That Luigi, he’s one damn good-looking guy. No Toad. Stringbean thin but thick-headed like a slab of Star Diner meatloaf. Kammy slings it with a cup of mud so dark it sucks light from the room like a black hole. For the fourth time, I explain the rules. Nothing stays in the lug’s head — like Waluigi stabbed it with ice picks. Everything leaks out.
