The first two laps—well, if Murphy's Law wasn't exemplified to perfection, I doubt that it ever has been. What is the probability of acquiring a single banana 12 times consecutively? I'm serious; I would really like to know. It's absurd. And don't forget that, with just one green turtle shell, Mario was somehow able to send me cartwheeling for at least a full nine seconds. I don't quite follow the physics behind that, but it was enough to make me yell out "WAAAAAAAA!!!!"

By the way, I'm not trying to single him out. A lot of people have it in their head that there is this epic animosity between Mario and myself, but it's simply not the case. Sure, I've plotted his demise from time to time, but that's just me; I'm an imperfect person. The truth is, I sit and chat with him every time I see him at the dog park—the one across the street from our subdivision. And he's always there, which is a little peculiar, since he admitted that he does not own a dog.

Needless to say, at the onset of the third lap, I was feeling fairly belligerent. Here I am, in seventh place. Koopa Troopa is about to pass me, which will put me dead last. What happened next is sort of a blur. I remember Koopa kept saying this thing to me over and over again. It was something asinine, like, "Ffip, vzzr!" The meaning of the phrase eludes me, but it sounded obscene, and I took offense to it. Somehow, I guess through sheer body weight, nay, through sheer muscle, I rammed him completely off the track! Wah ah ah ah!!

That's when something inside me just snapped. I said to myself, "I'm-a Wario! I'm-a gonna win!" Indeed, I believe I said this to everyone I passed. And I passed them all—I passed them all.

So who's getting my next beer? My glass is so dry it's like a fucking desert around here.