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!"