At least. I never finished any of my games either, but two are coming along nicely and I haven't lost too much motivation for them. They're both EarthBound.
It'd only make sense since it's my favorite game series/franchise. No I haven't. If I come up with some sort of insane story for it I'll try. Without a doubt it'll include Mr. T.
Oh wait no, I take that back. I wrote a story for Starmen.net halloween last year. It's called The Spitful Crow, it's a spoof of The Raven by Poe. I can't find it though.
I did but I can't find it. I have no idea where it is right now. EDIT: Found it!
THE SPITEFUL CROW
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary. I locked horns with some kid earlier, who cheated with a bat, and then I gave him my prized wad of bills. Oh what a foolish move that be! Suddenly a gentle tap was at the door. That tap became a knock. That knock became a pound! That pound became a SMAAAASH! That SMAAAASH! quickly turned into a rap, and didn’t stop.
“Tis’ some hippie,” I muttered, “R-r-r-rapping at my house porch. Only this, and nothing more.”
I sit upon my bed, my prized moustache drooping gloomily. I lay my slightly chubby body on the bed. The rapping continued and t’was annoying the heck out of me, and even worse, ruining my dramatic and emotional scene. I had no choice but to open the door.
I opened my squeaky door and nothing was out there. Only trees, grass, the stars, and Mr T. muttering by about some recent kidnapping. Suddenly, I heard a flap and looked down. A crow with a blue tie and shades, and say these shades are better than mine! My head filled with envy, not realizing the shaded crow swooped into my cheap hovel.
“My, that crow,” I say, “I wish it to be out of my little abode.” The shaded crow rest upon the table, and didn’t even touch the leftover enchiladas I kept on it. If he keeps it up like that for the rest of the night, I may keep him as a pet.
I flop onto my bed and it shakes, waking the crow. The crow did not look to happy to be woken by my motion. As I close my eyes, I woke up to a painful feeling in my eyelids. My shades were cracked! The crow was staring at me through the hole. He was the one to blame. He was the one who broke my shades, and t’was the only one to blame. I got up and he backed off, flapping his silly wings in mid-air.
“Why crow!” I asked, “What a terrible tragedy! What a nice pair of shades you’ve let waste! Will I ever see my shades again?”
The crow stared at me. He began to speak. Quoth the Crow, “Nevermore.”
My heart filled with hatred, at such a spiteful being! Why would one wish to break such nice shades? How evil can creatures be to do such a thing?”
The crow kept flapping its wings, and that raising my urge to attack. I lunged at him, he dodged swiftly, and I hit a cabinet head first! The lamp rattled and fell onto my face, shattering into little pieces!
“Why crow!” I asked, “What a terrible tragedy! My nice lamp has broken into dangerous pieces! Will I ever see my lamp again?”
The crow stared at me. He began to speak. Quoth the Crow, “Nevermore.”
The crow angered me, making a mess of my prized possessions. What a fool he was to have gotten us in this mess, and his reward is merely my hatred. I try to rest on my bed, this time not shaking the house. Succeeding, the Crow was awake anyway.
I woke to a chewing noise that bothered me. I looked up, my eyes not used to the light color without my shades. I noticed the crow tried to took something!
It was my leftover enchiladas from dinner last day! I chased him, but he rested his wings upon a support beam that held the roof together. I said angrily, “Now now crow, give that enchilada back if you wish to live.”
He stared at me, and chugged the whole enchilada down his tiny throat, and started to gag and squirm around helplessly. I chortled at his pain and misery, though still sad that he took my enchiladas I was looking forward to eating tomorrow.
What a painful and sore night, t’was 11 o’clock and I had no rest. I try to slumber in my bed, but my face was being pulled painfully away from the bed. I fell off hitting my polished wood floor very hard! T’was the crow pulling my moustache, and he pulled half of it off!
“Why crow!” I asked, “What a terrible tragedy! I’ve had that moustache since I was ten! Will I ever see it again?”
The crow stared at me. He began to speak. Quoth the crow, “Nevermore.”
I would strangle this useless bird at sight! I’d punch him out big time, kick his butt, bite his head off, spit on his shades, and make his wet his feathers. And so I did!
I grabbed the shaded crow and punched his face, kicked his butt, stole his shades, and he did wet his feathers! I was about to bite his head off, but first I said, “Why crow! What a glorious moment! Will you live any farther?”
The crow stared at me. He began to speak. Quoth the crow, “F-forevermore!”
I glared at him, and then I bit his head off like a wild animal and tossed it out the window hitting Poochyfudd in the face. I must say, that felt better than anything I’ve ever done before! Though, I am depressed at the loss of my shades, lamp, enchiladas, and half of my moustache. I’ve finally settled to a good sleep.
Later, I heard a tap, that tap turned into a knock, that knock turned into a pound, that pound turned into a SMAAAASH! That SMAAAASH! Quickly turned into a rap, and did not stop. “Tis’ a crow,” I muttered, “Rapping at my house porch. Only this, and nothing more.”
I fell back to a deep sleep, when I heard the lock being picked. It was no crow. It was a hippie.
In Houston Texas, criminal activity was rising and the police were unable to fend them off any longer. There was a mafia in the town who vandalized posters, didn't pick up their trash, and pirated movies! The town agreed that the mafia had to be stopped. But who could stop them? That's when mayor B. H. Pirkle decided they needed a hero! Pirkle decided to call a meeting in town on September 1st, 2015. “What we need is not only somebody who can bring the mafia to their senses, but a hero of Houston Texas!” he announced to the eager crowd, “You know, one of those snazzy heroes we see in comic books with their fancy laser eyes and such. We got any 'round here?” The crowd was in complete silence, and several groups of people were getting ready to leave. “Oh, I also forgot to mention, there's a cash reward!” The crowd was now at uproar, begging profusely to become the hero. One man with a orange (With a hint of red) beard, stood up and raised his hand, “I, for one, will take on this mafia with my raw muscle power.” “What a fine fellow! So muscular and he looks exactly like a fitting symbol for the town! What's your name, son?” “Armstrong Houston's the name, don't wear it out,” he chuckled. “Such a fitting name as well! The fate of this town lies in your sweaty palms, Armstrong Houston. Your hero duties will begin tonight. No need to fear any longer, my ignora- I mean, loyal town.”
It was mid-night, Armstrong Houston was laying down on his couch, napping when he was startled by a sudden phone ring. “This is Captain Strong, your new boss. Your job is to patrol the streets tonight, Armstrong. All you'll need to do is gather evidence from fishy activity of the mafia. You're six minutes late to patrol! Capish?” “Oh man, I completely forg- I mean, yeah, I was late because uh... I was uh, workin' out to look extra intimidating to the mafia!” Armstrong bluffed.
Armstrong Houston walked along the streets at mid-night with a flashlight and reflective tape to make sure he was seen. He didn't see anything fishy until he noticed a peculiar man in a trench coat and fedora holding an envelope. Armstrong walked up to him and asked, “Hey, what's in the envelope?” “Oh, uh...” the shady guy answered, “Nothing!” Armstrong took the envelope and opened it without hesitation. “A Star Wars 7 disc? Sir, did this movie come out yet?” “...Huh? Oh, yeah! It came out on disc just a few days ago!” Armstrong noticed a note inside the envelope as well, and read it out loud. “Dear beloved distant relatives, I have searched far and wide for a Star Wars 7 disc. I found it it came in December, but it's still September so I pirated it from J. J. Abrams. Blah blah blah... boring stuff... careful it might be low quality... sir, did you pirate this movie?” “Uhhhh...” he sputtered, then immediately fled. “...I better turn this thing in... after I watch it, of course!” Armstrong Houston ran to his home and sat on his recliner, inserted the disk, and sat a bowl of popcorn on his lap. Several minutes into the movie, Captain Strong knocked on the door telling, “Armstrong, open up!” Armstrong Houston jumped when he heard the knock and quickly turned the TV off as Captain Strong busted the door open. “Armstrong, what are you doing? Did you find any mafia goons?” “Oh, y-yeah I did. I-I think,” Armstrong Houston stuttered. “Do you remember what this mafia member looked like?” “Y-yeah, I do,” Armstrong replied, “He was uh... a-a guy... a bad guy... with uh... c-clothes.” Captain Strong wrote down notes on a notepad, “Anything else?” “No.” He wrote down more notes. “Well, if that's all we'll tell you if we see this guy again.” Captain Strong closed the door, and as soon as he did Armstrong turned Star Wars 7 back on. Captain Strong busted the door open again, startling Armstrong. “What were you watching?” Captain Strong snarled, “Was that Star Wars 7? That movie didn't even come out yet.” “O-oh, it was just a... a trailer! I watch the trailer a lot of times, I'm so hyped man!” Armstrong slowly sidled towards the DVD player and ejected the the disc. “I also found this from the shady guy,” Armstrong said, handing over the disc. “You were... watching it, weren't you?” “No, no! That thing is way too fuzzy for me to watch, man.” Captain Strong sighed and left the room.
The following morning, Armstrong was surprised awake by another phone ring. He answered the phone, “What do you want now? It's like...” Armstrong looked at the clock, “...twelve o'clock...” “There's some sort of robot thing attacking the city! No doubt it's from the mafia, they even put their logo on its face. We need you to take it on!” “Yeah, yeah, cool I'll do it.” “Great, while you do that we'll try to hold it off with roadblocks.” As Armstrong held up the phone, he did a high pitched scream and cowered, “They expect me to bring down a giant robot?! I can't do that! What should I do? If I run away, it'll take away from my manly reputation...”
Armstrong went towards the city where a twenty foot tall robot that almost looked like a desk lamp casually rolling down the street. A tank rolled up at it from one side and fired a missile towards it, but there was a barrier that prevented the missile from hitting it! “H-hey,” Armstrong fearfully told the robot, “Reflecting missiles is not cool. You b-better stop that right now!” The robot almost rolled into Armstrong, who ran back at a safe distance. Captain Strong pulled Armstrong over to him, “What are you waiting for? Go take on that robot! Shred it to pieces with your bare hands!” “I-I can't, you see... I uh,” Armstrong cowered, “I have a tummy ache!” Armstrong ran off into an alley and let out a sigh of relief. “That was a close one,” he whispered to himself, “I'm not going near that thing...” He looked to his side and saw a huge wall plug with a wire connected to it. He pulled it with his strength, and it caused the robot to collapse. Armstrong emerged from the dark alley and said, “Oh, uh, I did that! There was this plug that I had to pu- I mean, the control room was guarded by these huge monsters with super sharp teeth. There was like, a lot of them. But I wasn't scared, with the flex of my pecs they were blinded, and I used that to my advantage and threw them into the reactor core which set off an explosion. I luckily made it out unscathed.” “Armstrong Houston is manlier than we thought!” B. H. Pirkle announced, “We should congratulate him, and reward him with this credit card containing uncountable amounts of cash, and extra-dangerous missions!” The crowd cheered for Armstrong as he got his credit card. “Aw shucks, guys, it was nothin',” Armstrong told them.
As Armstrong returned to his humble abode to mourn the loss of his Star Wars 7 disc, he thought to himself, “Wait... did they say extra-dangerous missi-” Armstrong got another phone call, once again startling him. “Armstrong!” Captain Strong said, “We located the bad guy with clothes you described. We found about twenty, we might have uncovered the whole mafia! We even found some within our own ranks. I would turn myself in, but I'm in my underwear so I'm not mafia! Come over here so you can help us interrogate them! We didn't tell the public, because the mafia might hear!” “B-but I didn't have enough time to spend my money!” Armstrong whined. “I don't care, the shopping can wait! Now get over here!” Armstrong sighed and hung up, and he got in his Ferrari to drive to the police station. He looked out of his side window as he stopped at a red light to find a guy jogging in his underwear. He didn't think anything of it, but then there were three guys walking across the street with their underwear. “Something's not right here...” Armstrong noticed to himself. He shrugged and ignored it. When he arrived at the police department, he found Captain Strong in his underwear at the desk and a number of clothed people in jail. “Just in time!” Captain Strong cheered for Armstrong Houston, “Ah! I see you're wearing clothes. You must be going undercover as a mafia, good idea! In fact, why don't we just send you to the mafia base of operations and take them down undercover? Don't worry, I'll watch these no-good phonies. My right hand man was mafia all along...” “...Wait, do you even know where that base is?” “No. So go find it!” Captain Strong sent Armstrong out to locate the mafia base. “Hmm... where to look first...” Armstrong looked at his credit card, “Maybe I'll find something at the mall.” So Armstrong Houston drove to the local mall to the... 'entertainment section' of Target. As he went down the escalator, he noticed the clothing section downstairs was completely gone. Except for the underwear section. In the entertainment section, he accidentally let out all of the bouncy balls of their cage, and apologized to the workers who cleaned it up. Then one worker noticed Armstrong Houston was wearing a full set of clothes. “Sir,” he said, “You have clothes... a-are you mafia?” “Yeah sure,” Armstrong Houston replied by default, as he didn't pay attention because he was too focused on the game demo. “I'm mafia too!” the worker whispered, “Your master is calling for us at the base! If you forgot, you must go into the men's bathroom, 3rd stall, there should be a lever than you can pull that leads you straight to the base!” “That's great, now can you leave me alone? I got shoved down to 3rd place, I can't afford any more distractions.” “Oh, of course. Sorry man,” the mafia member said.
Armstrong returned to the base where Captain Strong was waiting impatiently. “Did you find the base?” Captain Strong asked, “Did you bring down the mafia?” “Uhhhh no, but there was this guy who told me there was a base or something in the... 2nd stall of the... women's bathroom, I think. But I was busy playing game demos, so-” Captain Strong face-palmed, “You weren't listening, were you?” “N-no, his accent was... uh... difficult to understand.” “Accent, eh?” Captain Strong said, “We might be onto something... we better interrogate everybody with strange accents too!” “Actually,” Armstrong sadly confessed, “He didn't have an accent. I was just busy playing video games. And I didn't throw those monsters into the reactor core, all I did was pull a plug to stop him. I can't do this hero stuff. And I was watching a pirated Star Wars 7 that I found from a shady guy. But I already spent my stuff on the credit card, so you can't take it back, sorry. You can take back those extra-dangerous missions though!” Captain Strong sighed, “And I thought you were manly and brave... well, it looks like we'll have to get a new hero.”
B. H. Pirkle, “Sadly, our once-beloved Armstrong Houston sucked horribly as a hero. And he got over half the population arrested. But on the bright side, we're opening up for a new town hero with an even bigger cash reward! Any volunteers?” One very strong looking man stood up and said, “I, Billy Buffpants, accept the role as a hero.” “Billy Buffpants?” B. H. Pirkle said, “You look even manlier than Armstrong Houston! How did you get those huge muscles, that eight pack, and such a manly chin?” “Heheh,” Bob said, “That's a secret... we can't let the mafia know.” “Of course! Billy Buffpants, with such strength and wit, we will let you watch the town from any further mafia harm!” The crowd congratulated Billy, except Armstrong Houston who was jealous and sulked in his seat instead. “Can I touch your muscles?” one townie asked Bill. “NO!” Billy said, yanking his humongous muscles away, “They're uh... so strong, that if you touch them, you'll get severely injured!” “Pfft,” Armstrong said to himself, “Those muscles are obviously inflated... I don't like this guy... maybe I should have stayed as the hero.” “HEY!” Armstrong yelled at Billy, pulling out a tack, “Ooh, what manly muscles!” “W-what are you doing?” Billy Buffpants said, shocked and appalled! Armstrong tapped his left arm with the tack, and the muscle deflated to reveal a wimpy, bone-skinny arm with a lot of armpit hair. “Billy Buffpants is a phony!” the town cried. Billy sighed, “I'm... actually the mafia leader. I made the mafia to get an early copy of Star Wars 7. Then I found out it was illegal, but I REALLY wanted it, so I had to get some lackeys to do my work.” “By golly,” Pirkle exclaimed, “This guy is worse than Armstrong!” (“What did you say?” Armstrong said) “We better get rid of him pronto!” The town watched Captain Strong arrest Billy, and they all congratulated Captain Strong. “Maybe...” Captain Strong said, “I'm the hero!” But the town wasn't in need of a hero anymore. The last mafioso was in captivity. The galaxy is at peace.