The Kass Basher Kass, on Baguettes and other things

     You may recognize me. I have large pointed ears. I am feathery and purple. I have a beak. I have an extremely stylish set of armour. In my spare time I frighten small Neopets and eat really manly foods such as Blumaroo Steak. I am a Darigan Eyrie.

     I am Lord Kass.

     ...Well, not really. I’m a squishy, cute representation of Lord Kass.

     You may quiver in fear nonetheless.

     No, no, I insist. Please quiver in fear.

     Please.

     Yeah, alright. I’m a plushie. No. I’m a punch bag. No, that’s not right either. How can I put this? I’m the Kass Basher bash-ee.

     I’m the poor pathetic sock-puppet thing you whack mercilessly to get your daily 3,000 neopoints. You know, the guy you take a swing at when you’re thinking:

     “Oops, I hit him when the wind speed was only at five. I’ll hit him again!”

     “Dang. He didn’t bounce enough. Let’s just hit him again!”

     “Oh yeah, I unlocked the enormous cruelly hard bat! Let’s hit him again!”

     Mostly, I hate my job.

     I come to work stuffed in a bag which used to hold by all appearances (and odours) extraordinarily ripe Meridellian cheese. I get perched on a limb. Really obnoxious music plays in the background. Wind blows. The flag flutters. I fall. I get the rainbow dung smacked out of me by this clueless Blumaroo wielding a large spiked club.

     All things considered, I guess the music is the least of my problems.

     But Sloth-on-a-stick, the ‘boink’ sound I make when falling has got to be the single least noble sound effect in the history of sound effects.

     Boink!

     And then smack!

     Whistle through the air!

     Touchdown! Violently! Bounce! More!

     Skid to halt on face!

     Did I mention that I hate my job?

     It’s a good thing I’m made of durable, er, “material”. (Don’t ask what material -- come to think of it, don’t ask what stuffing, either. Nothing to do with the featherless Weewoos waddling around after the Citadel fell, anyhow. Nope.)

     I have scars; don’t think I escape without scars. I think one of my cute button eyes is about to fall off too. Not that anyone cares or anything. Not that anyone actually looks at me, you know.

     No, I’m not bitter.

     Well, okay. I am.

     What really gets me is that smug little... thing. That petpet that determines how far you hit me. I think it’s called a Turtum. Kass would call it a potential helmet. Oops, disturbing image. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

     Anyway this one has a name. It’s Tubbles. Bet you didn’t know. Bet you didn’t know he was related to the Turtum in Ultimate Bullseye II either! Second cousins, once removed. Oh yeah, I’m in the loop. It’s a pathetic loop no one else wants to be in, but at least it’s a loop.

     So mostly I call Tubbles “Stupid.”

     Stupid and I, we have these lengthy conversations between the time I skid to a halt (on my face, did I say this already?) and he carries me back to Big Clueless the Blumaroo.

     Mostly we insult each other. Stupid gets really riled when I mention how great he’d be in Gourmet Club Bowls. As a bowl. I get really riled when he tells me I’m getting so squishy I’ll soon make a great Lord Kass Motif Rug. It hurts because it’s true.

     We have fun, I guess.

     So maybe we’re friends. Maybe. I don’t know. But friends don’t let friends get the rainbow dung smacked out of them by clueless Blumaroos, and all that.

     Tubbles likes me, I think. I know he found me an extra red button for the time when my loose button eye finally pops off. That’s nice of him.

     Sounds kind of macabre though, losing my eye. I’m a puppet, remember. Don’t get queasy on me. Don’t get sick on my tree now.

     Yeah, it’s my tree. Mine. Not Big Clueless’. Not Tubbles’. Mine. I own this tree. Ask the Lawyerbot. Ask anyone. It’s written clear as day in ancient Meridellian law, “he who sits upon a tree for more than five years owns said tree and surrounding areas as determined by root spread.”

     I would like to mention now that my tree’s root system extends to the Space Station so all you Neohome owners can start paying me in Faerie Bonbons for building on my turf.

     It’s a pretty tree, isn’t it? Bet you’ve never looked at it. So look at it. Look at its vibrant green leaves. Its wonderfully textured trunk. Its root system. (The best part.)

     I don’t think anyone can argue. This is the finest tree in the land.

     Look at the view I get too. Mountains, scrubland. A brisk breeze. What a prime piece of real estate.

     Too bad Big Clueless the Blumaroo is in the way. You know he never moves from that spot. Like, ever. He sits there, hunched over, swapping clubs, all day long. It’s actually scary. I wonder sometimes if he’s not some sort of robot and this isn’t all some nefarious plan thought up by some frightening villain. Whatever villain it is, there’s no way he’s as stylish as me -- I mean, Lord Kass. Now that was a villain.

     Sometimes I try to bother Big Clueless by dropping leaves on his head. This has not worked very well to date.

     I need to increase the size and weight of my projectiles. I might try twigs.

     I might try Tubbles.

     My favourite days are those really sunny ones when the breeze is up and I get hit just so -- and I soar up up up into the impossibly blue sky, so high that the ground disappears I feel like I’m suspended there, motionless, silent, in the brightness and the blue.

     Never lasts, though. Inevitably the Grey Faerie hauls me down.

     What? Oh, you’re confused. Allow me to illuminate: among other things the Grey Faerie controls, gravity is one of them. No, no, I’m serious. Look at Grey painted pets. Look at the droopiness. Look at the lanky hair. Sagging jowls. And she does the same thing with people’s spirits, you know. Pulls ’em down with her. What a drag. You’ve never met her, eh? Here, I’ll introduce you: jump down that flight of stairs. No, no, try it. As you go down, make a wish. She might give you a quest or something.

     I have a really close rapport with Punchbag Bob and the Splat-a-Sloth guy. We have long conversations on our days off. Punchbag Bob’s got it tough. Low self-esteem, poor guy. Can’t blame him. He gets the rainbow dung smacked out of him with Rainbow Guns. By level one Cybunnies. That’s gotta hurt. At least Big Clueless’ club is actually fear-inspiring.

     He’s an optimist, though, Punchbag Bob. Always sees the bright side. Hey, his picture is on the user lookups of a good chunk of the Neopets population. He’s a trophy!

     He collects his own items, you know. So far he has the Punchbag Bob pencil case, the backpack, and plushie. He can’t bring himself to get the Punchbag Bob Punching Bag. Says it would just be too creepy. I agree.

     The Splat-a-Sloth guy... man, he’s got issues with the Neopian Times. You know how the Grundos hit him with a rolled-up copy of the Times. Well lately the Times editions have been getting longer and thus thicker. But nobody thinks of the repercussions on the Splat-a-Sloth guy. It hurts that much more!

     He sent a letter to the editor asking for new issues to be printed on fine tissue paper, but it never got published. We can only assume that the editor has a grudge against him for some reason. Maybe the sock he’s made of is one of hers.

     Who wears that shade of green?

     Whatever.

     Nobody thinks of the repercussions of thicker Neopian Times issues just like nobody thinks of the repercussions of using multi-grain bread for the first Kass Basher level.

     I am telling you now. Getting hit by a multi-grain baguette hurts like a smack upside the head from the Battle Faerie. And I’m used to being smacked. I really prefer when they use Neowaiian Bread. Moist, crumbly, tastes like pineapple... but no-o-o. Stupid multi-grain health trend.

     Sheesh.

     You’re all so selfish.

     Hey. Maybe next time you play you can insist on using Neowaiian Bread.

     Could you? I’d appreciate it. I’d even share some with Tubbles.

     I’d share some with Punchbag Bob and the Splat-a-Sloth guy.

     I’d even share some with Big Clueless! I’d lob a couple chunks at his head. That’s sharing.

     Ha! I’d even share some with the Grey Faerie. She’ll take one look at it and mope away murmuring “woe,” and then, well, I would eat it.

     Yeah, this sounds like a good plan. I might actually, you know, look forward to seeing you, if you did that.

     What a novel concept.

     So... what do you say? Next time you play Kass Basher... next time you make your neopoints and have your fun by walloping an innocent plushie hundreds of metres... take a moment to poke Big Clueless and insist on a bread change. No, really, please do.

     It’ll let me know someone is thinking about me.

     I’m getting teary.

     It’ll let me know someone has read this, and cares.

     Aw, the sniffles are starting... give me a moment.

     I’ll fly extra far for you.

     Yeah?

     Thank you. From the bottom of my Weewoo down stuffed heart.

     So, what are you waiting for?

     "Click anywhere to whack Kass again!"

The End