Game:

Contra (1987)

Duration: 7:13

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536

"By all that is Contra, HERE COME THE CONTRAAAAAAAAAA," yelled some random guy as he spotted RIZER and THE RED GUY high in the sky, approaching like an unstoppable, flaming man meteor toward the alien-infensted island.

The random guy's words were meant as a warning to all the other random guys and stuff. But the warning, loud as it was, would never make it to his allies, for BILL RIZER opened his mouth wide. He opened his mouth and rolled back his eyes, and with one testosterone-fueled breath, he inhaled the very sound itself from the random guy's yell, and swallowed whole the ill-fated warning.

"Later," RIZER thought to himself with a knowing smirk, "I will fart this man's words into a toilet, and, like the sinful dreams of a lost soul, flush them with force into the Swirling Vortex of the Forgotten."

RIZER waited not a moment longer. He pitched his arm backward against the night sky, his fingers still clamped tightly around THE RED GUY's throat, and hurled THE RED GUY toward the island. THE RED GUY's body, starved for oxygen, nevertheless performed at peak efficiency. He extended his arms and legs, "spread eagle," so to speak, as he broke the sound barrier like a deadly, sonic missile.

A deadly, sonic missile made of muscles. Muscles... that were THE RED GUY's.

That random jerk wad we were talking about in the beginning of this entry looked up at THE RED GUY's deadly physique — his very doom. And still, even as THE RED GUY's meaty muscle missile sped toward him threatening a painful, bloody end, he could not help but admire his assailant's inner grace; his confidence; his sheer manliness.

He froze in the spot where he stood, knowing he was just an instant from his demise, and thought quietly to himself, "This is a good death. This is what I signed up for."

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