(Art by Ben G Geldenhuys)
It’s my job to arrange the meeting.”- John W. Creasy
There are video games that help make you who you are. Case in point? Link from Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. You’re with Link every step of the way on his quest as he grows up and saves the land of Hyrule. You’re not controlling Link, you’re his brother-in-arms from a 3rd person point of view. Throughout the game, you grow with Link and come to learn about courage, duty, and honor, traits that will help mold you into a productive member of society.
Mario Kart is not that type of game. Mario Kart doesn’t help make you who you are. Mario Kart doesn’t give a fuck about duty, honor, or saving anybody. Mercy? What the fuck is mercy? Is that a protein bar? Is that a new 5-minute ab work out? Is that a useless update for your smartphone, ’cause it sounds like a useless update for your smartphone. Let me tell you something: there is no mercy in Mario Kart. Mario Kart doesn’t make you a better person. No, Mario Kart reveals who you really are. Your true self that just wants to win, that needs to win. It’s that same need that the game takes and uses to corrupt your morals and bring the abyss out of you.“In Mario Kart it’s merk or GET merked”
You have two choices when that happens. You can recognize that although this game claims to be rated G and family-friendly, you should stop playing, because it’s all a disguise for the abyss that consumes you with a level of intense competition that slowly brings out the ruthless parts in your soul that you didn’t realize existed… or you can stare into the abyss, and when it stares back, blow kisses at it. Take a selfie with it. Invite it to brunch for bottomless mimosas because you wanna get comfortable and buddy buddy with the abyss. You want the abyss to have the spare key to your place because you’re ready to take this relationship to the next level, because in Mario Kart, it’s merk or get merked.
Therefore, I’m the asshole literally laying rows of bananas across the track methodically like they’re C4 explosives. THAT’S ME. I’m saving this lightning bolt for when you’re in the middle of a jump over a gap. Yeah, THAT’S ME. When that blue shell creeps up on you and takes you out of first place yet again? That wasn’t me. I don’t get blue shells because I’m the guy already advancing on yo spot up in first place like it’s your house and The Slomin’s Shield stopped working. That’s my SHIT.
Words can’t describe how good it feels to have a muhfucking green shell in your hand and a racer in front of you unguarded, unaware, just staring at the finish line in front of them. They’re thinking it’s all good. That they got this. That they’re home free. And then they see you Tokyo Drift around the fucking corner bend with the Koopa Troopa choppa loaded up on ’em. They start feelin’ like Ricky in Boyz n the Hood and they book for that finish line, but you both know how this plays out. We both know how this is going to end. You’re yelling out, “No! Not again! Not this time!” and I’m Death’s scythe tending the cemetery lawn at 4am on a Sunday morning, quiet, not even giving you the satisfaction of condolences with the sound of my voice as I let the choppa rang out on you…
And I don’t give a fuck who you are to me. Brother, sister, nephew, uncle, grandpa, significant other, soul mate, love of my life, dude that does my taxes at H&R Block, boss, mailman, landlord, my best friend Phil from childhood that I haven’t physically seen since the death of my mother back in 2011, and we both laughed and cried on sight of one another together in the street at her funeral…
EVERYBODY CAN GET IT!
*Deep exhales* And you might be reading this article thinking, “alright I get how Mario Kart can change you as a person, but surely when you have a family of your own and you’re playing with your kids, you’ll take it easy on them.” No. I won’t. I’ll be damn sure to pass this savageness down to my children. If my children aren’t more ruthless than my wife and I when they play Mario Kart then I have failed as a parent.
Me: What are you doing, why are you holding onto that blue shell?
Son: I– I can’t knock Mom out of first place.
Wife: Don’t you put that softness on me boy. Shoot it!
Daughter: DO IT!
Family Dog: Woooof! (Translation: DO IT or pass the sticks!)
Me: KILL THE FANBOY SO THE FANDOM CAN LIVE!
Son: AHHHHHHH *shoots blue shell* I see now. I understand everything.
Lemme put you on fandom real quick and say this: fuck ball. Mario Kart is Life. If you want to know the true measure of someone, play them in Mario Kart. If they act all proper and apologetic when they hit you with an item, don’t trust ’em! You can do better. They aren’t the one for you. If there isn’t some small part of them that feels satisfaction at watching a racer in front of them fall, take a hit, or get knocked out of first place? “THEY’RE WEAK! Their whole blood line is weak and they won’t survive the winter.”
You know how they say if a person doesn’t have books in their place, don’t fuck them? Well, if a person can’t stay on the track at Rainbow Road in Mario Kart, don’t fuck them. You’ll thank yourself the next morning as you brush your teeth in the bathroom mirror and mockingly quote them saying, “Ugh, do we have to do Rainbow Road again?”
The answer is yes, you do. Life is Rainbow Road homie, you gotta decide how you ’bout to live yours. Because me? I said a fanboy like me? Sheeeeeeeeeit, I live my life 150cc at a time.