Editor's note: James chronicles Mario's trip into the infamous Minus World. It's a funny yet bleak take on our hero's Groundhog Day-like fate. -Jason

Since no one's written the inevitable Sisyphean one-act dramedy about Mario's adventures in the Minus World, I guess I'll have to.

A Diary of an Endless Holiday in the Mushroom Kingdom: A Play in One Act

I thought it was just a terrible dream, getting drawn through a brick wall, disintegrated, and pulled through time and space via a round green telephone booth. I woke up, startled by my surroundings.

I was in a new reality.

That's strange...I'm submerged in an infinite sea of cerulean beauty. It tastes like water...but somehow, I can breath.

I cast about, looking for something to indicate what the appropriate course of action is for a situation like this. Nothing comes to mind.

So I swim.

I quickly encounter the first of the three denizens of this underwater kingdom (besides the opalescent coral).

"Hey, there! What's your name?"

"Name's Blooper, how 'bout you?"

"It's, umm...Mario...umm.... Listen, do you know which way I should go?

"Me? I wouldn't go either way. But if you want an answer, try to go back."

"Wha...I can't! There's an invisible wall! I'm stuck!"

"There you go. Nice to meet you! Bye!"

So I swim on and on. My only companions are my thoughts, these squid, some red fish, and these other gray fish that seem to be little more than cousins of the red fish, but on lithium. Lost in my silent rumination, I remember the time before I woke from my fitful sleep.

In the distance, I see a darkening in the blue. Perhaps it's nightfall.... No, it's a wall! With one of the space-time conduits I dreamed of.... Warily, I enter. Sleep.

This seems so familiar. I feel as though I've been here before. My journey continues.

Idle thoughts: Will I need to depressurize? How can I possibly maintain my body temperature while submerged for so long? What are all of those random letters and numerals just above the water?

I begin to realize that this path I'm treading is just the same as before.... On and on and on. My fears are truly realized when I approach the conduit again.

I ask for help. "Good sir, could you perhaps offer another course of action, besides the space-time conduit?"

"Enter and find what thou seek. Remain and abandon logic for despair!"

"Spare me your prevarications! Answer me!"

"Look, I'm not a physicist -- I'm just a fucking squid! What the fuck do I know?"

Sighing, I enter the conduit. Everything fades to black. I wake up.

A feeling of dread creeps over me as one set of the numerals above the water's crest approaches zero. What could it possibly mean? Is this journey really the elaborate artifice of some greater power who's given me a time limit to resolve his hefty riddle? I have no way of knowing.

But much like a freight train on a broken track surely heads toward derailment, so too is my impending doom sure to be revealed...

Finally, relief from this endless torment in the watery basement of Lucifer's dankest hell.

Sweet relief.

No, no -- my sanity's waning, and there must be a way out. My dread's waxing, and there must be a way out!

The coins. They mean nothing, you see. Nothing!

There are no shops. You wanna buy a way out! You wanna buy a beanstalk to the clouds! You wanna buy a rocketship to the moon! You can't buy the moon!

The mind plays tricks on you; you play tricks back. And all you can buy with the coins is more tries. More tries to get more coins for more tries!

Ah, yes. The one way out. I've repeated this endless torture for too long -- weeks it seems. Surely weeks. I can no longer pantomime concern. So weak. The one way out.

Death, and release.

On and on I swim, because there's little else to do. I've perished every death imaginable in this endless blue, acted every action, and idled every inaction.

Wait! What is this in the distance? Something new! I would never have thought a simple rock could cause such novel ecstasy. I must investigate.

And push it.

Up.

And down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Sigh.

It's endless. An eternity of meaninglessness lies before me; it's as plain as an open Dick and Jane book lying on a table in front of me.

I miss getting ceaselessly attacked by anthropomorphic mushrooms. I miss Princess Toadstool and her merry chase. I miss the psilocybin binges that left me feeling larger than I actually am, large enough to defeat even the wiliest of hammer-throwing, fire-breathing dragons.

I miss my life.

Damn.

Endless sorrow is splayed before me as a chasm, the very gaping maw of unfathomable despair.

My existence is bound to be an end; an end that ended in endless meaninglessness.

Sigh.