This really was not written by Mario. It was written by Greg Lockwood over at

Dear Nintendo,

We’ve been in a business relationship for quite a while now, and to be honest, I never used to have any complaints about my job. I mean sure, my line of work has never really been considered “easy” by any means, but in the early days it just felt so much more… rewarding.

Do you get what I’m saying guys? I wasn’t too fond of chasing a huge ape up a series of ladders, but with that fine-ass Pauline waiting for me, I didn’t mind. Same thing with running around Mushroom Kingdom, I don’t mind taking out a few Koopas since I know Peach is going to be waiting for me. (”At another castle”…God that joke gets so old)

But recently, you have been forcing me to do shit that just isn’t in my job description. I remember the first time Shigeru called me up. “Yo Mario, wanna go to a party? How about 8 of them?” And of course I said yes. That’s because my idea of a party is knockin back a few cold ones with some buds, some drinking games with the ladies, and maybe Superbad. But no, you twisted fucks’ idea of a party is to have me and all the assholes I hate run around in circles for twenty minutes. That’s not a party, that’s a track and field meet. Which brings me to my next point.

Have you seen my waistline in the last few years? I would assume not, because you’ve got me playing more sports than Michael Jordan. What on God’s green Earth gives you the slightest thought that I would make a good soccer player? Have you seen how long a fucking soccer field is? It’s ridiculous. While we’re talking about ridiculous things, whose bright idea was it for me to compete in Olympic events against Sonic of all people? He was about to retire anyways, but no Nintendo, you just had to bring him back and have him compete against me in track events. What were you thinking? He runs so fast you can’t see his fucking feet.

Finally, as I’m sure you’re all well aware, for most of my life, the enemies I have faced have all been relatively tame, being dispatched with a simple jump or three at the most. Now you want to take me and make me battle to the death against a man with a gun? I can punch him, he can shoot fucking bullets at me! You’re all assholes, I hate you.

Die in a Fire,