This is a story about a boy.

This is a story about a boy.
His name was Fergus and he lived in a cave carved into the side of a large mountain.
Sometimes he missed his old life, the people he had left behind. He wondered sometimes if his daughter remembered him. She had been only 3 years old when he left.
No, that would be silly. There's no way she'd remember him now; that was some 20 years ago. Chances are she long since forgot him, living a life better than he did. Indeed, she...
Lived in a house full of Kirbies. Kirby here. There. Everywhere. How he wished he could have a Kirby-filled life like her.
So that is exactly what he did. He stole a car and drove into her house and shoved as many Kirbies as he could into his trunk before making his getaway.
Kirby started yelling, suffocating in the darkness, begging nintendo to sue, sue, sue, but
soon, the pink puffball withered into nothing, the vacuum from without consuming the vacuum from within. Rest in peace, Kirby. We thank you for your service.
Mario stood by Kirby’s graveside weeping, “Yooza gouda guy.” he snuffled. Six-feet under, a tiny pink ball was siphoning in dirt. (sooooon)
The cemetery then decided to add an extra 2 feet to Kirby's grave. 6 feet is a cakewalk, but 8 feet? Fuhgeddaboudit! Kirby accepted his fate. Good thing he got that 1-up earlier...

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