Mario Kart 8 hits stores today in North America, and we all know what that means: steering your favorite Nintendo characters in action packed races, navigating head-scratchingly physics-defying courses, and hurling wacky items at your buddies to slowly chip away at the foundations of your friendship.
Oh, and swearing loudly and profusely enough to make an entire armada’s worth of sailors blush. I apologize in advance to our neighbors. There will be cursing, and lots of it.
It’s been a slow year for console games my husband and I actually feel like playing, so when the new Mario Kart finally got its release date, we were suitably excited but also impatient. Whiny toddler mode – “But I don’t wanna wait, I want to play it NOW!” *foot stomp* – was immediately engaged. The only logical course of action to help ourselves ride out the wait was to revisit Mario Kart 7 and finish winning the crap out of every last Grand Prix trophy.1
Oh, the profanity!
I’m not ashamed to admit my husband and I cheat somewhat when we’re in Multiplayer mode and work together to make our lives easier. In fact, it’s difficult not to form a united front with your fellow human players against the COMs, because let’s face it, the COMs are dicks and they won’t play fair even if you do.
So we collaborate. We scheme. We systematically remove the competition from contention. And we win. When one of us is in the lead, the other will usually hold off on any of the meaner sabotages until the leader has claimed their first place finish.
That’s not to say we won’t sabotage the shit out of each other if we’re pretty much guaranteed first anyway. In one of the more memorable races of the past week, my husband hung onto a blue shell for almost half the race, only to cream me with it right before the finish line and zoom ahead to steal the win. One of the most beautifully executed dick moves I’ve ever witnessed.
But in Grand Prix, you’re all alone. Just you, the course, and 11 shades of computer AI douchebaggery between your kart and that checkered line. And that’s when the profanity levels in our living room go from “rebellious teen sass” to “Wolf of Wall Street” territory. “Bullshit” is usually the word of choice, but let me tell you, if F-bombs manifested in the game as Bob-ombs, there wouldn’t be a single track left to race on because we’d have blown them all to fucking kingdom come.
If we had a swear jar in our house, we’d have to either quit playing Mario Kart or find higher-paying jobs. But they’d have to be like Bill Gates level higher-paying.
You know what? I’ve just had a brilliant idea. It involves befriending Bill Gates, inviting him to stay for the weekend and play a few friendly games of the new Mario Kart 8, and a brand-new household swear jar policy.
We’ll be billionaires by Monday.
1 “Course” and “ride” puns allegedly unintentional.