 | The day was Friday, 13 February. And it was just one of those days. You know the kind--they start out all in good fun, but then you have to do a toothpaste commercial, and then someone you thought was your best mate shoots you repeatedly in the pancreas so they can go to Cloud 9 and spend eternity using Liquid Paper and typewriters with Michael Nesmith. Those kinds of days can really get annoying after a while.
Luigi, the estranged younger brother of the world’s most famous Italian plumber with a weight problem, that best-loved video-game hero, Mario, had just gotten up. There was no coffee in the house, so he threw a tantrum and grumpily had hot chocolate instead. He had to work that day, too. Editor’s office for the MKXNL. Some people said he wasn’t the real Luigi, just some imposter. It was true, but nobody knew for sure except him. This was Luigi644. The real Luigi was in Tampa, Florida, trying to keep a low profile.
All the way across town, the Slime Palace came alive with a network of blue spotlights shining on the face of that amorphous green blob of gunk, Slimu. He oozed out of his bed and bounced around the house looking for something good to eat. There wasn’t anything in the refrigerator. “Slimy must have eaten all the food!” he told himself and went off looking for her. He finally found her out back eating an economy-sized bag of Doritos. “Ha! I knew you had taken all the good food!”
Slimy eyed him defiantly. “There isn’t any good food in the Slime Palace and you know it--I spent my allowance on these at the gas station down the street.”
Somewhat disheartend,Slimu went out and got doughnuts. He quickly busied himself with looking busy after he’d finished breakfast. He worked at the MKXNL office too, but never went in anymore because he didn’t feel like it. Maybe I’ll go in today, he thought. Just flip ‘em a quarter to get ‘em off my back.
Halfway across the world in Manchester, England, a black cat named Silla rose with considerably more cheer than either of the former had. It was 7:00 here too, but it was chronologically 6 hours before Luigi had risen. She got out a glass bowl (she couldn’t stand porcelain) and filled it with corn flakes, then flooded the cereal with orange juice and slowly ate it, washing it down with a big glass of Coca-Cola. She said things just went better with it. Strapping on her plastic cutlass and pulling on her favourite leather moccasin boots, she bounded out of the house and rode her unicycle to the airport to charter a flight to America. She had to work that day too, but why she insisted on flying back and forth between Manchester and America every day was beyond everyone. “It would be easier if you would just move to America,” Luigi told her all the time.
“I shan’t,” she would say. “They haven’t got scones in America.”
At precisely 9:00 a.m., Luigi stumbled into the office and promptly fell asleep on his desk. Silla skipped in a minute later, the purple scarf she wore around her neck blowing in a nonexistent breeze. She pranced over to her desk and put her back paws on it, then turned on her favourite Monkees CD and cranked the volume up, singing along at the top of her lungs. Luigi momentarily woke up and groaned. “How,” he inquired, “can you have so much energy? You just flew in from England, don’t you have jet lag or something?”
“I don’t get jet lag,” Silla said smugly. “I’m a cat, and we’re special. More special than you.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, you got it now. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m singing. WHAT AM I DOING HANGIN’ ROOOUUUND? I SHOULD BE ON THAT TRAIN AND GOOOOONNE...”
“Please be quiet.”
“I SHOULD BE RIDIN’ ON THAT TRAAAINN TO SAN ANTOOO-OOO-OONE.....”
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“WHAT AM I DOING HANGIN’ ROUND?”
“Shut up!”
“You have no taste.”
“Huh?”
“WELL IT’S BEEN A YEAR OR SO AND I WANNA GO BACK AGAIN...AND IF I GET THE MONEY, WELL I’LL RIDE THE SAME OLD TRAIN....”
“What do you mean by that?”
“BUT I GUESS YOUR CHANCES COME BUT ONCE, AND BOY I SURE MISSED MINE!”
“I mean it! Tell me! Tell me now!”
“I mean what I say. BUT I JUST CAN’T HELP BUT THINKING WHEN I HEEEEEEEAR....SOME WHISTLE....CRYIN’....”
Slimu bounced through the door just in time to see Silla black out on her desk, Luigi still demanding an explanation despite the prominent bags under his eyes. Two minutes later, as Luigi nodded off, Silla popped up again and jumped onto her desk, doing a shuffling dance to the music. “I love this song!”
Slimu woke Luigi up and gave him some papers. “Here, I made these. Can you use them?”
Luigi looked blankly at them. “What are they?”
“They’re text documents.”
“What are they for?”
“Well, you can read ‘em.”
“Oh. Okay. Silla, put those up.”
Silla, drinking a tall glass of V8 and still dancing to the sound of someone singing very fast, didn’t look up. “Look, ducky, I’m a very busy cat. I don’t have time for your trivial foolishness.”
“What?”
“Put ‘em up yourself,” she said, showing her teeth.
Slimu turned back to Luigi. “I drew this.”
Luigi peered at it closely. “What is it?”
“It’s a 3D picture.”
“What is it a picture of?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s 3D.”
“Okay. Silla, put this up too.”
“No!” She booted up her computer and didn’t look at either of them. A second later she jumped up and pranced over to Luigi’s desk. “Here, I drew this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a cow.”
“Why did you draw a cow? We can’t do anything with a cow!”
“Well, it’s a nice cow,” she proclaimed, miffed. “Uhh...look, it’s 3D.”
“Oh! Okay, put it up!”
Silla beamed and danced back over to her desk. There was considerable lull in the conversation.
Slimu bounced over to Silla’s desk. “What are you doing?”
“I’m working.”
“On what?”
“On this.”
“That’s a picture of Peter Tork.”
“I’m working on it.”
“How?”
“By looking at it.”
“Fine, then. I’ll put these up on my own,” he glowered, grabbing the stack of text files and 3D pictures lying on her desk with a bulge of green slime. He bounced over to Luigi and gave them to him. “Put these up.”
Luigi frowned. “You’re not the boss of me!”
Just then, a whacking great explosion sounded outside and a window shattered. Silla was thrown bodily across the room and her PC exploded. “There goes Peter,” she said mournfully.
Slimu had splatted against the wall, and now he dripped down in great oozing chunks. “I left a stain on the wall,” he observed. Then he looked at his text files. “THEY’RE RUINED!!”
“They were already ruined before they were wrote,” Silla glared.
Luigi picked his hat up from the floor and picked himself up from the remains of the office. “Look what’s happened! Do you know what this means?”
Silla looked around. “Yeah. Utter bloody shambles.”
Then the building collapsed.
* * *
“Time for the monthly video game clubs contest and System War,” boomed a voice over the loudspeaker. “All in position.”
Luigi644, Silla, Slimu, and BSneeden had all turned out to represent the MKXNL, along with only a handful of others. The other clubs’ skyboxes were all considerably fuller, and their leaders grinned evilly down at the members of the League. Silla was smiling brightly back and giving them pamphlets on juggling. She revelled in confusing the poor dumb clods.
Slimu squished around nervously. “I didn’t make any web pages for this,” he fretted. “We’ll lose this time for sure.”
Luigi pursed his lips. “Silla! You haven’t made an image map! You’re fired!”
She grinned and gave him a pamphlet. “Won’t get rid of me that easily, dearest. I’ve got connections in the Mexican Mafia.”
BSneeden motioned to her. “Hey, lend me two dollars.”
“What’s that in English money?”
He thought hard. “Errr....five-and-sixpence.”
She frowned, then handed him two dollar bills.
“Intelligence contest,” thundered the loudspeaker. “This is a contest to test each club’s skill in quoting pieces of literature, making their opponents feel stupid, and biggest vocabulary.”
“Who’s up for this? Who’s up for this?” Luigi panicked. “Who are we sending?”
“There are only four of us, ducky, how hard can it be to choose?” Silla chewed on something.
“First two clubs up for the tournament,” announced the voice. “N64 World and N64 World.”
“Wha?” Slimu frowned.
Silla eagerly munched a bag of popcorn. “Ooh! Go, N64 World! Rah rah ree! Kick ‘em in the knee! Rah rah rass! Kick ‘em in the other knee!”
BSneeden turned around anxiously. “Do you think we’ll do well in the Intelligence contest, guys?”
Luigi removed his green cap and scratched his head. “No telling, good buddy. We did well enough in the web knowledge, arrogance, and artistry categories.”
Slimu concurred. “Yeah, I really had that guy confused about the forms.”
* * *
“First you create a template,” Slimu dictated. “Then you have to upload it. But you have to save it as .eml. And the URL won’t be what you think.”
The competitor from 64 Universe scratched his head. “What will it be?”
“I don’t know. It depends on what you save your template as.”
“Well, how do I make a template?”
“Are you some kind of idiot? ‘How do I make a template,’” he jeered. “NOTEPAD, you cad!”
“I’m a Mac user,” his opponent blushed and muttered almost inaudibly.
“You are?” Slimu made a concerned face. “I don’t know anything about Macs. Do you have a web editor?”
“Personal Publisher,” squeaked the 64 Universe representative.
Slimu screeched and melted into a puddle of green goo. A bell rang.
“Winner by default,” proclaimed the loudspeaker. “Melting as a result of superiour web editors that look down their noses at less esteemed editors.”
Luigi cheered. “Chalk one up for the MKXNL! Look at the chart, BSneeden! We’re up three points! We’re up! We’re up!”
* * *
“We’re up! We’re up!” Luigi shrieked. “Silla, you go!”
Silla tossed her scarf over her neck. It got into her mouth, and she sputtered and pulled it out. “Right away, mate, I’m off, here I go!” She paraded out onto the field.
Their opponent was a representative from an obscure club called The War Gods Fan Club. He was a short, reptilian creature, maybe about four feet tall, but that was still taller than Silla. She strode out masterfully and bowed gracefully before the lizard.
“Topic for discussion,” yelled the announcer. “Music!”
“The Monkees are musical geniuses,” Silla started in without missing a beat.
“The Monkees?” laughed the lizard. “They didn’t play their own instruments. What a bunch of no-talent cads.”
“Actually, dear,” Silla intervened pleasantly. “On their first two albums, Don Kirshner was their music supervisour and did not allow them to play their own instruments. On their third album, the Monkees played ALL their own instruments, and on their recent 1997 album, Justus, they wrote, produced, and played the entire thing themselves. They also played many of their own instruments on all the rest of their albums--there are sixteen in all. And may I mention that they toured extensively in ‘66-’67, in the 80’s, and just recently wound up their 30th anniversary tour? If they don’t play their own instruments they’re in a lot of trouble. One more thing.....if they don’t play their own instruments, dear...” and now she was right in his face... “..whose do they play?”
She smiled disconcertingly.
The lizard opened his mouth, fumbling. He was about to issue forth his attempt at a retaliation, but was cut off by Silla.
“But I digress,” she said pleasantly. “What bands do you like?”
“I don’t listen to music,” he said snootily, finally opening his mouth. “It’s disquieting.”
“Of course it is. Anything audible is,” she rolled her eyes. “You obviously have no taste.”
All at once, a giant hand was flung out of the wall and snatched Silla. She shrieked and disappeared through a hole in the ceiling.
“Winner,” blared the loudspeaker. “MKXNL for more insults and degradatory comments aimed at opponent’s artistic taste!”
Slimu frowned. “So we won, but why’d they take Silla?”
Luigi looked around, dazed. “It’s time to go.”
Slimu bounced out after Luigi. Neither noticed that BSneeden had disappeared. Slimu caught sight of a man drinking a glass of motor oil. “Uhhh, Luigi....”
“Come on, Slimu!” Luigi pulled Slimu forward impatiently.
Suddenly, the violinist in the orchestra turned violent. Luigi shrieked as he, Slimu, and Silla were dragged off and thrown around and shoved into the black box once again.
“Silla!” Slimu yelled. “You’re back!”
“Intermission’s over, kids,” the violinist growled. “Back in the box.”
THE END
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