The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Tao Of Kirby

My first reaction is to ask: What would Sun Tzu do? But the Art of War has already burnt me one too many times before. I need whatever the opposite of a Chinese general is to survive. Think, Gomez, who would be the antithesis of Sun Tzu? Something soft, cuddly, safe... Winnie the Pooh?

No, that won't work. They're both Taoist and Chinese, and I don't see any pot of honey around. Maybe Kierkegaard? He's a cowardly twink who fumbled his way into relevancy. No, I'm not a Danish incel, so it won't work. I need something dumb, and blank. Head empty, just survival...

I know! Dumb as a rock, need for survival as an instinct, always wins with the power of friendship in the end. There is only one being that fits the bill: beloved Nintendo mascot, Kirby.

Think about it. One is a hardened warrior who uses stratagems hitherto unknown to outsmart their opponents in battles of wits with countless lives on the line. The other is Sun Tsu. Kirby only eats, sleeps, and that's about it, and yet, by the power of bullshit and friends, he waddles his way into killing gods by mere accident. And do you think he has a strategy in mind when he does that? Hell no. He just moves forwards and does it. The universe will provide the rest.

And me, being a protagonist like Kirby, will blindly follow on his path to victory. So today I must ask: What would Kirby do?

Oddly enough, the first thing he always does in his games is look upward. Lots of bad stuff that happens in Dreamland comes from the sky. Of course, Master Kirby would always be vigilant of threats like that. Surely, his instincts know no bounds.

I look up to see what is basically a magic JumboTron hovering over the maze with each of our pictures at the bottom, with about 10 slots with accompanying photos on top of it. A score system, perhaps? Next to it is a countdown clock with fifteen minutes remaining, and counting down. Maybe only the top 10 fighters will go on to the next round. Or, judging how ass-backward this thing is, it only displays the bottom 10 that will be eliminated every fifteen minutes. Dammit, I'm running blind here.

No, no. Don't worry. Remember: head empty, no thoughts, only poyo. Master Kirby never knows what's happening either. I just have to survive, not win.

Just as I say this, the ugly mug of Vampyr Von Woof shoots to the top of the top ten, with a number 3 next to him. The Half-bull-half-alligator thing goes to the second spot with a number 1 next to his photo.

Okay, this is a top ten. No way those two are losing. If that's the case, better for me. That might as well be a list of people I don't wanna face.

Anyways, now that I looked up, what would Kirby do? And that's an easy thing to do: move forwards! Occasionally jumping while inhaling air to get some air time. Thank you, Master Kirby. After all, the best way to leave a maze is to move. And that, I do.

The maze is wide enough to fit even the biggest of beasts, but just barely. A mediocre dance crew could breakdance here semi-comfortably. I walk, and walk, and skip a little while flapping my arms, and walk a little bit farther. Just a smidge. I get to a crossroads, and, of course, I pick right. Master Kirby always goes right, because it's the right place to go!

You know, for having two hundred or so beings in this labyrinth, it sure looks empty. It's been around — let's look a the clock here — five minutes! Five minutes without seeing a soul. I call that a win. Master Kirby would be proud, if he could talk. I wonder if there's a warp star around here that can take me to the next stage.

The rankings change yet again. The Vamwolf is at number one with a respectable score of 10. The Halfbeast trails him by 6. Next is a Snake-like monster with humans for hair — which I'll call reverse-medusa — with 4. Okayden makes an appearance next with one, followed by a few more with one rounding the bottom. It's slow going, but I think that's good, no? Everyone here is part of the forest. To defeat a fellow neighbor is not an easy thing to do. Unless it's that bitch Brenda that keeps reporting your grass to the HOA for being an inch taller than regulation and yelling about how "It's devaluating the price of her house" by being in close proximity to what she calls a "drug den," just because I'm Hispanic. That racist bitch. I would easily cut down Brenda.