Upon flawless entry of the code, Mario himself would pop up on the Gamecube’s homescreen, scream an unholy " ITSA ME!," and then drive around or something or other. We told him that if he followed the instructions on the looseleaf-without messing up, like we told him he kept doing, the idiot-it would unlock a super-duper-secret minigame on his Gamecube. It went on and on: A 30-something-line cheat code. “Guys, I did it THIRTY TIMES last night, it doesn’t work,” he’d always say, little face twisted in a spiteful knot, holding up a crumpled piece of looseleaf riddled with intricate code: X + A + Y + Y + Y + LEFT STICK + LEFT STICK + RIGHT STICK. and word vomit, never, ever ready to start the day-and tell Takeo that he was doing it wrong. We would line up every morning under the big basketball hoop, five-foot-tall, middle-school munchkins-hauling brown bags and binders, nervous and cruel, full of B.O. Just like the old days, we might pull some all nighters, we might lose a friend or two, we might resort to eating too many Hot Pockets. Here, we embark on one final-maybe even fatal-playthrough of the forgotten games of our past.
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