Shopping With Bowser

A huge, hulking creature lumbered through the doors.  Seven feet tall, with bright golden spikes all over its turtle-like shell, and capped with a ragged mop of bright orange hair, the hulking reptile left giant clawed footprints into the linoleum floor.  

Squinting his bulging yellow eyes, Bowser, king of the Koopa clan, stepped forward under the incandescent lights, surveying the merchandise spread wall-to-wall before him.  Seven smaller turtle creatures – his sons and daughter, each taking in the sights wide-eyed – followed in his wake.  Though one could not tell simply by looking at their almost perpetually scowling faces, all eight Koopas wore expressions of mixed greed and confusion.

Despite having nearly conquered the Mushroom Kingdom several times in the past, this was a completely new environment to the Master of Mayhem.

Bowser had never been to Wal-Mart before in his life.

Without even waiting for them to open completely, the Koopa King stomped through the automatic doors, leaving a Bowser-shaped hole in each frame and causing both doors to lock up half-closed, allowing his offspring to trail along close behind.

“Welcome to Wal—” The greeting died halfway out as the employee, an elder man of about sixty, looked up and got a good look at Bowser’s fearsome visage leering down at him.  Bowser looked at him another moment, taking in the man’s features, from his salt-and-pepper hair to his “Hi, My Name is Bob” nametag, and downwards to his beat-up Dock Martins.

Bob didn’t move a muscle.  He only stared, wide-eyed, as the Koopa King surveyed him, then finally passed onwards.

One of the Koopa kids paused by the terrified man.  Morton, a short, squat Koopa who closely resembled a troll and never smiled except while eating cheeseburgers, looked up at Bob for a moment, then prodded him in the knee with one clawed finger.  Bob flinched, then looked down.  When he saw the sparkling black eyes of the Koopa, Bob gave a short kind of gasp and then took off for the nearest dressing room to hide.  Giving a short, satisfied little chuckle, Morton toddled along after his siblings.

***

The Koopas charged down the aisle, upsetting a setup of potted hydrangeas marked “Buy One, Get One Free” and nearly shattering a display of crystal punch bowls.  This would have been followed by a terrific report were it not for Ludwig Von Koopa’s scuttling in at the last moment and catching a bowl in each hand and bending over  to allow a third to perch between his own turquoise shell-spikes.

Ludwig glared at his brother Larry, a slightly taller Koopa with a mane of blue hair.  “You could haff ruined my ears!” Ludwig snapped as he replaced the bowls on the stand.  “I vood nevair again be able to cahmpose anozzer masterpeez!  Vot verr you theenking?”

The younger Koopa didn’t bat an eye.  Rather, he rolled both of them and shuffled off.

***

After ten minutes of wandering the store, scaring employees and making babies cry, the Koopa Clan finally reached their destination – the Hunting Goods Department.  “Okay, kids,” Bowser thundered.  “Who needs what?”

Several different voices at once immediately began peppering Bowser with demands.  The Koopa King made a mental note to rephrase his questions better.

“I need new sledgehammers for my Squish-O-Matic!” yelled Iggy.

“Mario broke all of my bear traps last month,” Morton drawled.

“Hey, I want some Weed-B-Gone.  My Piranha Plants keep dying,” Larry complained.

“I need some Liquid Plumber for my pipe traps!  Mario stuffed them with quick-dry cement!” roared Roy.  

I need a strong mushroom brandy, Bowser thought to himself. He winced as he heard a piercing squeal coming from the pink missile now headed down the aisle towards him.

“Ooh, Daddy Daddy Daddy!  Can I get this, Daddy, please, please, puh-leeeze?” Wendy O. Koopa shrieked, waving a CD in the air in one clawed, ring-encrusted hand.

Bowser pried the disc case from his daughter’s clutch.  His eyes narrowed.  “Who the heck is Ashley Simpson?”  He rolled his eyes.  “Never mind.  Yeah, you can have your CD.”  He handed back the disc to Wendy, and then turned back to the rest of the Koopa kids.  “Now, there aren’t any bear traps here on sale…Come to think of it, I don’t think they sell bear traps here at all.  But how about jumbo mousetraps?  I’ve got coupons for those for buy one, get one free.”  Morton shrugged resignedly and headed towards the hardware department, the coupon clenched in his grubby claws.  Iggy followed him close behind, muttering, “That plumber’s got it coming…”

Lemmy bounced around his dad.  “Can I get this too Dad, can I, can I, can I?” he squeaked, waving a water gun the size of a small couch under his father’s nose.

Bowser stared at the enormous toy, immediately thinking of arming his guards with pistols like these, only filled with acid or something similar.  The Koopa King looked down to the wrapper’s “40 foot minimum range!” label on the Squirt-U-Lots and gave a low whistle.  I gotta get me one of these, he thought.

He handed the water pistol back to Lemmy.  “Sure, go ahead, put it in the cart.  And while you’re at it, get a few dozen more.  Those Koopa Troops around the castle are getting bored.”  He tossed a sly wink at his son, who grinned ear-to-ear (if Koopa turtles can be said to have ears), and then bolted back off towards the Toys department.

***

Forty-five long minutes later (Wendy had insisted on trying on what seemed to be half the Junior Miss Department – while leaving holes all over each shirt from her shell spikes), Bowser and his reptilian offspring emerged from Wal-Mart.  Each Koopa carried three bags – two filled with Squirt-U-Lots water pistols and the third filled with Wendy’s new clothes.

Bowser hated urban roads.  He hated just about anything bigger than he was, and Hummers certainly qualified.

So naturally, when one crossed his path in the parking lot, his first impulse was to march up to the window, like a police office, and stare into the window until the impudent driver reversed direction and fled in fear, leaving no doubt as to who the true King Koopa was.

And that was what he did.  He strode right up to the window in his spiked, fanged glory and ready to give the driver a piece of his mind.

The driver rolled down the window.  His black shades gleamed in the sunlight.  

“Mama mia, Koopa, what are ya doing, stopping in front-a me like-a that?” Mario demanded.  “I could-a smooshed you like a Goomba!”

The fireball Bowser had prepared for a confrontation died in his throat, leaving him with a taste of overcooked meat in his mouth.  “You!” he gasped, exhaling a light stream of black smoke through his nostrils.  “What are you doing here?  I haven’t even got the princess with me!”

Mario frowned.  “Who said-a that I’m a-here for you?” he asked.  “My calendar says I’m-a not a-fighting you till next Thurs-a-day.  I a-came for a-more mushrooms,” he finished, pointing at Wal-Mart with a white-gloved hand.

Bowser snarled, “Good.  I’m busy with evil plans and I don’t want you to interrupt them.” Actually, the Koopa King was fervently hoping that Mario wouldn’t step out and embarrass him in front of his kids.  Bowser had never quite forgotten the incident on the Trans-Shroom Express carriage; none of his kids had looked him in the eye for weeks afterward, and it was only after he had successfully burned down a McKoopa’s single-handedly that he regained any of his children’s respect.

A loud honk made both plumber and Koopa jump.  “HEY!  Move it!” the Hammer Brother yelled from the Jeep behind Mario’s vehicle.  The armored Koopa waved his mallet angrily from the window.

The mustachioed plumber rolled his eyes.  “Turtles,” he muttered, putting his Hummer back in gear.  He looked back to Bowser.  “See ya on Thurs-a-day, Koopa,” he called as he rolled out of the parking lot.