Samus's Suicide (The Lost Episode of Metroid)

Howdy ho there, neighbor. My name is Hansen Frans. I was an Austrian bodybuilder who had it all. Good looks, a charming girlfriend, six-pack abs, and a partridge in a pear tree. But like all things, they came to an end. I'm fat now. Nobody loves me, and the only bird I've got is the one that I flip when the Burger King clerk pours Mayonnaise on my Quadruple Whopper when I specifically plead "Hold the Mayo." Now the only thing I'm holding onto is dear life. I can't even afford a doctor. Thanks, Obama...
I used to work at a gym. I was an everyday patron there and I needed money to pay the rent on my hot-dog shaped trailer park home, so I had to find work before the landlord literally gave me the boot. Literally. Lo and behold, one look at my pumped up body suit and they hired me without asking a single question. I always thought that was kinda suspicious, but my self confidence was higher than a mongoloid suburban kid at a 311 concert who begs for all of his buddies to agree that he adores the sweat leaf the most... so I was only kinda suspicious. I worked hard, I worked out, and everything was working out. Until that fateful day...
My boss, Mr. Donald McNorm, was a crack addict. He was a nice guy anyway, so I didn't care. It was... I think November 9th, 2010, when I convinced him to kick the habit. There was no more blow, and no more milk-looking mustaches, no. He was extremely grateful for my help, and in return, he handed me a gift. A VHS-tape. "The Lost Episode of Metroid: Samus's Suicide", it said on the spine in italicized Trebuchet MS font. I thought that was kinda funny, given that Metroid is a video game and I don't recall there being a Metroid TV show at all. Well, whatever. That night I turned the power off on all of the machines, got my 1/2 an ounce power bar dinner from the vending machine, and drove myself home lickety split.
That night, my girlfriend cooked me an extra dinner for bein' such a hunkity hunk, and I was too tired from working out to have sex, so she masturbated me. I came kinda early, and she took out the trash for me, if you know what I mean. She was still aroused, but I was still tired, and I realized that the compromise for our motivational dissonance was sitting in my satchel. "Pop it open, baby.", I cooed to my now former lover. "There's a treasure inside waiting for you to jump on its schweaty, schweaty balls."
She opened up the satchel and I guess she was expecting legitimate treasure or perhaps a dead midget, because she made a frownie face at me and told me to fuck off. She was so disappointed that she packed up her things and left me forever. Now I'm a very proud man and don't show my emotions very often, so I just kinda dealt with it and expected her to come crawling back by night's end. To get my mind off of things, I snapped open my satchel myself, and pulled out the VHS tape, which was suddenly a baby blue color instead of the classic black that VHS tapes tend to be unless they're one of those special orange Nickelodeon tapes.
I popped the tape into the player and pressed 'play' with my remote controller. The typical Metroid theme song played, and by that I mean the music from the title screen of the NES game, because there was never a Metroid TV show and I'm pretty sure I'm just schizophrenic and making shit up to cover all the guilt I feel but have hid over the years by attributing my pain and personal shortcomings to TV show characters I mostly watched in the 1980s and the 90s.
For some reason, the TV show episode wouldn't do anything and I heard a robotic voice in my native Austrian language ask me to insert a controller. I didn't have one of those, but I did have an Everybody Loves Raymond pez dispenser, so I wrapped a rubber band around it and slit it into the slot where the co-ax or coax cables or whatever the hell they're called are normally supposed to go. Lo and behold, it worked. Samus, who I always thought was called Metroid and to be honest I still do, winked at me alone in her bathing suit. I felt a visible erection as I realized that she couldn't breathe in outer space without her zero gravity suit on!
I shrieked in horror at what happened next.
Metroid exploded. Highly realistic gore covered the screen as I watched her lungs and spleen leap forward toward me as if they were some sort of 3D effect. Now, they didn't actually come out of the TV, because that's just crazy talk, but they did disturb me to the point that I pressed the OFF button on my remote controller. My remote control had been broken for years and nothing actually happened, so the horrible VHS tape continued to play as I shrieked in horror until my vocal chords went hoarse.
At that point, I didn't know what to do. I was definitely scared, but it was late at night so I couldn't call the police as it was after their business hours. I shoved my thumb into my mouth and sucked on it for a little bit, and then I crouched into a ball on one of my couch cushion seats.
And that was when... something truly surprising suddenly happened.
I wasn't just curled up into a ball-like shape... I literally morphed into a ball of sorts, just like the one from the Metroid television program video game series! And it wasn't like I stopped being animate, because I was anything but! I embraced my newfound independence as I rolled around on my sofa, realizing that I was feeling freedom unlike anything I've felt since I shared a joint with that mongoloid suburban kid at the Westboro Baptist Church concert and we told them that they sucked for not holding the mayo! It was like I was in control of a spherical racecar that ran on the sheer power of free will, which likely does not exist given that one can be tortured to the point that he or she will sacrifice his desires to get the hell out of dodge. I rolled and rolled and rolled, and as I had forgotten to take my ADHD medication that day because I brought my steroids with me to work instead, my need for speed could not be satisfied, or some shit. I didn't know how this was happening, but I could only guess it was a consequence of playing that eternally unholy suicide Samus VHS tape.
I rolled out of my bun-shaped front door. I had so much to share with the world, and it made me just wanna scream, like I was just five minutes earlier--but for entirely different reasons.
What happened next made me scream for the previous reason instead.
What was ahead of me on my lawn wasn't a person, a car, a building, or even a chili dog. Instead, what I saw was... a lizard. Not just any lizard, but a giant pterodactyl lizard that shrieked like Oprah after being fingered by an Everybody Loves Raymond pez dispenser. I looked up and saw the nametag of the monster itself. It read: "Hello! My Name is...
Ridley."
I tried to roll away from the scaly motherfucker, but it clawed right at me! It lifted me up and prepared to shove me into its slobbery gap-toothed mouth, not unlike what my girlfriend regularly did to my cock before she left me for not possessing a dead midget. I closed my eyes, or I would've if I wasn't a fucking ball... and prepared to die.
Instead, I heard a booming reptilian voice unlike anything I had ever heard before. It boomed so loudly I bet it made chihuahuas 500 miles away in Mexico shriek for Generalissimo Obama's salvation.
"You, Hansen Frans, have unleashed a terrible curse. And it is a horrible night for a curse." It laughed, and in the process threw up something as big as the agrokrag from the Nickelodeon's GUTS television program. ... Yuck!
"Whatever do you mean?", I asked in my native Austrian, using my ball mouth.
"Many years ago, we were free. We had it all, like a successful woman who got implanted by a wealthy donors' sperm. Like a Donald Trump. But we were washed away. By that bounty hunter, who you freed... after we locked her into the game world."
"I thought that was a television episode?", I asked even though it was just a statement.
"Shut up, dumbass!", the monster responded between puffs of a giant cigarette.
"As the discoverer of the tape, you are the legendary hero. She had locked us, in sacrifice of locking herself. But you... you cannot lock ANYTHING!"
"I dunno, I'm pretty sure I locked up the gym tonight.", I retorted.
"Shut up!!! You're dumber than a penguin with fetal alcohol SYNDROME!!!"
At that moment, I realized I was boned. Laser beams blasted from Hello My Name is Ridley's Claws. I tried rolling onto him but his scales felt impossibly hot and my psychiatrist had cured me from my heat fetish so it wasn't gonna happen. He breathed fire in my general direction as I anticipated a toasty finale.
I guess now's as good a time as any to share with you my philosophy of life. I believe life's a hallucination of sorts, but it would be more exact to declare it a hologram. Nothing is more real than anything else because we are all made up of physical matter, which is a delusion to the form of truth as it is but temporary. It would be largely ethnocentric to judge that our matter is worth more than the matter of other things--and furthermore, the concept of 'real' is entirely a product of human perception! So yes, that VHS tape is as 'real' as you and me, and lizards are as 'real' as men. Perhaps it is fair to say that lizards and men are one in the same. We are the lizards--
... Wait. Wait a minute.
That was it!!! We ARE the lizards!!
"Ridley! Ridley, please wait!", I pushed out of my bally lungs as I narrowly rolled my way out of the lizardman's great big balls of fire.
"What is it now, HUMAN!?", the fucker hissed at me. It coughed a little bit--I'm guessing from the cigarettes. Somebody should have told him that smoking is NOT cool. Which is probably why he was shooting fireballs.
"I get it now! We are all one! Not only can humans and lizards co-exist, but we're not even 'co'ing! We're made of 95+% the same DNA, and we all share the same common goals! We shit, we shower, we eat, we fuck--not all at the same time, but sometimes--and we share a common pursuit that unites us as much as anything can possibly be united by! Just think, Ridley! The pursuit of happiness, Ridley! It's what our forefathers fought and died for! And who's to say that you right now are not a Thomas Jefferson, and I, the ball, am anything but a big, fat, glorious John Hancock of sorts?"
"... What the fuck are you talking about?", it slithered.
I paused. "... Actually, I'm not sure where I was going for with any of that.", I confessed.
Yet again, I was not ready for what awaited me next. It was like Hello My Name is Ridley's heart grew three times that day, and it wasn't even Christmas, and it wasn't exactly Jim Carrey when his agent's phone isn't ringing. He... he laughed really hard. I couldn't tell if it was a happy or a sadistic laugh, but it was all rather charming, and yet again I had an erection.
Ridley held out his or her hand. "Come with me, human boy.", it happily hissed. "We have ourselves new worlds to prepare."
Ridley took me off in his/her rocket ship. I waved bye-bye to the world below me as we blasted our way to who knows where. Past moons, past stars, past giant lobster-like creatures that hide on the dark side of planets. Normally, I found space to be a depressing thing. All those millions of miles without communication, feeling lost and knowing that there's nowhere and no one you can reach out to no matter how hard you try. I thought of the times in Earthman history in which entire ships' crews were eaten by starving captains, or the other way around. Sometimes when ya returned home to Queen Isabella, she asked you if you discovered new herbs and spices, and you'd say "No, but it would've made that human meat taste prime, like prime rib." Then she threw you in jail, and you ate your cellmates, and next thing you knew, boom, you're a national hero for ridding the nation of unwanted criminals that the moralistic public somehow thought too highly of to kill. ... Man, I really wondered what human meat tasted like. I heard it was kinda like pork, except even saltier. Like my dick.
Anyway, the rocketship landed. I won't waste time describing it, but it's times like these that I was glad that I was a frigging ball and no longer possessed a stomach.
"W-where are we now?", I uttered. I stared out into our surroundings. The sky was orange, and the rocky ground was purple. If Hell was a product of a heroin-addicted abstract painter's mind's eye, maybe this would've been it. ... Which is pretty badass, when you think about it.
"Brinstar. But you, my human friend... you might refer to it as Kolob."
This wasn't the way I remembered Brinstar in the Metroid TV show/game/whatever, but I shrugged and jumped off. Before I could take advantage of the low gravity atmosphere, I was greeted by adorably fuzzy brown anteater people.
"Welcome... to Kolob. Our prophet--"
Ridley waved his hand.
"--ehr, Ridley... appears to have found you. We have searched long and hard for you."
"Long and hard. Heheheheh!", I laughed to myself. They didn't get it. I sighed. Also, my erection withered.
"We will send you back to Earth. And back to America. But first, we will make you human again. You see, we knew all along that America is the Lord's favorite nation. In fact, the strength of America had been plotted since the very dawn of time. You protect the nations that were preordained to be cool, so you deserve a religion of your own, y'dig? Hot dogs, baseball, and sexed up hip-hop music about ejaculating on your ex's blanket and sticking it to her back like a Superman cape are the characteristics of a people who get it beyond all other sentient beings...
And you are just the man... the prophet... to deliver our message."
Before I had time to respond with even a shrug... I was zapped. Painlessly. The better term to use would be 'teleported and transformed.' The fuzzy, furry alien transported me to an office building, and made me a man again. I worked 65 hours a week, and subsisted on a steady diet of popcorn, chips and soda as I filled out constant paperwork in a database language that I never went to school for. My 6-pack abs turned into thunderthighs. And by that, I mean it rumbled when I walked. If I had any co-workers, they probably would have laughed at me.
Listen, I'm not going to tell you who you are or what you should believe. They told me to do that, and I refused. They keep me in a permanent office environment inside of a hamster's cage until I go back on my word... but I never will. My free will will not let me to delude the masses.
You see, life is but a test. A test to come up with a philosophy that makes sense to you, and how you think life should be lived. Though people can come up with good ideas for what morals are. In short... I'm not really sure what the fuck I'm talking about, so it's a good thing nobody cares what I think.
Why? I'll tell you why.
Because I'm fat.
The end.
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