High Class
In more than one sense of the word "high."
By Mr. Lefty
The sun shone down upon the city, uninhibited by any rogue clouds. It was the kind of day that made people want to be overly friendly to other people for no good reason. It was the kind of day that made people want to spontaneously burst into song and dance. The kind of day that would maybe even prevent the rest of the people from beating up the singing and dancing idiots.
The sun's euphoric effects did not go unfelt at the residence of the famous Super Smash Brothers. A number of them were currently engaged in a friendly game of Frisbee on the mansion's ample front lawn.
"Hey, dumbass, throw it over here!"
"No, you suck!"
Friendly, indeed…
The former possessor of the flying disc, Marth, flung the Frisbee over to Roy, who jumped and caught it. He was about to send it to Luigi in the end zone, when a massive chunk of scaly flesh and claws broadsided the red-haired swordsman.
Mario, who was chosen as the referee due to his experience with Mike Tyson's boxing, put his face in his palm exasperatedly. "For the last time, Bowser, you can't tackle in Ultimate Frisbee!"
"Then it's not very ultimate, now is it?" the Koopa King replied, hefting himself off of the now nearly two-dimensional Roy.
"Five-yard penalty to Bowser's team," Mario announced, to the collective groans and insults on the field.
"Hey, you can't do five-yard penalties! It's Frisbee!" Bowser cried indignantly.
"If you're going to do football stuff, then so will I," retorted the plumber.
A few moments later, Link, the Chosen Hero of Hyrule, slowed his run and announced, "Phone's ringing!"
The ensuing repartee went as usual: someone asked how he heard that; Link replied that his large ears weren't just for show; and the obligatory comment was made that Link's ears were just compensating for something.
"I got this one!" shouted Roy, already halfway to the house's front door, and seemingly unharmed by Bowser's assault on his three-dimensional form.
Roy's childlike enthusiasm to answer the phone stemmed from the swordsman's love for pranks and immaturity of all kinds. In this case, Roy was preparing to make a sort of "reverse prank call;" that is, answer the phone in such a way as to shock and/or dismay the unfortunate caller. In his tenure as the place's self-proclaimed "official phone answerer," Roy had feigned demonic possession when talking to Bible salesmen, pretended not to speak English, and asked lost pizza delivery boys what they were wearing.
"Hello, you've reached the Pleasure Palace, Rod Manly speaking," Roy said in a deep, seductive voice after picking up the phone. The person on the "receiving end," as it were, said something. "Master Hand, you say?" Roy replied. "I happen to have a 'master hand,' and for $9.95, you can experience it first'hand,' ha ha ha."
What Roy didn't realize was that there was a giant, white, floating, disembodied hand behind him. "Give me that," Master Hand somehow said, snatching away the phone. "Sorry about that…uh-huh, yes…" the hand said, the telephone's receiver floating eerily beside it. "Oh, hello! Just fine…WHAT?" Had Master Hand been drinking anything (if it were possible for him to drink) he would have cartoonishly spewed it onto the nearest object. "Uhh…yes, yes, of course…sure, bye…" Master Hand, obviously shaken, slowly put the receiver back into place.
"Tell the others, Roy," Master Hand said, softly and rather dramatically.
"Tell them what? That you're pregnant?"
"No, you idiot. Tell them to meet in the lobby as quickly as possible. I have an announcement to make."
The Smashers slowly trickled into the lobby, many looking slack-jawed and vacant, others making small talk with whoever (or whatever) happened to be next to them (in Bowser's case, a lamp).
"Attention, shoppers, er, Smashers," said Master Hand. "I just got off the phone with one of the Smash Brothers program's most prominent investors, and…well, he wants us to attend a party at his house this weekend."
Several excited yells were heard throughout the crowd. Bowser made the "rock n' roll" sign with his claws and smashed the lamp he was flirting with on the ground like an electric guitar.
"Calm down, people! Really, what are you, children?" the Hand said indignantly. Mario removed his finger from his nose. "Now, this is not a 'wild party' by any stretch of the imagination. This is going to be a sophisticated affair, and I can't have you all acting like animals."
Donkey Kong raised his hand. "But what if we are—"
"I really don't care," interrupted Master Hand. "Just act civilized for once."
"Why would we do that?" someone asked.
"That's a good question," Master Hand replied in a tone that suggested he thought it was quite the opposite. "You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, sometimes the man puts…no, sorry, that's the wrong speech. What I meant to say was that the Super Smash Brothers fighting program is funded by many private investors. Should you people go to the party and act like idiots, it's very likely that the investors would rethink their plans and cut off our supply of money. If that happens…well, I think you can guess the rest."
"Would that mean no more scented bath salts?" asked Ganondorf.
"Yes, Ganon, your supply of scented bath salts would be effectively cut off."
"Oh, dear."
"However, I believe there is hope for you morons. I'm a firm believer in the power of teaching and learning. Therefore, I'm going to have someone besides me teach you the basics of etiquette and being in the company of polite society." The giant glove scanned his audience, the majority of which suddenly seemed to find invisible loose change on the ground. "Ah…Marth! You'd be perfectly suited for the job. You're a classy guy."
"Wha…huh? No!" the prince shouted. "No, I'm not classy at all! I…uh…scratch myself in public, chew with my mouth open…have horrible table manners…" Marth suddenly wished he had paid attention when Roy was instructing him on how to belch on command. "I haven't washed these clothes in three weeks!"
"Nice try, Marth. I don't think there's anyone here who would disagree that you're…how do you kids say it…'metrosexual.'" Master Hand made a quotation mark gesture with his body.
"What?"
"Relax, it doesn't mean you're gay. At least, that's what they said on 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'…"
"Forget it, I'm not doing it."
"Please?" the Hand begged.
"No."
"I'll make you coffee every morning..."
"Your coffee always tastes like latex," said Marth.
"I'm a giant glove! What do you expect my coffee to taste like? Cinnamon?" Master Hand clenched himself and relaxed. "Okay, how about fifty bucks?"
"Done."
If Master Hand had had his own hands, he would have clapped them together with a sense of finality. "Right, then. Everyone, meet in the auditorium tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp! As for me, I'm going to go watch Qu…I mean, wrestling. Wait, no, that's worse. Will and Grace? Yeah, there we go. Wait, no, dammit…" The Hand floated away, muttering something about "I Love Lucy."
As the crowd dispersed, Marth rubbed his temples and tried his best not to think about the horrors that would await him come nine o'clock tomorrow.
Well, that's Chapter 1. The rest will be funnier, really. At least I hope so...
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