The 'Shroom:Issue 100/Fake News
Hey, everyone, and welcome to the 100th Issue of The 'Shroom. Seriously, there's been 100 of this thing. Wow. I mean, Jesus, 100, that's, like, five twenties.
Writing long and convoluted editorials (as The 'Shroom Awards dossier featured in last month's issue tells me) has become something of a habit of mine, and I'm sorry, but that's not a habit I'm going to break. I mean, I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. But I can't stop writing them. They've taken over me. My walls are covered in mildly entertaining annecdotes or Paint.NET images of Kim Jong-Un on a jetski. The floor is covered in them. I've tried to get out of the house but there's just too many. I have been stuck in my office for five months. I think the editorials may be gaining sentience. Send help.
Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah. 100 Issues! Woo! Yeah! Let's have a party or something. Free drinks!
Actually, screw that, pay for your own drinks!
I can inform you that we at the Fake News can throw a much better party than any of the other sub-teams. Especially Fun Stuff. Fun Stuff parties are alright if your idea of a good time is 'pin the tail on the Yoshi' or 'pass the Brick Block' or more Mario-themed party games.
Pipe Plaza parties are entirely formal affairs. Business suits everywhere. Everyone has a suitcase.
Palette Swap parties are really artsy. Everyone wears a beret and looks a bit bemused. I guess it's artistic or something, I don't really 'get' it.
Critic Corner parties are fine but people tend to get pretty angry. A lot of opinions get thrown around. Also Dippy might shoot you.
Strategy Wing...eh, I don't know, they haven't hosted any parties yet. They could pull something out of the bag.
But yeah, as I was saying, to answer your question, Fake News throws the best parties. Just look at this picture and tell me that the people in it aren't having the time of their lives:
Look me in the eye and tell me you would not dig that shindig.
Okay, so, uh, now that's done, we can move onto important stuff.
Firstly, well done to Hypnotoad (talk) and Marshal Dan Troop (talk) for getting hired for the new bi-monthly section Fightin' Footwear. If you've ever wondered how stylish shoes can help you defeat the Koopa Troop, this is the section for you. Even if you haven't, if you don't think that sounds like the best thing ever, check your pulse: you may be dead.
Secondly, we've had a redesign! Thanks to everyone involved with that.
Thirdly, we're running a Mad Libs contest for the 100th Issue! You have to fill in the gaps to make the story funny. See the News Flush section for more information.
Finally, I'd like to take the time to thank everyone who wrote for the Fake News during my tenure as director this far (even those who may have called me a 'posh prick'):
I'm really sorry if I've missed anyone. If I have be sure to tell me and I'll mention you in the next issue.
Section of the Month
Blasphemy against Our Lord Poochy is a crime most heinous.
I'm not even sure if he's selling anything this month, to be honest.
Anton and Shoey get stylish!
For the 100th issue our Posh director MCD is running a fabulous madlibs contest. Contestants should submit their madlibs to this link https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1hA9lWPfsIqz55S8Ba03LDlwbA_o4NYGoTnrfLF4OL74/viewform and the winner will be awarded a prize! We look forward to reading your submissions.
[CHARACTER] ARRESTED FOR ATTEMPTED BANK ROBBERY!
In a scene described by eyewitnesses as [ADJECTIVE], [CHARACTER] was arrested yesterday for attempting to rob the local [LOCATION] bank. [He/she] was armed with a[n] [ITEM], and tried to get away in [his/her] [VEHICLE]. Unfortunately for [him/her], [CHARACTER] managed to collide with a[n] [ITEM] and flew off the road.
[He/she] later managed to [VERB] away from the wreckage and into the nearby [LOCATION 2]. [He/she] would have got away with it, had it not been for [CHARACTER 2], who managed to stop [CHARACTER] by [VERB ENDING IN -ING] [him/her]. The police later arrived and [VERB ENDING IN -ED] [him/her].
This is not the first time [CHARACTER] has been in trouble with the law: only last year, [he/she] was arrested for [ACTION].
[CHARACTER]'s lawyers, upon being asked for a statement, said: "[BLANK]"
[CHARACTER 2], who stopped [CHARACTER], stated "I'm not a hero, I'm just a [NOUN]."
A [SPECIES], who was at the bank when the robbery happened, said "I found the whole experience [ADJECTIVE]."
[CHARACTER 3], who was in charge of the police investigation, said: "Fame can get to your head. Just look at what happened to [CHARACTER 4]. I still can't believe [he/she] [VERB ENDING IN -ED] that [NOUN]."
The 2015 Wimbledon Championships have come to a close on the men’s side, after an exciting four-set match-up between Novak Djokovic and Roger the Potted Ghost!
Djokovic and the Potted Ghost were the two highest seeds entering the championship match, after Djokovic managed to take down four of the top 30 players, all the while the Potted Ghost managed to take down Abraham Lincoln, Steve Irwin, and Elvis Presley, among several other deceased celebrities who have taken up tennis as a pastime in the afterlife. The Potted Ghost, a surprise entering this insane year of tennis, gradually climbed up the ranks of stardom. When asked about what made Roger so special, Harold Ramis replied, “Thirty years after being a Ghostbuster, I finally truly understand what made and makes these creatures so extraordinary. Truthfully, I’m terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.”
Novak and Roger met face-to-face on the grass, when controversy immediately struck as the two, along with management, were unsure on how to actually play this game… with a living being and a ghost. Accusations and opinions from all sides began pouring in, demanding a ban against any and all ghosts playing in tennis, all the while the ghost of Stonewall Jackson attempted to rile up as many Civil War soldiers as possible to wage war on the living Americans. A compromise was shortly reached, however, as a ghostly and elderly Albert Einstein successfully created a ball that could be used by both sides.
Djokovic and the Potted Ghost fought furiously throughout their sets, being evenly matched as Djokovic and Roger split their first two sets. However, the Potted Ghost, after using and breaking several hundred pots as his rackets, immediately became tired of having no arms and hands, and unfortunately dropped his next two sets, losing in the finals to Djokovic, three sets to one. As the competitors shook hand and 153rd pot, the only sound that poured through the arena was the sound of applause… and the sound of streams.
No one can escape from Peter Venkman, Ray Stantz, and Winston Zeddemore.
“We’re the tennis corpse busters.”
G’day mates, the Crocodile Weatherwoman is here for your monthly Weather Report, filling in for the usual bloke because he’s currently glued to his chair with sweat. Silly humans, that’s what you get when you don’t grow copious amounts of fur to prevent the leather seats from gripping on to your booty fat, but indeed this is indicative of the subject on everyone’s mind. Yes, it’s the worst heatwave the world has ever seen, reaching unprecedented local temperatures of 42*C (106.6*F), causing an increase in forest fires, heatstroke, and angry comments on message board, driving hundreds away from their homes, and even more away from the internet. The entirety of the Blizzard population has been forced to migrate south, as the freezers of local liquor stores they were known to inhabit during Summer have been powerless to fend off the encroaching heat. Several have been hospitalised following a failed attempt to leave the city in two snowball pieces, many having been reduced to just heads, and one poor man named Mr. Blizzard has perished after deciding that this was the perfect time to get his tan on.
Accompanying this heatwave has been the worst drought in recorded Wiki history, draining local lakes for a good %20 of their water levels and wasting good beer by warming it up to disgusting levels. I mean seriously, you ever tried to drink warm ale? It’s awful; take it from someone who drinks herself stupid every night to forget the crippling anxieties of being a low-income earner and also a blue electric rat. Why is this my life? One very vocal protestor to the drought has been Dippy, Seeker of Beverages (pictured, right), who made a point of calling me a “thieving faker” for our similar names. "This is an outrage," he said, "I’ve been through this gup once before, and never before did I think I would have to go without my precious beverages again! Is it really so much to ask to have the sun just, y’know... die, so my pool will never dry up? Can that be a thing that happens?” He went on to say that “If things don’t improve, I’m going to have to actually get up and find a new source of nourishment! How’s that for unfair??"
At this stage, no official statement has been made by Pong Ball, Supreme Ruler of the Known Universe. More to come at 7, mark it down on some stone because your clock has probably melted by now.
UPDATE: A buck-toothed tipster from Flower Fields who chose to remain anonymous assured us that there was absolutely not a magical Water Stone present somewhere in the fields, and that even if there was, there was absolutely no way it could possibly provide the necessary water supply needed to combat the drought. We sent a crew member to interview various members of the pristine retirement villa, but very few of the inhabitants were willing to give straight answers; our esteemed crew member, however, managed to follow the trail of riddles (and thorns) to meet the resident named Lily. However, she was unable to speak to the water flower, as her only response was simply screaming "WHAT. ARE YOU DOING. IN MY POND?!" More as it develops.
As the ongoing heatwave reached temperatures of 42°C the Mr. Blizzard population finally decided that it'd be a good idea to head South for the Winter after their homes were disabled by power, except for one guy who decided that it would be a wise idea for a tan. A word of warning to all other snowmen out there: it is never a good idea for a tan.
Unsurprisingly, the poor
The particular Mr. Blizzard who died was a bit of celebrity to the local Partysphere, as he'd acted as a sidekick, a capsule, even an obstacle. In a poll he was voted Best Snowball Thrower of '02. He had less luck as a pitcher, a career move that nearly ended his own life when a fastball he threw was deflected right through him, luckily snowmen don't die like that.
Many mourners attended his memorial service, although it was requested to move down South into Ice Land rather than to stay in Desert Land. Despite our reporters searching for such a person there was no Mrs. Blizzard to find, so we couldn't get a comment off of her, or any of them after the aircon blew.
The game follows Waluigi as he has to putt 28 balls on a number of different holes. This gives a whole new level of excitement to the game - not only do you have the thrill of playing as a professional golf star, but you must also control your swings to ensure you can sink the ball. Will you sink it in one shot? Or will you send the ball flying off into, say, a local parking lot? The possibilities are more than endless. Even if you can't imagine it, you can somehow end up doing it. That's how much this game will change your life.
But don't take my word for it: hear what a few reviewers have to say:
Trust me when I say that this is the game your children want for Christmas. Even if they don't ask for it, get it for them. The look on your son or daughter's face will be priceless.
So, in conclusion, I... *phone rings*
Oh, sorry, that's my lawyer, got to go.
Huh? What's that? A landfill? No, I haven't even been to New Mexico in years...
Written by: Wall Nettan
Hello there, and welcome to Shop Scout. I'm Wall Nettan, the writer of this little newsletter column, at least for this edition. I wish I could say otherwise – that I'd be able to send more of these in the future – but let's just say that my current circumstances prevent me from doing so. "Why's that," you ask? Well, it all started with what was supposed to be a simple piece on the walnut consumption rates of the Mushroom Kingdom. And boy, what a nightmare that's turned out to be! If I'd have only known just what trouble this project would have gotten me into... But it's too late for regrets, and by the time you read this, I will be far from the country. You see, this is the story of how everything in my life... has gone nuts.
Answer the Call
It all started with your director, Super Mario Bros. (talk), who thought it would be a great idea to get the readers of The 'Shroom to send in their suggestions for the publication so that improvements could be made. Some wise guy comes in and says that the newsletter should "add a section dedicated to local walnut consumption rates." That's right, "local walnut consumption rates." And the idiot in charge actually thought it was the best idea of the bunch! Honestly, a real idea for improvement would be telling this guy to get his priorities straight, but I won't tell you guys how to run things now.
Anyway, the director brought up this brilliant idea with the staff, and of course they all shot it down. But he wouldn't have it, and he insisted that it be made an integral feature of the one hundredth edition. He searched high and low, asking person after person if they would be interested in doing research for this piece. Still, nobody wanted to work on the project, and it seemed that this idea was all but dead. That is, however, until I ran across the man himself and agreed to help him out. I figured it would be a good opportunity to launch my career in journalism — you have to start somewhere, after all — and to make some quick cash, of course!
The task that was put before me seemed simple: look up some information about walnuts, go to the local stores that sell them, and conduct interviews with experts in the field. The Mushroom Kingdom doesn't really have walnuts, as the citizens mostly consume goomnuts instead; however, there is a steadily growing walnut imports market (of questionable legality) that originated in a small town aptly-named Nutsville. This is where I decided to start my search for an expert, one who could perhaps aid me in my quest to obtain some information about the walnut industry in the country.
That was my next mistake.
Eventually, I made it to Nutsville in order to track down the man who had the answers I needed. I stumbled upon some sort of shady-looking shop, which really looked more like a shack. I looked around for any sort of sign that the shopkeeper could have posted, any sort of indication that I was at the right place, but found nothing. Against my better judgement, I entered, and all I saw was some seedy-looking character barely revealed by a lightbulb that struggled to even function anymore. I was greeted by the pop-eyed, slack-jawed creep – he had some sort of ridiculous lisp – and I knew right then that things weren't going to go as I had hoped.
I couldn't believe it. I literally had just stepped into the headquarters of some illegal walnut cartel, which operates outside of the law due to some government-corporate corruption in favor of... the Goomnut Industry. This stuff just can't be made up! Sensing that it was my time to leave, and that I was about to get involved with way more than I signed up for, I headed for the door as I thanked Wal for his time. Only things never seem to go as one hopes, and complications always have to arise.
The last thing I remember was bolting for the door before I felt something massive strike my head. Then there's a little bit that I don't recall, and then I woke up to the sound of talking in what seemed to be a small room.
I tried looking around, but my head was covered and my hands and legs were tied up. You know what the worst feeling in the world is? Uncertainty. It's what makes unfamiliar people seem weird or scary, it's what makes people afraid to work beyond their comfort zones and improve, it's even what makes death so frightful. When we know things, what's going on, we tend to feel more comfortable or accepting of them. When we don't, fear is instilled in our bodies and we don't like it. And at that moment, not knowing who I was with, where I was, and what was going to happen to me... That was absolutely the most terrifying feeling I have ever felt in my life.
Suddenly, a voice called to me. "Hey, you seem to be wiggling around. Good morning, sleepy head! Hehehe... Did you enjoy your nap time?" I could somewhat recognize the voice, but it seemed different from the last time I had heard it. "Walnuts are absolutely just the greatest. It's no wonder they're illegal – it'd put so many establishments out of business. The pharmaceutical companies absolutely detest that you can use walnuts medicinally. The corporations that tear trees apart to make paper hate that you can make walnut paper. The ropes that tied your hands? Nut rope. The cloth we used to cover your head? A nut sack. It's just the most resourceful stuff, and it'd change the way things work. But people are resistant to change, they're too uncertain."
He lifted the sack from my head. It was Wal again, whose horrific speech impediment seemed to have mysteriously vanished.
I knew that I had no other option but to comply, so I agreed to take his "offer." He went ahead and cut the rope, led me out of his lair, and sent me on my way to Goomba Village, which is where the most profitable goomnut farm is located. My "opposition research," I was told, entailed me destroying the sole remaining goomnut tree on this farm to crash the industry and create a gap that can only be filled by the walnut industry. If I were to succeed, I was told to move on with my life and to never run into Wal and his cartel goons again. If I were to fail, I would be as good as dead.
And that is when I realized I should have never gotten involved with this project in the first place.
I made it to Goomba Village, by now it was the dead of night and the little family that lived in the area had long gone to sleep. Now was my chance to finally get myself out of this mess; although I felt bad that it would set back this peaceful little family, I had enough with this whole ordeal and wanted to put it all to an end. I first went to a shed they had installed that held the supply of goomnuts to be shipped out the next day, lit a match and threw it on top of the shed, and watched as the entire structure lit aflame.
A few steps away, close to the house, was the last goomnut tree in all the land. I proceeded to douse it in gasoline, lit another match that I had on me, and stopped to think. "Is this worth it? By doing this, I am going to destroy an entire industry... Put a family out on the streets... Help that awful Wal rise to the top and legitimize his cause." Thoughts of guilt and remorse filled my mind, but as I went to go put out the match, some Goomba who was seemingly the father of the family came out and yelled, "Hey! If you dare take one more step, I will call the authorities on you!" Out of a sense of panic, I dropped the match on the puddle of gasoline and watched as the fire spread not only to the tree, but lit the poor family's house up as well.
I looked over at the Goomba father, who exclaimed, "You... YOU! Not only did you bust my nuts, but now you've lit my house on fire! Somebody call the fire department!" I started to run through the forest as the grandfather Goomba approached with a rifle and started shooting between the trees. Thankfully his shots missed me, probably due to his losing his eyesight over the years, and along the way I bumped into Wal himself.
Suddenly, a bullet flew from back in the village and hit Wal straight in the head, which reduced him to... a shell of his former self. I took the rest of the cash off of him and ran as fast as I could. I could hear the cries of, "My nuts are burning! ...My house is burning!" fade in the distance.
By the break of dawn, I approached the dock at the port and snuck onto a ship that would take me away to Rogueport. Hopefully I can start anew, although my life will never be the same – I've left my entire family behind, and all of my friends. And you know what? All I have to show for my actions from that day is $100 and a bounty on my head. So that turned out well. Ladies, gentlemen, and anyone else out there... Just remember this: never let blind ambition lead you astray. Because one day, you will wind up doing things you don't want to do, and you'll be nothing more than a sell-out.
That, and I hope the person who had the bright idea for a walnut consumption rate article is happy. Guess what, buddy? You're the one who caused this mess in the first place.