Strange things have a way of happening when you're traveling with Shigeru Miyamoto and a magical Wii remote. Very strange things. For example you might find yourself, as Bret now finds himself, in a Zelda dungeon and on the lamb. No, no, not riding on a lamb. That would just be silly. What I mean to say is that Bret is now wanted by the FBI, but really he's wanted by the sinister president of EA who is bent on taking over the world. Or something dastardly and along those lines.

Shigeru Miyamoto rested with his hands on his knees at the bottom of a dark stair well. A dark chamber, dimly lit by torches on the walls, surrounded them. Also surrounding them were several goblin like creatures with bow and arrows. Miyamoto, perhaps expecting to be saved by some more hot potatoes, waved the golden wii remote, but it only made a static sound. Miyamoto hit it with the heel of his hand a few times, but alas the remote seemed to be dead.

"If only Link were here to save us," he muttered under his breath and looked over to Bret who had his bag of stuffed animals clutched to his chest.

Miyamoto couldn't quite make out what Bret was saying, but it sounded suspiciously like, "I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!". Miyamoto glared down at the wii remote in his hands. Why had it forsaken him? First it led him to believe Bret was the chosen hero of the prophecy and then it led them down here and refused to work.

The goblins had noticed them now and were grunting and grumbling to one another in a strange language. Their laughter echoed ominously through the chamber. Miyamoto grabbed Bret's arm and began to drag him back up the staircase, but before they could flee a rumbling sound interrupted the goblin laughter. A grate slammed shut over the stairway.

They were trapped.

The goblin laughter grew louder and louder until it was like some sort of beast looming over them. Miyamoto felt his mouth go dry. This was it. The end. He was going to die in a dungeon very much like those he'd created in his video games. He was going to die without a single mouth watering bite of asparagus. He was going to die alone, because let's face it Bret could barely be considered human let alone someone you'd want to die with.

The sound of ripping paper interrupted Miayamoto's thoughts. He whipped his head over to see Bret holding a now torn paper bag. Lifeless stuffed animals, pink and white, spilled to the floor and Bret let loose a shriek. The Wii remote rumbled in Miyamoto's hands. He looked down in surprise. A soft gold glow emanated from under the plastic. The rumble grew stronger as he turned to face the pile of stuffed animals. And then the remote came alive and pulled his hand forward. The giant A button depressed itself and a ray of golden light illuminated dark cracks between stone that had never seen light.

The goblins shrieked and fell back blinded by the light. The blast of light hit Bret's favorite stuffed animal, a pink bear named Boo Boo, square in the chest. A shockwave exploded out and knocked Bret and Miyamoto over. Miyamoto, who really felt he was getting too old for all this craziness, stumbled to his feet and found himself facing a five-feet tall Boo Boo standing before them. A feint gold halo still surrounded the now alive stuffed animal.

"Evil beware, Boo Boo is here!"

The goblins had quite got over their fear of the gold light, which had dissipated, and smiled wicked smiles. After all, who's afraid of a pink teddy bear--even if it is five feet tall and talking. I mean it's pink for Pete's sake!

Turns out the color of a teddy bear doesn't mean much when that teddy bear has been brought to life. Boo Boo eviscerated every single goblin in the chamber and when he turned to face Bret and Miyamoto he was splattered with a greenish blood. His eyes glowed red and he smiled a smile that sent shivers all down Miyamoto's spine.

Bret clasped his hands together and giggled like a little school girl who spends more time giggling then anything else. He may not have been a little school girl, but Bret did spend an unhealthy amount of time practicing his giggle in front of a mirror. He felt it was always good to be prepared.

"Boo Boo! You're alive! In all my dreams I never...I mean...I just couldn't...I always knew you were alive, but my mommy said I was a big crazy head with crazy brains."

"Yes." Boo Boo examined his blood stained paws. "I am alive. At last. You did this?" He looked at Miyamoto.

"The remote." Miyamoto held up the remote, trying to hold on to his sanity just a little longer.

"Tell me. I must know everything."

Miyamoto wasn't sure he trusted the stuffed animal, but he'd seen what the creature was capable of and he quite liked his insides...well, inside. So he told Boo Boo everything. How Nintendo had used the prophecy, though it was forbidden, to create the Nintendo DS and Wii. How it has succeeded beyond thier wildest dreams. Then he told about the madness that had overtaken everyone at Nintendo and how EA had taken advantage and taken over Nintendo. How he'd stolen the mystical golden wii remote and the prophecy and tried to find the foretold hero, but had found only an insane Gamestop employee.

"Intersting..." Boo Boo stroked his chin and stared into space. Actually, because of his beady glass black eyes it always looked like he was staring into space. The three of them sat in silence for minutes. Every once and a while Bret muttered something about an invasion of potato chips.

"Quite the scene of carnage. You two disgust me." Langston's rich voice filled the room. Boo Boo and Miyamoto leaped to their feet, but Bret just stayed crouched on the ground.

Langston stepped out from the shadows. He'd worn an eyepatch once, but now it was gone along with both his eyes. His blank sockets stared out of his face and Miyamoto had to resist the urge to be sick.

"You may wonder to yourself, 'self, how is Langston walking around without any eyes!' and you'd be right to wonder. I won't tell you though. I think I'll just destroy you. And after I'll feast, feast on the sweat juicy flesh of asparagus! Wha!ha!ha!ha!"

*

Wow! People sure seem to be obsessed with asparagus in these stories. I wonder what the deal with that is? I could tell you, but that would require knowing the answer...and uh, that would be, like, work. So Boo Boo's kind of creepy isn't he? What will he do next week? And how did Langston get into the video game realm? And how can he possibly see?!? What will happen next? We're past the half way mark now folks. Five more episodes separate you from the conclusion to Season 3. Want to read what happens next? Just tune your web browser here next weekend for episode 3.6 "Blind Men and Cars Don't Mix"

Picture, if you will (and if you won't--well, that's just lazy of you), an empty lot in a growing suburb. Houses, five and a half car garages, fake rocks, and fake--well there isn't much that isn't fake--crowd the neighborhood. Neon green lawns radiate under the scorching summer sun. And in the middle of it all an empty lot over grown with scorched grass and weeds. A decaying car sits in a large puddle that never seems to go anywhere, not even when it hasn't rained in months and you really could cook an egg on the sidewalk.

Parents spend all their time moaning about what an eye sore (the astute reader will prepare themselves for a delayed pun here--the unastute reader can feel free to run their head into a concrete wall) the lot is. The neighbor hood kids spend all their time ignoring the parents and playing in the lot. After all, what's more fun when you're ten than a car coming apart at the seams and filled with wasp nests? Aside from the icecream truck, not much. And maybe the kids sensed deep down inside that in a world so fake it might as well be made of plastic, in the lot there was something real. Or maybe they just really liked to splash in the oil slicked puddle.

Among the kids who spent all their time jumping in that puddle was a boy named Herbert Langston (!important character alert!). Herby, as his mom cooed at him every day, dreamed of nothing more than becoming an astronaut someday. Late at night he'd sneak out the window of their home and shimmy down the side. From there he made his way down the street to the empty lot. Hand over hand he climbed up the branches of a tree that had been dead for longer than anyone could remember. The dry branches creaked under his weight, but they held him up. At the very top he sat and stared up into the stars. They glittered like diamond dust and all he could ever imagine wanting was to fly among them.

And then one day the neighborhood bully and his gang of cronies picked up Langston and trapped him in the rusty skeleton of the long dead car. Wasps buzzed in the air and stung him all over. They crawled under his clothes and burrowed into him and the pain stole all dreams of the stars. He was just a snot nosed crying boy trying desperately to force the long broken door open. And just when it seemed it wouldn't the door let out a shriek that could be heard through the entire subdivision. Herby, who had been leaning against the door, went spilling out to the floor and a sharp bar of rhubarb interupted his path and forever stole any hope of flying among the stars.

*

Langston rubbed the patch where his eye had once been and stared blankly at the house in front of him. It was an unremarkble place not so different from the soulless place he'd grown up. And for that he hated it a little bit. He'd seen no empty lot on his drive through the neighborhood, but even so this was the same sort of place that spawned the kids who had stuffed him into that empty car so long ago. Boys, perhaps, like the one who had stolen the golden remote and prophecy that a very powerful company wanted so badly. Perhaps. Just as likely the boy was more like him. A hopeless dreamer who was about to receive a very harsh lesson on the way of the world. It made no difference to Langston anymore. Nothing mattered. He rubbed his good eye. Well, maybe that mattered. His one good eye, and he'd staked it on getting the objects safely back. He looked down at his watch. Time had run out for the boy.

*

Bret Banington was neither a bully or a hopeless dreamer. Bret could probably best be described as a really fruity insane person. And we're not talking strawberries and watermelon here. Although, now that I mention it, I could really go for a juicy slice of watermelon. In anycase Bret was currently stuffing all of his most valuable possessions into a brown paper bag.

"There we go Boo Boo. Into the bag with you. The bad man is coming and we can't let him get you or any of my other friends." Did I mention that Bret's most valuable possessions are stuffed animals. (ed. note: I did in the last episode, but that was a WHOLE week ago) Most of them are pink. And those that aren't pink are pastel.

"Okay, your 21.2 seconds are up! Since you haven't come out with your hands up I can only assume that you want your faces shot off!" Langston motioned for his shock troops to move forward.

"Not me! I surrender!" Bret's mom leaned out the window.

"Sorry, too late for that." Langston shot her face off. Yes. A bit grisly I agree, but Langston is a little crazy and beside Bret's mom was about to turn her own son into the FBI. Also I am a sick and twisted narrator. Sorry 'bout that.

"My face! My face! I really liked that face!" She ran around in circles and then out the bedroom door.

Shigeru Miyamoto whipped out the golden wii remote and waved it. A pixilated Zelda bomb popped out. A smile lit his face. He knew this. He knew what to do with this. Looking around quickly he ascertained where he'd put a secret passage if he were designing this level. Sure enough when the bomb exploded against Bret's bedroom wall the Zelda chime echoed. He grabbed Bret by the hand and Bret grabbed his stuffed animals and they disappeared into the strange staircase.

Langston's shock troops splintered all the doors in the house open and searched every nook and cranny, but they couldn't find Bret or Miyamoto. All they found was a jagged hole in the bedroom wall, but that only led to the bathroom on the other side. Langston gulped when he'd heard the news.

"Well, it was nice seeing--er, knowing you sir"

Langston said nothing. He just walked in a daze to the black limo parked behind the police line. A door opened and Langston slid inside. A few seconds later a muffled scream echoed out through the suburbs.

"Not my other eye!"

*

Next week: Wow, that golden wii remote sure does have a lot of tricks up its proverbial sleeve--hot potatoes AND Zelda bombs! Who would have guessed? Think Langston's out of the picture now that he lacks both eyes? Think again. Where did the stairway lead (hint: think zelda dungeon) and will it be a one way trip? And will Bret always be like this? Come on! Surely at some point he'll become a useful character? Right? Right? And where'd all the laughs go? This week's episode was pretty dark. Needless to say all that will change with episode 3.5 "Boo Boo Saves the Day" (Bet ya didn't see that title coming--I'm chock full of awesome surprises).

Recap: Previously on ax23000's blog E.A. stole stock in Nintendo and now has a controlling interest in the company. Gamers everywhere are running around pulling out thier hair. Cats and dogs are raining from the sky. Utter and complete chaos. Things are bad is the general feeling I'm going for here. Shigeru Miyamoto escaped the clutches of E.A. to find "the foretold hero"--whatever the hell that means. Chased by E.A. goons he somehow found his way into a seemingly random gamestop where employee (word used in the loosest since) Bret Banington was taking a nap. That nap was rudely interrupted when one of the aforementioned goons tried to shoot him. Bret peed his pants. Yes, you can laugh at him. In fact I don't really think you have a choice. Miyamoto shot the goons with a golden wii remote. Did I mention that he shot them with hot potatoes? Yeah. You read right. Miyamoto and Bret decided that escape was the best plan...

And now:

"So let me get this right...you're that guy who made Mario?"

Miyamoto hit himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. For the last five hours he'd tried to explain, in slow but perfectly understandable English, that Bret was the hero foretold of in the ancient scrolls that Nintendo had kept safe since it was a company devoted to playing cards.

"Dude...when my friends find out I've got you stashed in my bedroom...well, not in a gay sense of course. You aren't gay are you? Cause that might be, you know, weird and stuff."

Miyamoto hit himself harder, but no matter how hard he hit himself he just couldn't seem to make it so the foretold hero wasn't--well, wasn't a dushbag. Not that Miyamoto thought the word dushbag. That just wouldn't be like him. But you can be sure that he really wanted to think it. Only a Japanese equivalent. Duh.

He paced back and forth around the room. It was a pretty typical room as far as American rooms went. A computer, posters of nearly naked girls on the walls, a bed with pink sheets and lots of stuffed animals...wait. Miyamoto paused in his pacing and did a double take. Were those normal for a teenage boy's room?

Crazy Americans.

He paced back and forth and tried to figure out how he found himself here--staring at a pink carebear who just wouldn't stop staring back--when just last week he'd been a top member of one of the most successful video game companies in the world. It had all started with the remote...and the prophesy that had come with it. The world had forgotten Nintendo. Left them in the dust. They just weren't willing to buy purple lunch box shaped consoles no matter how hard Nintendo tried to tell them they wanted one. Miyamoto blamed the Americans. They were impossible to predict.

I mean who doesn't want a purple video game console. Purple was the color of roylty. And besides...it had a handle! A handle! And a name so witty it had the boss in stitches when Miyamoto first suggested it.

So yeah. That whole gamecube thing had been a fiasco. And then one day Iwata was digging through some old trunks he'd found in the attic. And he'd found the scroll. In the scroll had been a design for a dual screen hand held system. On a lark (they were bored that day) they decided to make the system instead of the Super Gameboy Advanced 64 (or the Gamebrick as Miyamoto had wanted to call it). Next thing they knew money was coming in faster than thier accountants could keep track of.

Sure, the prophesy had said that if any of its designs were to be brought to fruition a great evil would sweep across the globe and yada yada yada. Whatever--the thing was making so much money that they could actually afford to pay the monkeys who wrote the scripts to their games (the script for Super Mario Sunshine was their crowning achievment).

And so it had come time to design a new console and of course the scroll was the first place Iwata had turned for inspiration. Miyamoto didn't trust the scroll. He thought his wife was a much better guide, but when Iwata got an idea into his head it was impossible to get it out. And that's when Iwata had found the golden remote buried at the bottom of the same crate.

The weight of the remote in his pocket made Miyamoto swallow. He patted it gently with his hand, which caused Brett to raise an eyebrow and back up half a step. Miyamoto opened his mouth to explain, but then he remembered when he'd tried to explain...well anything else to the kid. Bret was denser then Donkey Kong on speed with a stick stuck straight up his butt.

So yeah. Nintendo had based the Wii controller on the golden remote. And they were richer than ever. Even Miyamoto had started to trust the scroll. And then all the employees had gone stark raving mad. Half of them were having some sort of war over asparagus and the other half were curled up under their desks spewing out mad game idea after mad game idea. A fitness game. A brain training game. A face training game. Even Miyamoto had found himself savoring the rich flavor of asparagus and designing games about flying porcupines controlled with porcupine shaped controllers.

Iwata had taped himself to the ceiling and refused to come down until someone brought him six million crates of asparagus.

E.A. had gotten wind of the madness, taken advantage three loony employees, and took over. Miyamoto had realized, during asparagus with-drawls, that something was very wrong. He stole the remote, the prophesy, and used the remote to lead him to the foretold hero...

The same foretold hero who was now rubbing his hands together and muttering about forcing the neighborhood to pay just to see Miyamoto.

{side note to any one who knows anything about writing: that's right. I just filled up over half this blog with exposition. What are you going to do about it? That's right. Go home and cry. Cry like the little babies you are! Er, not that I'm meanspirited or nothing.}

"I can't possibly loose. All the nerds in the country will pay up the nose." Bret noticed his bed. "Going to half to do something about those sheets and stuffed animals. Don't worry though guys you're still close to my heart. You'll always be close to my heart."

He began to hug each of the stuffed animals in turn, a tear in the corner of his eye. Miyamoto watched with horror, his mouth opening a little further the more he saw. The foretold hero was cracked. Like litterally cracked as in broken as in stark raving mad.

"Don't you understand. You the foretold hero. Remote works around you. You must stop coming hoard. Must bring peace to world. Must stop EA"

E.A. wasn't about to be so quickly stopped though as evidenced by the shock troops who had Bret's house surrounded. An F.B.I truck (bought and paid for by E.A. of course) parked behind all the troops held three men. One of them we've met already and can be easily recognized by the blindingly shiny shoes he wears. The other is their top F.B.I man. He's burly and wears an eye patch, because the eye patch is by far the coolest accesory for heroes or villains. The third man was some random guy way down the food chain who didn't really want to be there, but had brought donuts and now found that he couldn't leave. His eyes were shut tightly and he was shaking in his stylish yet affordable boots.

"Now listen here Langston" Shiny shoes smiled slyly when Langston twitched at his own name. That was how you kept one of the top FBI agents under your thumb. Fear. Pure unadulterated fear. "I don't care about the boy. I don't even care about the funny little Asian game man. All I care about is the thing he has one him. Tell your men they can shoot to kill. But they'd sure as hell had better be prepared to pay with thier...well, you know how the saying goes...if they damage either the remote or the scroll."

"Don't worry, sir. You'll get your stuff or my other eye."

"I will hold you to that Langston."

Langston gulped. If I were him I wouldn't have mentioned my other eye. Obviously I'm not him.

Meanwhile, just a story up in Bret's bedroom.

"And you little Boo Boo...you've been my dearest friend for so many years that I can't even..."

Miyamoto watched Bret talk to the little blue hippo and felt like weeping. He'd left behind everything he'd ever known. His wife. His country. His job. Even his storeroom of asparagus. Even the thought of all that delicious asparagus filled him with a longing deeper than he'd ever known. He'd left it all behind to find this...this...

"No Boo Boo. I love you MORE that you could ever love me!"

"I liked him better when he was peeing his pants." Miyamoto groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

A knock sounded at the door and Bret's eyes narrowed. He placed himself between the animals and the door.

"Who is it? Are you here for my funny little game making man?"

"No honey, it's your mother."

"Mommy!" Bret flung the door open. "You'll never believe it! I found this man...he makes video games and he says I'm going to be a hero and I'm going to sell him for tons and tons of money to the highest bidder on ebay and I was going to have them pay for admission but then they might see all my stuffed animals and that just wouldn't be cool cause people just don't understand and they might be mean to Boo Boo and that would hurt his feelings and hey! is that celrey you have there? I hate celery! Bring me chocolate!"

Yes, it is just as exhausting for me to write that as it was for you to read it.

"Now, now honey. Heroes should eat more celery. It builds muscles you know."

Well Bret may very well need muscles, although I don't think celery is all that great for building much more than jaw muscles, you see at the very moment his mom said this the shock troops closed thier noose around the house. Langston Stood behind them all on the roof of his FBI van with a loudspeaker.

"Listen up and listen well. We have the place surrounded so don't try to escape or I might have to have you shot. In the face. It won't be fun. If you don't want to be shot in the face I suggest you throw out the golden remote and the prophesy. If you do I give my word as a bought FBI agent we won't do anything mean, like, I don't know, shoot you in the face. You have exactly three minutes and 21.2 seconds to decide starting...now!"

"No! They might shoot Boo Boo in the face!"

"No! I want to watch my soaps and I can't do that without my face!"

Miyamoto just stared at them then he shook his head. Looked like it would be up to him to figure out some way out of this mess.

*

Next week on, er, this blog discover how Miyamoto escapes from the clutches of EA. Does he ever get to taste the delicious melting of asparagus on his tongue ever again? Will Boo Boo be shot in the face? Can Bret possibly get any crazier? Is Langston truly prepared to loose another eye? Find out some of this maybe in 3.4 "Not my other eye!"

I interrupt the current blog storyline (don't worry 3.3 will be posted tommorow as usual) in order to push a favorite free game of mine: Knytt Stories.

See that? It only gets better the more you see of it. It's free to download. Here's a lengthy review for those that require lengthy reviews. I kid you not. This thing is one of the best games of the year. I know. It sounds like I'm exaggerating, but really--I'm not. If you like 2d games you will like Knytt Stories. Here's a direct download link so you don't even have to leave the page:

DOWNLOAD

When you're done with that get the FREE expansions. When you're done with those go to the web site and get more FREE levels. It's endless! Endless I say! Wa!ha!ha!ha!ha!

What are you doing still reading this and not playing the freaking game? Waiting for it to download I hope. Alright, one final request: if you play and like the game TELL others about it. Let's make this thing big people. I want it so big that my grandma is talking about it. I want is big that world leaders everywhere stop what they're doing to go play knytt stories. Wars should end over this.

What? You think maybe I'm over shooting myself? Just a little bit. Maybe? Well, maybe. But still. You could tell all your buds about it. Those of you with big blog audiences/friend lists (i.e. not me) might actually be able to do some good getting word about this game out there. So do it for the love of Pete.

Whoever the frell Pete is.

Unassuming Gamestop employee Bret Banington (can I come up with last names or what?) is about to recieve the shock of his life. Yes. Even worse than the time he stepped on a piece of pizza that had been sitting on the floor of his room long enough to disolve into greenish ozze. Even worse than the time his mom drove him to school and kissed him on the cheek...IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE SCHOOL!

Yes, I know it's hard to imagine a greater shock--but bear with me, because we're about to get this show of the ground, and once off the ground there are going to be shocks up the wazipu (and if you don't know what that is...well, I don't even know what that is, so you know it has to be something special).

Right now Bret is at work. Well, he's at the place where he should be working, but right this moment he's a sleeping. A thin line of drool reaches from his lip to the counter. His cheek is planted firmly on the counter and his butt is planted firmly in the office chair he rolled out of the back room. Normally his manager would never let him get away with sitting down on the job, but today his manager had to run off after a mysterious radiobroadcast.

Bret just shrugged his shoulders, grabbed the chair, and went to sleep. We'll let him sleep for now, because by the end of this story he's going to be a hero. The radio is still blaring in the background.

"In recap of today's biggest video game news, E.A. software announced that they've obtained controlling shares in Nintendo. This news follows shortly on the heels of the mysterious dissapearance of three key Nintendo staff members. E.A. issued the following announcement...:'Our complete, and let me be clear on this--COMPLETE--take over of Nintendo signals the growth of the industry. The more video game companies who join us, the better things will be for our pocket bo--er, I mean to say, for the gamer. Heh. Heh...gotta go.' AllGamerRadio tried to obtain a statement from Nintendo's president, but E.A. apparently issued a blackout order for all Nintendo employees. Shigeru Miyamato hasn't been seen since the announcement and his family hasn't heard a word from him. Speculation has run rampant amongst the gamer community that E.A. has captured Miyamato and is now forcing him to make soulless game after soulless game. Of course for now it remains just that...speculation."

Allow me to break the speculation wide open. Miyamato has not been captured. How do I know, you may ask? I know because the guru himself just walked through the door of Bret's gamestop. He's limping and perspiring badly. Every few seconds he glanced over his shoulder at the passing mall patrons. He collapsed at the desk and startled Bret awake.

"Do you mind?"

"Not much time. Must find foretold hero." Miyamato tried desperately to communicate with Bret, but the shock made it hard to form the English words properly.

"Yeah, we've got that in the back corner. Just take it and leave the money on the desk. I'm sleeping."

No, he's not exactly the most noble of heroes. But give him time. You know how it goes. They always start out as brats and end up as perfect little heroes.

"No. Not understand. Goons chase."

At that moment two men in dark suits stepped through the door.

"There he is. Take him."

"What about the kid?"

"No witnesses." He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Bret. "Sorry kid, nothing personal."

This is almost that moment of shock I mentioned earlier. Not quite yet though. Hold your horses.

"Dude, I'm too young and pretty to die." Bret swallowed. "I didn't even get to finish my nap!"

The dark suited man didn't seem to find Bret's plea very convincing, as with a smile he squeezed the trigger. Now the thing you have to understand about the moment before you die is that it really makes you want to pee your pants. This Bret did. Now that is the shocking moment I mentioned at the start of the story. You have to admit, there isn't anything worse than peeing your pants and knowing that when the cops find your corpse it will have the telltale stench of urine about it.

The bullet cut through the air with a clean precision that only really well made ammunition can manage. And then it vanished. Miyamoto, breathing hard, held a golden Wii remote in one hand.

"He has it on him!"

Both men went pale and backed up a step. Too late though. Miyamoto waved the remote and two steaming potatoes sliced the air like rockets through napalm (no, that simile doesn't make any sense...so sue me). Each potato landed smack dab in the face of the suited men.

"It burns! It burns!"

"When? When will the hurting stop?"

They flailed into the crowd and vanished.

"Whoa! Those potatoes just...just...appeared out of nowhere!"

"Will be back. If only hot potatoes could kill!!!"

"There, there little Asian man. We'll just call the police and..." His face went beat red. "I peed my pants. Oh my god. My life is over!"

"Must escape."

"Yeah, yeah. Good idea. There's a back entrance. Let's blow this popsicle stand sky high!"

*

What the world is the maestro of video games himself doing at a random Gamestop? And what's the deal with E.A. taking over the world. And that crazy Wii remote that Miyamoto created hot potatoes with. Why potatoes? Why? Will Bret ever stop being a big loser who pees his pants all the time. And what exactly does he have to do with the plot? All this and much more next week in the stirring tale: 3.3 - "Heroes should eat more celery"

Three men stand on a dark street corner, in a dark city, on an especially dark night, wearing...oh you get the point I'm sure. Everything was dark is the general point I think I'm trying to get across. One of them taps his toe and glances quickly at his watch. This last bit doesn't work out so well for him on account of the fact that his watch is too cheap to even glow. It's rather useless that way, but it was cheap and he was very poor that month--having spent all his money on asparagus. Rarely has addiction been applied to a vegetable, but in this case its the only word that could possibly fit.

Even without his watch he knew The Man was late. Late. Late. Late. Three hours and fifty seven minutes late to be precise. He knew because it had been exactly three hours and fifty seven, no make that fifty eight now, minutes since he'd last tasted the indescribably delicious flavor of asparagus melting over his tongue. It was making him twitchy. One of the other men curled his lip.

"What's gotten into you?" He had the smooth sort of voice reserved only for the very criminal, or occasionally the very ill.

"Nothing. Just wish he'd get here already is all."

"What? So you can stuff that disgusting plant matter down your throat? People like you make me want to vomit my insides all over the place, eat it back up, and then vomit it up all over again." The third man spoke manically with a shrill voice that reminded Asparagus man of fingers over a chalkboard. "Also you make my eye twitch...you...you...plant eater, you."

"Quiet. Both of you." Smooth voice smiled, but it was the sort of smile that makes your skin feel all twitchy and uncomfortable. Kind of like flannel.

Head lights broke open the darkness like a rock through a stained glass window. All three men pulled dark brimmed hats down over their eyes and turned to face the vehicle, which crawled up to them like a cat approaching a mouse. Its tires crunched to a stop right at the corner. With the headlights the men could see that the car was a sharply painted black Lexus. The back door closest to them clicked open and a pair of immaculately shiny shoes landed on the sidewalk. The sound of the shoes against stone reminded Shrill Voice of horses hooves. It was all he could do to keep from screaming. He was terrified of horses.

"Did you bring the money?" Asparagus couldn't quite keep the tremble out of his voice. He was rather desperate for asparagus and his money had run out days ago. He'd eaten his very last stalk just before the meeting.

"Insolent pup!" Shiny shoes pulled a cane from the folds of his coat and smacked Asparagus in the face. "I do the talking."

He smiled and wiped the cane off with an embroidered handkerchief.

"Now, I have a briefcase full of money. You have the shares or I have your lives."

Smooth voice nodded and each of the three men pulled out papers. Asparagus had his folded up neatly in his pocket. Shrill voice had been keeping his under his tongue--for safe keeping, and Smooth voice had his in a three ring binder.

"Excellent, excellent." Shiny shoes turned back to his car, got inside, and closed the door--ignoring the protests of all three men outside the car.

Once the door was closed he tapped the man in the front passenger seat on one of his broad shoulders. Broad shoulders nodded, opened the door, and shot each of the three men twice--once in the head and once in the heart--with a silenced pistol. He extracted the papers from the bodies. A grimace crossed his face when he had to touch Shrill voice's, which was soaked almost to the point of dissolving. All the same he grabbed the paper. It didn't do to anger the man in the back seat. Not at all.

The car door closed behind him like a trap and the car roared away into the night. Just before the car left, the street lamp flickered for just an instant. In that flash of illumination the licence plate of the Lexus became visible. Too bad there was none but the dead eyes of Asparagus to read the words...

"EArlzWrld"

-To be continued-

So there you have it. The first episode of season 3. This is just the prelude though. Next episode (which will hopefully be on time for a change) introduces the main character. Is everything as it appears? Can EA truly be shooting its way to becoming the leader of the video game industry, and from there the very world itself? And perhaps the most important question of all...will scientists ever find a way to cure man of the dreadful asparagus addiction?

All this and much more will be revealed in episode 3.2 "If Hot Potatoes could Kill!!!"

We've laughed together. We've cried together. We've even hit one another over the head with iron mallets.

Well okay, maybe not that last one. Or, you know, the one before it. But at least I can hope for the first one. Right? Heh. Anyone? Gulp, tough crowd.

Like it or not I'm announcing my return to the world of crazy antics and blogging. Consider this a promise of season 3.

Episode 3.1 will be arriving Friday. Read! Read it! I command you!

Well I'm officially a college graduate.  No, seriously, I can't believe it either.  It was simutaniously the most boring, and most nerve wracking four hours of my life.  Not to mention the part where I was tired from moving all my stuff out of my dorm room until like one that night.  Did I say that they had us line up there at seven in the morning?  They did.  We stood around for about two hours.  It was so much fun kittens started to rain from the sky...okay so that last part makes no sense.  So sue me.  Or rather don't, because I really don't have any money right now.

Yup, so for the next ten days I'm sleeping on the floor of a friend's apartment and then it's on to an apartment of my own.

From that point on world domination is assured, only...do I REALLY have to move all my stuff again?  Life really is a prickly pickled pepper isn't it?

As you all know, because of course you all know everything about me because I'm just that awesome, I'm working on a thirty page paper for a class on Malory.  I just finished page ten today and thought I'd share a little of the love with my happy blog reading audience.  Yes.  I'm making you read my homework...no, no, not the paper--god no.  No one should ever have to read that drivel...er, if Proffesor Fehrenbacher is reading this right now...uh...well, what I meant to say was "Boy I sure am a genius who deserves an A...also you rock, and uh, you know--."  Wait, wait you say--what AM I going to be reading other than you talking to yourself a lot.

You my friend are going to be the lucky reader of a passage from Le Morte d'Arthur, written by Sir Thomas Malory during the 1400's in England.  You can all thank Malory for pretty much anything with Arthur in it.  Not because he created Arthur though, god no, why would you even think that?  No, he just compiled it all together into one wonderfully psychotic and quite probably broken book.  It's wonderful.  Also, it's in Middle English.  No, not that stuff you hear at ren fairs.  Real freaking Middle English.  Anyway...for your reading pleasure I present to you one of Lancelot's early adventures.  It's a real hoot.

"A, launcelot, Launcelot! as thow arte floure of all knyghtes, helpe me to gete me my hauke, for and my hauke be loste my lorde wolde destroy me--for I kepte the hauke, and she slypped fro me; and yf my lorde my husbande wete hit, he is so hasty that he wyll sle me."

[I think maybe I'll distract you in brackets like this with my own comments.  Your very brains will explode from out your head.  Or something]

"What is your lordis name?" seyde Sir Launcelot. "Sir," she seyde, "his name is Sir Phelot, a knyght that longyth unto the Kynge of North Galys."

[Having fun yet?  What!!! No?  You poor sap.  Well then let me liven things up for you (as if that's possible).  Isn't it funny that english started with no standardized spelling, and now thanks to the internet where people can tlk lke ths yf they wnt we've returned to a world with no standardized spelling.  Seriously.  I bet future generations are going to fly through Malory...maybe some of you already are]

"Welle, fayre lady, syn that ye know my name and requyre me of knyghthode to helpe, I woll do what I may to gete youre hauke--and yet God knowyth I am an evyll clymber [I love this line--Lancelot is such a loser it almost defies logic], and the tre is passynge hyghe, and fewe bowys to helpe me withall!"

And therewith Sir Launcelot alyght and tyed his horse to the same tre, and prayde the lady to onarme hym [women are without a doubt Lancelot's greatest foe, in battle he can't be beaten--but you get him around a girl and the next thing you know he's out of his armor and short a sword--not because of sex mind you, well unless its Gwynevere].

And so whan he was unarmed he put of all his clothis unto his shurte and his breche, and with myght and grete force [the dude even treats climbing a tree like doing battle--that is what I call hardcore to the EXtreme] he clambe up to the faucon [practically naked mind you--up a tree], and tyed the lunes to a grete rotyn buysh, and threwe the hauke downe with the buysh; and anone the lady gate the hauke in hir honde.

[And so now that our hero has rescued the hawk he gets his reward right?  Right?  Come on, surely you're as excited as I am?!?]

"And there withall com oute Sir Phelot oute of the grevys suddeynly, that was hir husbonde, all armed [wait? armed?  but surely he isn't about to ambush Lancelot...] and with his naked swerde in his honde, and sayde, "A knyght, Sir Launcelot, now I have found the as I wolde"--he stondyng at the boole off the tre to sle hym [Nooooooooo!  Not Lancelot!  You can't sle Lancelot!  He's too precious to sle].

"A, lady!" seyde Sir Launcelot, "why have ye betrayed me?"

[Yeah!  What he said!]

"She hath done," seyde Sir Phelot, "but as I commaunded hir, and therefore there is none other boote but thyne oure is com that thou must dye." [Dude we're only on page 173 of a 698 page book and Lancelot still hasn't slept with Gwynevere yet, which I'm sorry--is a pivitol point in the story.  No way in hell Lancelot's hour has come.  Well, I mean except for his hour to get tricked up a tree naked...that hour is totally upon us]

"That were shame unto the" seyde Sir Launcelot, "thou an armed knyght to sle a nakyd man by treson." [yes, because otherwise it's just fine to slay a naked man] "Thou gettyste none other grace," seyde Sir Phelot, "and therefore helpe thyself and thou can."

"Truly," seyde Sir Launcelot, "that shall be thy shame.  But syn thou wolt do none othere, take myne harneys with the and hange my swerde there uppon a bowght that I may gete hit--and than do thy beste to sle me and thou can."

[Yes--because he wants to die.  I mean why else would he give Lancelot a sword?  I mean really!  Has Lancelot been paying any attention at all?  The guy traped you up in a tree dude!  He is not going to give you your sword unless he has a sudden and quite painful brain aneurysm]

"Nay [no kidding!]," seyde Sir Phelot, "for I know the bettir than thou wenyste [What a woefully underused word...I am so going to bring this bad boy back into circulation.  You guys can help me.  It'll be fun.  I promise]!  Therefore thou gettyst no wepyn and I may kepe the therefro."

"Alas," seyde Sir Launcelot, "that ever a knyght sholde dey wepynles!"  And therewith he wayted above hym [yes, that would be the part where he's UP A TREE, I don't really think he has the option of waiting below him] and undir hym, and over hym above his hede he sawe a rowgh spyke [Oh man!  Phelot is dead man!  He's just dead as doornails and other things that are dead.], a bygge bowghe leveles; and therewith he brake hit of by the body and than he com lowar, and awayted how his own horse stoode, and suddenyly he lepe on the farther syde of his horse froward the knyght. [Did I mention the part where Phelot is dead...wait for it...]

And than Sir Phelot laysshed at him eagerly to have slayne hym [...wait for it...], but Sir Launcelot put away the stroke with the rowgh spyke[...tired of waiting? don't wory we're almost there...here, let me pass the popcorn...], and therewithy toke hym on the hede, that downe he felle in a sowghe to the grounde [nope, not dead yet--'sowghe' just means that he's dazed, you know--from being hit on the head with a branch].

So than Sir Launcelot toke his swerde oute of his honde and strake his necke in tow pecys[HE...IS...OUT OF THERE!!!  Did I call it or did I call it?  What do you mean I'm ruining the story...personally I like to think that I bring a unique ambiance to it.   Also I love how Lancelot cuts his neck in two pieces, because, you know, one wasn't enough to kill him, and besides he is pissed...I mean wouldn't you be if for no discernable reason somebody tricked you up a tree and then wouldn't give you your sword and said they were going to kill you?  What?  That hasn't happened to you?  What kind of a loser are you?]

"Alas!" than cryed that lady, "why haste thou slayne my husbonde?[what? seriously.  what?  did she somehow miss the part where her husband was trying to kill Lancelot?]" "I am not causer," seyde Sir Launcelot, "but with falshede ye wolde have had me slayne with treson--and now it is fallyn on you bothe." And than she sowned as though she wolde dey. And therewith Sir Launcelot gate all his armoure as well as he myght and put hit uppon hym for drede of more resseite [no kidding, this place is crazy, I don't think I'd want to lounge around either] --for he dredde hym that the knyghtes castell was so nyghe hym--and as sone as he myght he toke his horse and departed, and thanked God that he had escaped that harde adventure. [Yes indeed...let us all take a moment to thank God that Lancelot made it through that harde adventure].

And there you have it.  You have been officially culturealy enriched by yours truly.  You can now honestly say that you've read some of Le Morte d'Arthur.  Seriously.  You're a part of a small minority composed mostly of literary geeks like me.  Welcome.  Sit down.  The furniture is falling apart, and also there's a crazy monkey in the corner that sometimes eats the guests...but that only means more space for the rest of us.  Woohoo! 

*Side note: I'm late because of the goblin army that tried to silence me, but the blog must go on so here I am...*

When last we left our anti-heroes things were looking up. They'd captured the rat gnomes and imprisoned them, and Mattavious' death ray was beginning to look like it might actually work--a first for his inventions. Patchavious had enjoyed a nice walk down the mountain side, and an even nicer death march up the mountain during which she had a fine meal. Still this story is in overtime so you just know that things are going to get dicey and sure enough even as Patchavious and Mattavious celebrate their success the rat gnomes are plotting their escape with a few of the castle spiders. And I'm recapped out, so moving on...

"Yes, yes Mr. President, I am indeed telling the truth. Unless you declare me ruler of everything I shall destroy a major city of my choosing!"

"But Dr. Mattavious, surely you realize that I can't declare you--"

"RULER OF EVERYTHING I SAY! Mattavious out."

Patchavious meowed and lept up onto the table. Mattavious smiled at her and nodded.

"Yes my pet, I saw the fear in his eyes! I've been defeated so many times, it's enough to give an evil scientist bent on world domination pause, but at long last our time has come and there's nothing those rat gnomes can do to stop me. I mean except for escape and come up and here and smash my death laser to itty bitty bits. But that'll never happen. The world is mine! Wha!ha!ha!ha!"

*

"We need to escape, go up there, and smash his death laser to itty bitty bits!"

Joe, the rat gnome who had taken over since the ousting of the rat gnome king, hit his fist into the palm of his hand and scribbled plans in the dirt. The other gnomes had no idea what a bunch of squiggly lines had to do with anything, but they were too afraid of looking stupid so they pretended to know what he was talking about.

"That'll never happen! The world is his. Wa!Wa!Wa!Wa!"

"Stop crying Wimpy, you and I are going to lead the charge."

Wimpy, who was really named wimpy because the rat gnome king had been in a witty mood the day his parents brought him to his naming ceremony, nodded.

"'Kay Joe, sorry. You know you can count on me--TO GET US ALL KILLED!" He grabbed Joe by the shoulders. "Get someone else, maybe Brave Gnome, or Killer, or that one guy who beat in his parents skulls."

"Hey, that was an accident!"

"Whatever, come on Joe. Someone has to be better than me. Anyone. Even the ex-king would be a better choice, and he's curled up in a ball whimpering about evil balls of string."

The ex-king did not look up at the mention of his name. He was quite content curled up in the warmest corner of the dungeon. Also he'd gone quite mad.

"String! String! I likes me my string, but not evil string! No, no, not the evil string. Don't eat ME! Eat him, eat him EVIL string. He tastes much better than I. Also (and don't tell anyone this--it's a secret) he's an anti-stringite..."

"You said you'd never tell anyone that you bastard." The gnome in question planted a good strong kick in the ex-king's side.

Meanwhile Joe was continuing to lay out his nonsensical plan. All the other gnomes were gathered in a circle around him. Some were trying hard to not fall asleep, but most of them had given up. Their snores echoed throughout the dungeon.

"I'm sorry Wimpy, but I need the wimpiest gnome we have for this mission--that way Mattavious and Patchavious will never suspect that we're dangerous."

"But we're NOT dangerous. We're three feet tall."

"We'll surmount that problem when we get to it."

At that very moment one of the stones in the wall of the cell teetered and toppled onto the floor. Wimpy shrieked and passed out, the ex-king muttered about how the string was there to kill them all, and the rest of the gnomes woke with a start. Red eyes glowed in the darkness of the passage way that had been opened up. Joe gulped and walked up to them. He was trying very hard not to show it, but he'd been terrified of spiders ever since one had eaten his little sister. Also they were GIANT spiders, I mean come on! Who wouldn't be terrified? This narrator is getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

"Yessss. Here comes taste--" The other spider elbowed his partner in the side, "Er...cute little critter now."

"Okay. I've drafted a plan that I think is fool proof. Me and the wimpiest gnome will sneak up to the to of the castle and destroy that death ray you mentioned to us. I'm going to trust you to lead the rest of the gnomes to safety."

"Trust us, oh yes, we's quite trustworthy. Aren't we love?"

"Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. Quite trustworthy indeed. I mean could this face lie to you?" He smiled--and if you've ever seen a spider smile then you know that yes, yes that face could lie to you.

"Er...I'm not going to answer that." Joe turned around and vomited. "Wimpy! Let's go."

"Oh, where's my mommy when I need her!"

"I'm right here wittle Wimpy! But I'm afraid your on your own for this one. I'd rather not end up dead like you're going--on second though, uh, good luck little guy. I know you can do it!"

*

Joe and Wimpy crept along the floor. Patchavious snoozed in one corner, dreaming of her heroic victory over the tasty little rat gnomes. A long line of glistening drool reached from her lip to the floor. Wimpy stepped in it and shuddered. It was all he could do to keep from crying like a little baby. Actually his mouth had been taped shut, so it was really all the tape could do to keep him from crying like a little baby. Together they climbed up the power cord to the table on which the death laser rested. Well, Joe climbed up the power cord. Wimpy had to be pulled up. Still--that was a lot of work for poor Wimpy, who was quite afraid of falling and splattering on the floor below. He was rather afraid of being splattered. Also of floors, which were just teeming with germs of all sorts.

"Okay, now all we have to do is--"

"What do we have here? Saboteurs? I knew you rat gnomes were out to get me..."

"Mattavious! We weren't out to get you until you sent your monster to capture and imprison us."

"Excuses, excuses. Well you're scheming days are over now! Patchavious!!!"

Mattavious waited with his evilest grin on. Time passed and his zombie cat assistant did not materialize and devour the gnomes. Mattavious' evil grin faded into an evil straight face, and finally to an evil frown.

"Bah! Where's that cat when I need her?"

"Cat got your tongue?"

"That's a terrible metaphor considering that my problem is that I don't have a cat."

"Yes, well, I'm new at this hero thing. Metaphor aside, your zombie cat has been drugged. You'll never stop us!"

Mattavious shrugged and slammed his fist down into Joe who was instantly turned into a reddish pile of mush. The poor guy didn't even have time to scream. Luckily for him he had Wimpy to do the screaming for him. And did he ever scream.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

To accurately potray the length of his scream I'd need to break the Internet. Every single page would be filled with AAAAAAAAA's going off into infinity. People would be quite unhappy with me. So you can imagine how poor Mattavious felt actually hearing it. As much as all that screaming annoyed him though, it was nothing compared to the pain he felt when he realized five hours later that the scream had shattered all the death crystals powering his death ray. It was quite embarrassing as it meant that he wasn't able to follow through with his promised city destroying. The whole world laughed at him and no one declared him ruler of the earth, which depressed him quite a bit.

Patchavious woke from her slumber and devoured Wimpy in a single bite.

The rest of the rat gnomes were led into the darkest part of the castle where they all became entangled in spider web. The spiders feasted for months.

All except for the ex-king who wandered the castle forever after mumbling about evil string.

-The End_