I don't usually like most flash games, especially of the sport-related variety as I find them unrealistic, but I decided, for whatever reason, to give this a try.

The memes and videos were funny, and I thought, "Oh, they're just joshing; surely it isn't that bad."


I don't know how to read any Japanese, but I can only assume the title is "Winnie the Pooh's Happy Wish Sodomy Time Baseball"

No idea what the upgrades were, so I threw stuff into whatever I could.


The beginning was fairly easy, though the timing of the swing took some getting used to.

Kanga & Roo kind of threw me for a loop, and Rabbit sort of got tricky, but I managed to beat both of those stages on the first try.



And then I got to Owl.

I know now that his true title is "Owl, Trumpeting Harbinger of the Second Coming."


It began as any of the other rounds did, with my remark of, "Holy crap, what?" From there, it proceeded to violate my every competence in my gaming ability. Whenever I would actually hit the ball, it felt like a reward, regardless of if it was a home-run or not. I did not pass the round, so, like any decent RPG aficionado, I went down a peg and began the grind on Rabbit (telling him to, in the non-vulgate, enjoy my phallus), getting points to upgrade.

Rounds Three, Four and Five, and so on went as one would expect: poorly. Even my iPod knew the troubles that this game was bringing, as it played Eva Cassidy's rendition of "Wade in the Water" (To those non-blues lovers, here's the line: "You don't believe I've been redeemed? Wade in the water. Just see the Holy Ghost goes looking for me, God's gonna trouble the water."), M.C. Hammer's "Can't Touch This," and "Il Fratelo" from the La Ragazza Col Fucile's Poca Felicita,

After a few hours of agonizing defeat, I somehow managed to hit the 54.29% required to pass Owl's stage. A celebration dance was held in my honor, documenting my triumph over this herald. It had been a while since I brushed up on the Book of Revelations, and little did I know that this victory was short-lived.



If Owl is the Trumpeter, then, in tandem, Tigger is the Pale Rider; his bow a baseball, his crown of stripes, his eyes empty.

My usual opening exclamation came out again, and soon I was volleyed with throw after invisible throw, never managing to hit one. Each came faster and faster, my clicks unable to swat away the stitched death that lay before me. A short summation of his scowling affect would be "T-I-Double Fuck-You."

It would be another hour before I crawled out from under the unsealed horror that was dealt. My limbs were shaking, my eyes were arid, my ears infested with the chipper chirpings of the background music as my iPod lay charging. Surely this was the end. Surely.



I have never been more wrong in my life.



Before me lay the Mother Harlot, the Keeper of Evils, the Elder, The End.


Christopher Robin.


With an aghast look upon my visage, I inched my way toward the plate. Would the Final Judgment be graceful? Had my time come? Is he the benevolent New Testament YHWH or the spiteful, authoritarian YHWH of the Old?

"The Relic's Song" from the Rogue Galaxy OST now graced my ears. I could feel a small power welling inside of me. I could take on this Beast. Neron has nothing on this.



Did I mention how I have never been more wrong?

Just checking.




Black death rained down from the mound (which is surely stuffed with corpses of those before me). Robin, summoning the powers of his fallen minions, flensed my skin with each of my missed swings. This seemingly puerile game now turned into an amalgam of terrors of life and death. Blood, sweat, fear, and decay decorated my body in effluvium, the foetor staining my nose with its horridness. I could not grasp just how deep into this I was, but I knew that there would be no trace left of me.





Much to my dismay, the captor left me alive, his flat affect painting madness into my mind's eye. My single homerun was of nothing compared to the might he unleashed upon my person. My psyche, crushed. My fingers, numb. My hope, vanquished.



Struggling to get up, I crawled away, my un-lubricated dung den demolished by this denizen of the deep. I could not bear to look at myself. I left the game with agony across my heart and a darker hate for the America's pastime.

Related.

TheOnlyFlorence wrote:

Wow... I thought it sounded really good. Not just that, but it's cut from bits and pieces of Jim Dale's recordings.

Phenomenal.

"Ow," said Piglet, dying.