No Challengers

"There's a bunch of challengers," said Marshfellow, "for Buster Ed."

I chastised, "It is your own fault for pretty much never winning a straightforward match."

"What about that time with Clairag?" argued Marshfellow.

I rebutted, "Even that particular memory has been tainted by the loss of, [sniffle], Gairyag."

"Too bad," Marshfellow offhandedly mentioned. It is like he never even cared about her; how awful! I was the only one apparently.

"Hey, honey!" greeted... Gairyag? To me?! Nope. To Marshfellow; of course.

"Hey, baby," he greeted back to her. "Did you find me any challengers?"

"Hold on," I said impatiently, "how are you back from the cloud?"

"I'm not," she replied. "I'm a figment of your imagination."

I lamented, "My goodness! I am losing my mind!"

"Uh, no," Marshfellow corrected. "She got you mixed up with the writer."

"Oopsie! My bad," she apologized.

Please do not confuse us. I could make a better story than this.

Marshfellow introduced, "This here is my new girlfriend, Zairpag."

"B-b-but she looks j-j-just like Gairyag!" I stuttered.

"We were mass produced," Zairpag explained.

That leaves more questions than answers.

Marshfellow elaborated, "She means to say that her mom and dad had a lot of children and some of them are bound to look alike."

"Can she just not talk anymore, please?" I begged.

Zairpag, annoyingly, continued, "I didn't find any challengers, but I did find some people to challenge..."

"What?! That is the same thin-" I shouted in frustration before she finished.

"Buster Ed," she finished.

I vehemently questioned, "How long does it take to finish a sentence?!"

"Didn't it take you a few hours to finish asking a question a few chapters ago when I was being cooked?" Marshfellow queried.

"And a correction," I corrected correctingly.

"You were cooked? That's why you look so tan!" Zairpag enthusiastically exclaimed.

"He is a pale white marshmallow!" I yelled vigorously. "Get your anthropomorphic eyes checked, you Gairyag wannabe!"

"Uh, actually," began Marshfellow, "what she meant to say was 'hot'. She's new to slang."

"Where is that cloud when it is spinoff time? There should be a spinoff right this second!" I demanded. We waited; alas, no orange cloud arrived.

"Anyways," I begrudgingly continued, "who is this Buster Ed?"

"You're the narrator," scoffed Marshfellow. "Shouldn't you know?"

Let me check my notes... ah, here it is! Buster Ed was a duster head colored custard red when not flustered instead. That cannot be the real description for a character. "Instead" has one too many syllables for the rhyme scheme.

"Buster Ed is dominating collision matches lately and not in the way that I've been doing it," mentioned Marshfellow.

I said obnoxiously, "You mean he actually earns his victories?"

"That's what they've been saying," said Marshfellow solemnly. "Everybody's afraid of losing to me due to bad luck."

"Completely understandable," I remarked apathetically.

"But if losing to Buster Ed means that you will certainly go to the cloud," Zairpag thought out loud even though she should never do that, "doesn't that mean people have a better chance against you?"

Wow. That is a decent point. Listen to airbags, kids; sometimes they are not complete idiots... sometimes... rarely... I miss Gairyag.

"Come on, baby!" happily exclaimed Marshfellow. "Let's go campaign for competitors."

At the arena, Marshfellow shouted using a megaphone, "All you colliders out there! If you're scared of getting sent to the cloud by Buster Ed the bluster thread, face me instead. I only win by means of luck. You could get lucky or just beat me by skill. Collide with Marshfel-"

"That beith enough, punko!" busted Buster Ed. "Ye keep talking like that, I will bust ye inna pieces an' dust ye remains!"

"That's against the rules, buster!" called out Marshfellow.

Buster Ed bellowed, "'Tis Buster ED! Ye saith thee whole thing ev'ry time!"

"Hey!" Marshfellow shouted back at Buster... ahem, Buster ED, "bellowing is my thing! You take that back!"

"Pleasith," scoffed B. E., "Rillo beith gone for most thee book. An' no abbreviating me name, narrato'!" Did not know he could hear me. This is getting old.

Marshfellow admonished, "You don't need to worry about Rillo; you've got me for that!"

"Teeheehee!" Buster Ed laughed. "At least Rillo had skill an' won fairly. Ye could not win pinball without unplugging it an' tilting!"

"You couldn't even try to win a dusting tournament with a duster handle!" Marshfellow retaliated.

"Hey!" verbally fought back Buster Ed. "Thee dusters in me family seeith dust handles as a crutch! We beith without them fo' generations!"

Marshfellow mocked, "Sounds like you're too scared to use them. You and you're mama!"

"Wrong 'you're', first off," clarified Buster Ed. "Secon', me mother beith afraid o' duster handles. 'Tis thee men o' me clan that beith better off without them."

"Oh, excuse me," Marshfellow excused himself. "I meant to say, 'you and your daddy!'"

"Oh, that does it!" Buster Ed roared. "Come down yere an' git bounced inna thee cloud, punko!"

"Woah..." Marshfellow halted. "Calm down. Let's talk about thi-"

Buster Ed scowled, "No mo' talk! What, ye beith scared o' getting busted by thee buster?"

"Buster ED. You say it each and every time," corrected Marshfellow.

"Collide me!" fervently demanded the buster. If he can saith it, so can I. "I'm thee softest o' them all!"

"Read the title, jerk!" Marshfellow shouted. "I will beat you! Right? That's how it works when the book is named after you, right? Right?" Marshfellow squirmed nervously.

"Um, maybe you should see the next chapter title," chimed in Zairpag. Thank goodness she actually stayed quiet this whole time.

"Let's see... here we go! ...aww, dang!" Marshfellow worried.

Buster Ed snickered, "Teehee! I telleth ye! 'Tis no denying it now, is there?"

"Help," whimpered Marshfellow.

"'Tis too late!" Buster Ed busted. I like that one for him. "'Tis a whole crowd that beith remarkably silent witnessing this exchange. Ye do not wanna beith labeled a coward forever, do ye?"

Marshfellow took a moment to think about it. "Marshfellow the coward," he mumbled to himself. "Wait, that doesn't rhyme. I'd need to change my na- NEVER!" he decreed.

"Then git ye lower part o' ye marshmallow down yere an' git bounced!" boomed- no, busted, Buster Ed. "I have 59 victories already; come beith me sixtieth!"

"Well, here goes," Marshfellow cowered. "Hey! I said I was gonna fight 'em! That means you can't call me a coward!"

"I said 'cowered', fool; not 'coward', fool!" I said to the cowering fool. "Read the page!"

Do not forget to- wait, how is telling somebody by means requiring reading to not to forget to read anything short of ironic? Writer? WRITER! Come in, writer! I need a real public service announcement, please. ...okay. Thank you.

Do not leave duster heads off of their duster handles, kids. It makes them aggressive, angry, and speak with a psuedo-Scottish accen- is that what that is? I thought it was window panelese. Whatever. What is a Scot anyway? Is that a thing in this world?

Marshfellow sighed as he jumped into the center section of the arena.

"Let us get teddy to tumble," I stated quickly. "Collide."

"Yeeeah! Beith prepared fo' this fo' awhile!" screeched Buster Ed after having been prepared for this for awhile.

"Well," Marshfellow countered, "this is the first chapter I've even heard of you, buster."

"'Tis Buster ED!" Buster Ed stormed toward Marshfellow seething with rage.

"Um, nuking?" asked Marshfellow? Since we are not making statements, but questions now? Coward. "Hey, th- fllffmm!"

Marshfellow was clobbered atop his head by the duster head's duster head, sending his head heading toward the head of the floor. Head.

Buster Ed celebrated, "'Tis going to beith fun! Teehee!"

"That didn't feel very soft," Marshfellow winced.

"By bending his duster head in the reverse direction of his target, you," I verbosely explained, "the centripetal potential energy stored was tantamount to that of-"

"Okay, I get it!" shouted a know-it-all marshmallow.

"Thanks, know-it-all! You're a cool marshmallow," thanked Marshfellow.

Great. Now there are two insufferable marshmallows. My life... my awfully handsome, handsomely awful life...

Marshfellow and Buster Ed collided in tandem, springing off of one another. Marshfellow was repelled further than his opponent due to the soft bristles possessing an extra flinging effect.

"Wow. This guy really is soft," thought Marshfellow. "I wish I could curl into a ball and sing church hymns. Ooh, with some cinnamon pretzels!" he added. "Cinnamon pretzel ladies are so fine; soft, sweet, and spicy, but twisted: in a good way. Oh, yeah, I have an airbag girlfriend. I hope nobody can hear or read my thoughts," he finished internally.

Oh, Zairpag... oh, right. I have to-

"Oh, Zairpag!" I smiled deviously. "Marshfellow was thin-"

"Hey, ref!" Buster Ed busted. "Focus on thee match! I do not want anybody pretending thee 'mallow ever had a chance o' winning!"

Marshfellow rebutted, "Well, too bad! I'm taking my chances! Ouch!"

Buster Ed smacked Marshfellow sky high with his bristle flexibility in full effect. Is this the end for Marshfellow? Hopefully. I need to make sure that I do not forget to tell his girlfriend his thoughts regarding cinnamon pretzels. Let me just write it d- huh? No, wait! I need a minut- alright, fine! I guess I have a previously scheduled engagement. [Sigh] Priorities... Can somebody leave a note on my desk? Please? No...? Ingrates. I could make a better story than this...