Lucas’s Perilous Quest of 117 Tasks to Become a Smasher!
By Hoogiman

Chapter One

Lucas had only one goal in life: an ambitious but nonetheless straightforward one. As a young child, he would run along the cornfields with great excitement as he watched the stimulating battles of the Super Smash Brothers on his wireless internet. On a laptop. After a long blow-for-blow recollection of each fight posted on his fanatical extremist smash fan blog, he would lie in his bed and fantasise whimsically about being a smasher: every young boy’s fantasy and ultimate goal in life.

Or at least the fantasy of every young boy that wanted to be a smasher.

After months and months of exhausting training, rowing through tumultuous seas of gally-flimpickets and strength training on his biceps, triceps, abdominals and whimpickets, he decided that this two week training period in his life was over: he was ready to become a smasher.

Past memories of rejection and remorse pushed besides him, he paid the taxi driver and strolled peacefully in a violent manner through the grounds of the mansion. Equipped with a video compilation of him beating up drunks on the street for pocket money, he stormed into Master Hand’s office and put his application tape on the table for a third time.

He was not going to face rejection. He would become a smasher. A member of the third generation of smashers: Super Smash Brothers brawl. Grinning slyly and leaning on a nearby lampshade in an astute manner, he gazed in Master Hand in a lustful manner and muttered in his masculine eight year-old voice, “I think I’m ready to become a smasher.”

Master Hand, shocked that Lucas had returned, gasped gasps of shock as he saw the terrible boy return for a third time to his desk.

“Why this is simply quite an outrage!” said Master Hand angrily, fuming with anger (then again, what else could he be, fuming with happiness? No, I don’t think so). “I rejected you the first and second times, why shouldn’t I reject you now?!”

“Veins in my biceps,” said Lucas, pointed to green, spiky veins in his gigantic, hard, neatly-formed biceps.

“That’s… …broccoli…” said Master Hand, unimpressed, wiping the broccoli off Lucas’s arm. “…you… mistook broccoli for veins… how could you?!”

Lucas whimpered.

“You idiot!” criticised Master Hand, “How could you be so stupid?!”

“Please!” begged Lucas, crying, lunging onto Master Hand’s knees, “I beg you! Please take me in as a smasher! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?!” said Master Hand.

“Anything!” said Lucas.

“Would you climb a hill?!”

“Anything!” said Lucas.

“Wear a daffodil?!”

“Anything!” said Lucas.

“Leave me all your will?!”

“Anything!” said Lucas.

“Even fight my Bill?!”

“Anything!” said Lucas.

“Wow… you are determined…” said Master Hand impressed.

Lucas grinned. “Can I become a smasher now?!”

“Yes, but first, you must go through a series of one hundred and seventeen tasks and challenges that show that you are a true smasher!” said Master Hand, triumphant music playing in the background, “These tasks will not only show your mental determination but they will train you to become one of the best fighters around!”

Lucas grinned.

“Are you ready?” said Master Hand in a wise voice, “Are you ready to become a smasher?”

“Yes!” said Lucas eagerly, “Yes I do want to become a smasher!”

“Then let the tasks begin!” announced Master Hand.

Task One

“The following is a task of… um…” said Master Hand, improvising and snickering at the same time, “…courage… and… er… perseverance… oh… and motivation too!”

“Chapter one,” read Master Hand to himself, holding up the book, ‘117 ways to exploit and humiliate naive people who think they’re going to get an important position’, “Ah, this is a good one!”

Lucas, grinning, stood half-naked in the middle of the room.

“Okay Lucas, this is the first task that we perform on all potential smashers to show if they really have the patience to um… become a…” said Master Hand, struggling for ideas.

“Become a what?” said Lucas excitedly.

“Just shut up and I’ll put the glue on you,” said Master Hand, pouring a barrel of industrial strength glue onto Lucas.

He picked up the glue-covered Lucas and stuck him to the roof.

“There!” said Master Hand, snickering. “…now I go and uh… assess your… patience…”

Master Hand floated off; Lucas still stuck to the roof.

“Well… I wonder how long I’ll have to stay here…” thought Lucas to himself, grinning.

…

“When’s Master Hand going to take me down?” asked Lucas to himself, the glue immobilising him so that he could move use his eyes.

…

“I’m going to cry,” thought Lucas angrily to himself, “By golly, you all won’t like it when I cry!”

Due to the fact that all movement in his body was permanently immobilised, he couldn’t cry.

“Great…” thought Lucas angrily.

Master Hand floated in. “Congratulations! You’ve passed the task!”

“Yay!” thought Lucas to himself, cheering… …inside his head.

“Now to get you down!” said Master Hand, floating up and attempting to pull Lucas off the ceiling.

Lucas didn’t budge, being covered in glue.

“Fine… I’ll call an expert…” said Master Hand, taking out his cell phone, “Hi, how much would it cost to remove a young boy glued to the roof.”

“Fifty bucks?! No way!” said Master Hand, outraged.

He floated out.

“Well if he doesn’t help me, I know a kind, heartwarming soul will help me off from this roof…” said Lucas, thinking positively.

Nobody did. For three years.

“Great,” said Lucas, eternally stuck to the roof.

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I’m sorry this was a complete rip-off of every fanfic ever. Think of it as fanfiction junk-food. So the reason why you’re flaming this is because you know it’s bad for you. But you secretly like the taste. No, actually… …you don’t even like the taste.

Review, and give your suggestions for tasks Lucas must undertake in order to become a smasher!