands upright, naming off various nicknames he’s given himself.

“So you stole something from Mario? That’s what’s in that bag? Why don’t you just show us now then?”

Popple’s smile widens to such a length as to almost leave his mouth.

“I can’t just show you what’s in the bag, that’d ruin the fun! And considering you broke my table and right after claimed you stole something ‘so much more valuable’ than what I stole (what a fat lie), I don’t even think you even DESERVE to see what I stole! Sorry chump, takes one to know one and I know you’re not a good thief, see?!”

“...So you know I’m not a good thief because you also suck at stealing?”

Steam emits from the bean’s head as his face reddens, the crocodile delighted by his anger. He looks around and sees the mouse rocking in his chair, his hands tapping the sides of his seat.

“Hey Mouser.”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you mention what the greatest thing you ever stole was? I bet it’s more than what Croco didn’t steal.”

The joy in Croco’s fades as Mouser’s rocking stabilizes, his tail now a metronome.

“Alright, if you want me to do that Popple then I will:

Ya fellas ever heard of Woohoo Hooniversity? Popple probably knows what I’m talking about, it’s located in the Beanbean Kingdom. There’s some weird, out-of-this-world, kind of esoteric stuff that happens out there man. I’ve heard that ever since the recent innovation to the university’s layout some of the scientists there have started experimenting on the local population, infusing their DNA with modified Fire Flowers, turning these men into mutated monsters with four legs and three eyes. A lot of the stuff there ain’t right, but some of it’s more self-interested than sadistic.

I got a tip from a friend of a pal of a buddy that one of these experiments they were trying to do was in coinology, the science of coins. Apparently they’ve got an endless Coin Block. You hit it a million times and it’ll still keep generating coins. Forget every other treasure, if you had one of these you could buy happiness.

The moon was already up when I arrived, the lights seeping through the university’s windows. Only me, my connections, and the foul creatures masquerading as upstanding beans inside that demonic dungeon knew what was truly going on inside. I repeatedly knocked on the door, hoping to grab the attention of one of the psychopaths inside. I laid my trap down at the entrance and hid to the side of the university, eager to see what they’d do to my little friend.

At short notice a man came out from the doors, his back crooked and his clothing plain. He wore a jumpsuit, definitely an abomination of civil society masquerading his malfeasance through channels known by only The Club. I saw him pick up my pal, an inanimate object so too disguising itself as similar to my kind, before taking him in. Still clinging to the walls, I listened in on the conversation.

‘Hey Dr. Jerry, check out this rat I found! You gotta help him!’

‘Not now, I’m trying to work on something here.’

‘But Doctor, you NEED to do something! His tail’s on fire!’

‘Oh for crying out loud, okay!’

In the second between that and the next response the tension nearly sends me fainting.

‘You idiot! This isn’t a rat it’s-IT’S A BOMB!’

KABOOM

The explosion took out the front of the university, the alarms blaring and the sprinklers going off as I charged my way into the building. I was unsure of where exactly the endless Coin Block was, only that it existed in the belly of this beast. I valiantly rushed through the hallways of the evil lair from the offices of professors to the treacherous manifestations of their will in their multitude of laboratories. Enacting righteous justice I of course took every opportunity to fling a minimum of one explosive into each of these dens, causing the reigns of oppression to cry out as debris rains down.”

Mouser illustrates his experience both verbally and physically, sprinting around the disheveled room the three are in, jumping over dilapidated furniture, even giving other characters different expressions and voices. He even pulls out actual bombs and throws them across the room, careful to catch them before hitting the ground. Croco and Popple remain wide-eyed by both the oral and performative experience Mouser provides.

“After an innumerable amount of explosives I eventually found the main lair by going down one of the staircases and discovering an insidious secret: the secret basement! This, I knew, would be where they had to have kept that endless Coin Block, for as is commonly known, vice always lurks at the bottom of men!

With great vigor I blew up the door leading to the basement, encountering a dozen or so beans in lab coats in this room of microscopes, charts, and TEXTBOOKS! They were huddled up in the corner for some reason, the sprinkler spraying them. Inside were a bunch of experiments being concocted, whole lotta tubes and beacons with a rainbow’s worth of colors in them all, a sign the infinite Coin Block was in a closet or cabinet there. I was just about to blow them up, just about to finally get to that endless Coin Block and become the richest man in the world, when right behind me, HE showed up.

*Mario!

I couldn’t believe it. How’d he know I was here, blowing up Woohoo Hooniversity? I brought my most silent explosives, wore my silentest shades and clothing, yet in spite of that he KNEW I was there. I just couldn’t square that circle.

He coughed loudly, making me divert my attention from the big picture, from what really mattered, and I fell for it! I turned around, happy as can be, and said to him:

‘Howdy city-slicker. Ya ready to be blown to smithereens?’”

Popple, having lost track of the story, stands there confused as Croco scratches his head.

“What? Why’d you say ‘howdy’ to Mario?”

“Cause Cowboys are cool! Look, it made sense given the context.”

“What context?”

“I was dressed as one, that’s the context.”

“As one what?”

“A cowboy!”

“Why?”

“Have you been paying attention? Cowboys are cool! I had everything: the sheriff hat, glasses, badge, even two holsters to stick my explosives in! I even did a pretty good accent to accommodate it all. It really was the last piece towards making all that dynamite I was hurling inside the building make sense. If you have any other questions just say them now so I can continue the story uninterrupted.”

Croco, now as confused as Popple, stands there with his mouth half-opened, thinking of something that’d snap Mouser back to his senses. From Mouser’s perspective he takes the croc’s bafflement as a silent nod for him to continue telling his wonderful story.

“See, you get it now! Anyway I was saying…

I told Mario ‘Howdy city-slicker. Ya ready to be blown to smithereens?’ and in response he didn’t even say anything cowboy-ish back to me! Instead, he just said some Italian gobbledygook before hitting the bottom of my chin, knocking my hat right off!

That right there, the disrespect I received, it enraged me, blackening my pure soul. From my holsters I repeatedly kept throwing dynamite at him and every time he just dodged past it! No matter how many explosives I threw at him it just wasn’t enough! Only real effect of it was absolutely obliterating the rest of the university’s foundation, the couple scientists left in the university’s basement using Mario’s devilish distraction to get out.

After a hundred bombs or so Mario and I are still engaged in battle. I'm still enraged, still throwing bombs at Mario, he’s still jumping right over them, even trying to throw back a couple of them at me in the rubble-filled room. It doesn’t do anything since I just throw them right back at him but the sheer gall of it that he’d try and use my weapons against me! IT’S APPALLING!! We may’ve been locked in a physical stalemate but mentally I KNEW I was winning the battle, wearing him down, every tick of my bombs clocking him in the face, seeping through that stoic look firmly planted on him.

And it would’ve worked!

I was just about to wear him down, about to throw The Bomb that’d blow him sky high, ready to say goodbye, when I got hit in the head by something. Didn’t see what it was, he probably cheated or got one of his friends to clock me, but when I woke up I was being dug out of a pile of rubble by a group of Beanbean troops, Mario guiding them to me. Was too weak to fight back so they cuffed me, took my bombs away, and started escorting me away to prison.

Tried telling them about all that happened while they were taking me away, from the abduction and experiments going on in Woohoo Hooniversity to the fact that Mario used one of his EVIL POWER-UPS to REPLACE the entire university with rubble, figured they would listen!

But they DIDN’T LISTEN!

THEY DIDN’T LISTEN!! THEY DIDN’T LISTEN!!! THEY DIDN’T LISTEN!!!! THEY DIDN’T LISTEN!!!!!”

Popple and Croco stare in shock as Mouser begins fuming, angrily continuing his story’s routine.

“THEY COULD’VE LISTENED THEY DIDN’T LISTEN THEY SHOULD’VE LISTENED THEY WOULDN’T LISTENED THEY DIDN’T DIDN’T DIDN’T DIDN’T”

Instinctually Mouser pulls an already lit bomb from behind himself and throws it straight in the air, frenzying Popple and Croco. The two rush to the bomb as it hits the peak of its ascent and begins to fall, Popple using Croco’s back to reach the bomb. The unexpected weight leaves the crocodile tripping on his tail, smashing his chin against the cold floor as Popple leaps off his head, barely reaching the bomb with its fuse having only tenths of an inch left. His gloves covered in immense sweat, he chucks the bomb at the open window, missing the part that’s open and instead crashing through the glass above, splintering the window into a million shards as the bomb, at a snail’s pace, rolls away.

KASPLSHHHHHHHHHHHH

The explosion obliterates the hut’s leftmost wall, replacing it with a dense smoke that fills the room, fumes gushing out the building like a fire pit. Croco, laying on the ground, having further buried his hat into his skull, pulls himself up into the smog, constantly wheezing as he looks around for everyone else.

“YOU IDIOT!!! YOU BLEW THE LAIR UP!! I’LL KNOCK YOUR TEETH OUT, I’LL BREAK YOUR LEGS, I’LL-”

The onslaught of insults clues Croco in on the location of Popple. He wanders further into the fog, slowly waddling towards the tirade, feeling his surroundings with his legs and arms so as to not trip on anything. The visceral screaming now ear-piercing, Croco loses focus and puts his hands over his ears, stumbling for a bit until he trips over some debris and falls onto Popple’s treasure, still unknown after all this time.

Getting up again he finally catches note of Popple, furiously strangling Mouser as he smacks the rodent repeatedly against the wall. Mouser’s head turns purple as he attempts to gasp for air, his attempts restarting everytime he’s bashed against the floor.

“YOU IDIOT! YOU BROKE MY WALL! I’LL BREAK YOU!”

Croco considers stepping in to break the situation up… initially. He looks back at Popple’s bag, the cause of the current situation, and realizes something.

He can just steal it!

Even if he couldn’t get everything, something’s better than nothing. And so what if he doesn’t know what’s inside? Treasure’s treasure, worst case scenario he’d pawn it off to some goober for a hefty payday. With the insults still flying and the ground still shaking he looks around for his bag to loot properly, finding it next to where he once sat. He grabs it, slowly moves towards the middle so as to not trip for the third time today, and upon touching its rough exterior, circles around it till he finds its opening.

Popple’s wailing and the accompanying sound of Mouser being flung at the wall every three seconds have turned into white noise for Croco, becoming the equivalent of a fly’s buzzing as his taste for greed overpowers his other senses. He finally finds the opening of this behemoth of a bag, dollar signs popping right outta his eyes as he unties its knot, dips his hand right in, and pulls out a blue star?

He inspects it closely, its cold exterior even making his gloved hands chilly. Two beady, unmoving eyes in a sea of dark blue stare at him, turning it around to see nothing else. The blue star, though foreign to him, feels soft in his hands, almost making the dozens of epithets Popple’s hurling non-existent.

The blue stars puzzles him, but no feeling can conquer greed! He stuffs it into his bag before putting his hands right back in the sack and pulling out another blue star, then another, and a dozen more right after that. Continuing to fill his bag with them he assures himself that stars have some inherent value to them, even blue ones. It’s not like Mouser was correct last month when he said that exposure to them for long periods of time could damage your lungs, right?

With the screaming still going on and the whacking still continuing Croco fills his bag to the brim, making it even larger than him, yet by the end it’s still as light as a feather. He puts his hand back into Popple’s sack, feeling around for anything he missed, his groping leading to him feeling flesh. He attempts to pull it out, finding to his dismay that it won’t even budge! With another hand placed inside and his insatiable appetite for MORE busting he drags the thing outta the bag as hard as he can.

Croco sees the black shoes first.

Then the red overalls.

The white gloves.

The bright buttons.

The bleak skin.

The faded mustache.

The void covering the eyes.

And finally, the red cap, two “N”s” connected together.

It’s Mario, tied up and seemingly unconscious.

Croco’s first flooded with shock. How did Popple pull this off? Was he truly a better thief than him? No, that’s impossible. This must’ve just been beginner, or rather, idiot’s luck. The only way he could rationalize such a scenario is if Mario just gave himself to Popple. But if so, why would he do that?

And then, Croco’s flooded with his favorite sensation, greed. If anybody deserves to capture Mario it’s him. All that hard work he’s done to be rich, this is HIS meal ticket! This is karma finally coming in, giving him a pat on the back for being a thief. If it wasn’t for him then there’d be no need for anti-theft measures. He’s the REASON that industry exists.

His thoughts, just like before, get the best of him and by the time he’s planned out what investments he’s gonna make from capturing Mario the room’s smoke has dissipated. Popple stands over Mouser, his entire body deeply exhausted from having broken every bone in Mouser’s body. His barely alive victim lies next to the wall that no longer exists, looking at the full moon now shining in the sky.

“Hey… what’re you doing… going through… my bag?”

Croco turns to see Popple looking at him, a bean without the requisite energy to yell at someone. Using his quick-thinking skills he comes up with the best response his mind can muster.

“B-Because I just wanted to congratulate you on collecting Mario! I thought it would be worth it for me to put the loot you really deserve to have into a bag separate from the loot you really really deserve to have!”

The bean, his high-level brain functions disabled, smiles at the croc before giving him a pat on the back.

“You see… it turns out you did… deserve to see… what was inside…”

Popple falls on the floor, catching his breath as Croco looks down at him.

“I… was stealing… these stars… from some crazy old man… today… and while I was heading… back… I just saw Mario… lying on the floor… so I tied him up… and stole him too…”

“So you only captured Mario because of luck?”

“I… would like to consider it…. karma… for an earlier event… on another island…”

As Croco stares at an exhausted Popple still catching his breath he notices a tap on his shoulder. Turning around it’s Mario standing beside him, the rope that once constrained him lying at his feet.

“Excuse me gentlemen, did it really behoove you three to cause such a ruckus in this fine establishment?”

Popple, too tired to do anything, lethargically watches with the most amount of confusion his energy can allow. Croco, wanting both revenge and to claim Mario as his own, grabs his bag filled with stars and drives it into Mario. The carpenter catches his bag with one arm and holds it tight.

“A good host should enlighten a man, not cause him to stoop down to the level of some fossil like you, playing these childish games.”

Croco, still holding onto the bag, is knocked away as Mario throws the sack back.

“I should admit, I am being a bit facetious, I already played the dullard’s game to get these stars.”

Mario cracks his knuckles.

“I just thought I’d be fun to do this as well.”

His overalls smiling.

CREDITS