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PacMan-istan Declares War on Multi-colored Ghosts

Seeking to stop relentless movements back and forth, PacMan declared that Inky, Pinky, Blinky, and their spiritual leader Clyde have held back freedom long enough. Mrs. PacMan, his wife, inferred that the time to tolerate multi-colored ghosts is over. “They are not like us. Even though their characters were slightly developed in our Saturday morning cartoon from the 80s, they are nothing more than control freaks. We can’t even take a walk without them terrorizing us.”

When pressed for more comments PacMan cleared his throat and wiped a tear from his eye, “When I go to eat strawberries and pretzels, should I have to run? What kind of world am I leaving for Junior? He is so innocent playing his pinball game all day. And what about the Mrs.? She has to clear two boards just to meet me for lunch. Sure, we all have to deal with some bs, but should we always!?”

After the flood of ’97 the Pac family had to rebuild from the ground up. Reinvigorated by the next generation Pac-World 3D abodes, they seemed to be growing strong once again. But always there were the ghosts. After speaking with 7 Psychologists and a Voodoo Shaman, the Pac clan realized that they would never have peace until they confronted evil directly.

Taking a power pellet (Viagra), PacMan regained his verile strut and proceeded to unleash his jaw of mass destruction. Horrified a flashing shade of nightmare, the ghosts scurried away like rats escaping a puma. Even after death, the ghosts simply ran back to their temple for a new husk, reincarnated and hated PacMan all the more. The cycle continued endlessly mutating and relentlessly compelling.

Zork, the sage, opened his eye and saw that finally in 2103 after years of 4D holographic projection tournaments and having watched his wife and child die 1845739873492776090972 times, an exhausted PacMan finally took his own life silently in the middle of a Parisian night. His last call was to Donkey Kong who was strung out in the New Las Vegas section of Mars. “Buddy,” he said. It sure was fun wasn’t it?”

“Who the hell is this?” queried DK angrily. “Is that you Mario? You remember what I did to Luigi don’t you?” PacMan quickly cleared the confusion. “No, my friend it is me. I know we haven’t spoken since 2012, but it is me…..PacMan.” “My little yellow amigo, how are you?” asked DK as he took his 37th rip off the glass tube filled with the smoke of living sunshine. “Dying….” said PacMan as the phone fell to the floor.

DK sighed. It was the phone call he had been waiting for since the Space Invaders first reigned destruction from the skies. Huddling with his yellow partner in the trenches, he knew that making friends left him vulnerable to hurt, but he did it anyway. Punching a barrel of Ale, he drank until stewing in his own gorilla juices. Just before sucking the pain all back in and throwing away the key he growled, “I’ll take it out on Mario.”



-C. Moors 

2/17/2005

cmoors@creativecosmos.org