If I throw one more barrel right now
I can't bear to watch!
And. . . Got 'em! BAM. Game over.
Well that's the end of Mario.
I guess you're right. Time to move on. OK, so let's get out of this terrible place and go to your house.
This is my house.
You like it?
You put flaming barrels of oil on the ground floor.
It's called mood lighting.
And I see you have really gone for the "red I-beam" construction look.
I think it really opens the place up.
You yourself can't even stand up in most of it. It's almost like you designed it for a short Italian man.
It's called modern art, and you wouldn't understand.
Ok whatever. Just show me to my room. I want to take a nap.
This is awkward
So your room doesn't have a bed in the "traditional" sense, but it does have two fully functioning industrial elevators.
Oh god do you mean the room with the deadly springing things constantly flying around?
Yeah I actually can't turn those off. But the lease dictates that we get four hammers a month, so no worries!
Damnit DK! And why did you scatter all my shit everywhere? I don't even remember where my umbrella is.
Ok that one really is my bad. That's just how I welcome people into my home. I come from a big family of scatterers. Really though, this isn't such a bad place.
It's just so dangerous here.
Hey! This isn't that bad a part of Brooklyn.
I just saw a fucking flame ghost.
Well it's like they say: "home is where the heart is."
Well my heart isn't here.
Oh no I wasn't speaking metaphorically. I was talking about the room filled with the hearts of my previous victims. Now will you help me harvest this plumber's?