I don't mean to be shocking or offensive, but Mario is white. You might not have considered it before. Maybe you've been staring it in the face for decades now but have been too afraid to admit the truth. Well, I just printed out a ticket and it says Admit One White Male, because that's what Mario is. He's a white man.
What's more: He may be the ultimate white man. He may represent the most idealized version of caucasian masculinity in the existence of entertainment media. Hyperbole, you say? Shut the fuck up. No. I spent a lot of time working on this, so you can't just write it off on the second paragraph. I know you may be skeptical, but please read on through this internet-friendly listicle explaining why Mario is the ultimate in white male power fantasies.
I trust that by the time you've finished you'll find your shit thoroughly rocked.
Give a white dude a wrench, and he will immediately pretend to know what to do with it. First he'll play that it's a weapon to fend off intruders. Then, he'll get under the sink and get to work. What will he do exactly? Well, if TV sitcoms taught me anything, he'll forget to turn off the water and drown in that tight space unable to pull his beer belly out from under the piping. Then, the wife will come home from the local grocer and smile smugly at the corpse while water soaks her new shoes. She'll put a hand to her hip and say, "Arnie you ruined the kitchen!" Cue laugh track and jazz guitar lick and fade to commercial. Classic.
I once used a wrench to tighten a bolt, and it kept slipping off. There wasn't enough space where I was working to twist it all the way around, either, so I had to keep removing and replacing the wrench as I tightened. Then, the wrench would slip. Then, it'd fall and hit me in the face. It took me hours. I nearly had a mental breakdown.
Mario is a professional plumber. He can enter worlds through pipes, knowing where he'll pop free like a poop. He's one with pipes, birthed in pipes perhaps. He's never used a wrench as a weapon, because he respects the tool and the tool respects him. He has the plumber's zen all white men wish to achieve.
You get a couple beers and Monsters gurgling in a white man's testosterone cauldron of a gut, and you'll soon have him chanting witch's spells like, "You wanna go? You wanna go? Fucking pussy! Hit me! Hit me!" before swinging around and putting his head through a wall. It runs in all our systems. There's no escaping the allure of smashing what's around us.
Personally, I've never broken a wall, but I did throw a glass to feel good for once in my life. It did indeed feel amazing, but it wasn't so amazing to pick glass out of my foot for a week following. I've wanted to punch walls. I bet it would change my life. I bet it would be better than sex on drugs. But no. Society says I can't, because then I'd scare my girlfriend and lose my security deposit. Isn't that just the way the man holds you down? Yes it is.
Mario, though, he's headbutting bricks and punching fire through walls like it's nothing, and people love him for it! He couldn't even be a hero if it weren't for his amazing ability to fuck shit up. Am I jealous? Yes. I will never be as free as him.
And neither will any other white man.
I haven't seen my brother in over a decade. He's a sleazy, compulsively lying asshole, and I'd be perfectly happy if I never even think of him for as long as I live. But of course Super Mario and his brother Luigi have to shove their love right in my face and make me sick. I'm sure all other white dudes feel the same way.
They go on adventures together, save each other, engage in good-natured rivalry, and even run their plumbing business together. They're as tight as the knots of rage in my stomach when I think about them.
Has Mario ever called his brother Loogie and then spat on him? Probably not. Has Luigi ever yelled, "You need to eat less-a meatballs and more-a mushrooms, you fat-a bitch!" at Mario? Only in Newgrounds cartoons, which aren't canon and unfortunately don't count.
God, I bet Mario doesn't even have any daddy issues.
Whether it's hosing a lawn, power-washing a house, cleaning a car, bathing a dog, or straight pissing in the woods, white dudes love to make that water splash around. Why? Could it be that we love holding our dicks so much that we find dicks in everything we touch and enjoy the satisfaction of their squirt? I'm not a psychologist, but I think we all know the answer.
And what about our boy, whiteboy Mario? Oh, you've played the original Mario trilogy, and he never sprayed anything. He can't possibly have that power on top of all his other amazing perks. Time to wake up, grandpa. The GameCube is out, and he's spraying everything you love!
Yeah, Mario had an entire game dedicated to the therapeutic pleasure of spraying muck and having people love you for it. It was like a carwash to save the world. If that doesn't make white dudes dribble in the basement, then I guess I don't know them at all.
I do, though. I know them all.
If you give a white dude a Hawaiian shirt he will immediately burst into tears and begin kissing the ground you walk on. We can't get enough of them. They have the colors, the tropics. They have palm trees, flowers, parrots on sunset backgrounds. They have tiki versions of Ghostbusters characters. Other people have to look at us, notice us, because the shirt is too loud to ignore. Maybe our fathers would have paid attention us if they made Hawaiian shirts for newborns, but alas.
When we wear them, though, we get the looks. We get the eyebrows. We get judged. People dare to think us uncool, and it makes our souls shrivel like testicles in the cold. We have to hang them up and say goodbye to the fuschia roses and hula dancers once and for all.
Mario, though, oh no. He can get away with it. You have to admit, it just looks so fucking cute on him. And worst of all he doesn't even have to stand at a water cooler, let out a stale laugh, and repeat the same line for the hundredth time: "Wish I was there!" Because he is there! He's on a literal odyssey (any white dude would love to call a vacation an odyssey) while he's wearing it.
We're not even halfway through, and he just can't stop rubbing it in!
In the hit animated television sitcom King of the Hill, the patriarch Hank suffers from a terrible affliction. He has no ass. It's a medical condition, and we shouldn't make fun of it. As it turns out, though, it affects a horrifying amount of the white male population. I'm sorry if this one hits too hard for some people. I do not mean to make light of your suffering.
I, on the other hand, cannot actually relate to this one. I have an outstanding ass, the Rolls Royce of asses really. It's outstanding. I could never moon anyone, because my magnificent ass shines like the sun. It looks like Sam Elliot's in the 1978 film The Legacy. I recommend you watch it, so you can see what my ass looks like. Just imagine my face on Sam Elliot's young naked body as he steps into the shower. That's me. That's exactly me.
Mario likely has an ass that's not quite as good as mine, but still pretty great. He uses it as a weapon after all. He can butt pound switches and baddies into oblivion. He can even smash that ass through solid bricks. He's the Bruce Lee of ass, essentially.
This next point is no laughing matter, and I hope you'll all keep that in mind as I reveal a harsh truth. I'm a bald boy. Yes, this is where Sam Elliot and I differ. My hair fled my head by my mid-twenties, and now I must shave it at least once a month to keep the dreaded toilet bowl seat of hair from growing in around my bald scalp. Life is a trial for many unsightly white men who are shamed with such an affliction. Those who can grow a beard may be able to survive the slings and arrows of each eye that falls upon them. For those that cannot grow a beard, though, may god have mercy on their souls.
Now, it is common for white dudes to bury such an unsightly destruction of their selves by wearing a baseball cap. My dad, also bald, did this. I remember once I pulled it off his head, and he chased me down, jabbed his fingers into the pressure points at the back of my neck, and then as I dropped to my knees he took the hat and replaced it on his scalp of shame before anyone witnessed the horror of naked head skin.
I totally don't have daddy issues, don't worry.
The flaunting perfection of Mario, however, never suffers such an issue. Yes, he wears his trademark hat, and yes you might think it at least covers a tiny bald spot at the center of his head, but no! When the hat could finally be removed once and for all in Super Mario 64, the white male population was shocked to see he still had beautiful flowing locks beneath it. Could his wearing of a baseball cap despite having a beautifully full head of hair be considered cultural appropriation? Yes. Absolutely.
My misery is not a costume, Mario.
White men and mustaches--the pain! The torture! There used to be a time when a white man could walk down the street with a mustache without mothers gripping their children in fear and pornographers running forward waving hundred dollar bills. There used to be a time when tufts of under-nose carpeting were respected and not reviled. Still, most white men go through some kind of mustache-only phase just to realize how atrocious society's stigma against a gentle fluff of lip hair truly is.
I went through my own phase and still shudder at the high school photos where I not only adorned a layer of brown above my upper lip but also a fedora on my prematurely balding head. I want to burn these pictures, but they're on the internet, and I haven't yet found a way to destroy every computer ever. But I'm working on it.
After years of begging from my girlfriend at the time and my family, I finally sheered it from my face and stared in terror at the baby who had replaced the strong mustachioed man I once was. In college I wrote a screenplay about a man who shaves his mustache, and it brings him to the brink of madness. It was called The Mustache, and it worked as well as therapy.
Mario, however, will never have to create a fictional world where his mustache is cool. People think he's cool and adorable with his mustache and would be a ghastly monster without it. It's iconic, like Sam Elliot's. Now that I think about it, could Sam Elliot and Mario be the same person? Hm.
Anyway, fuck Mario for having a great mustache while I'm still grieving mine to this day.
That's right (d)weebs, Mario has what you'll never receive: respect from Japanese culture. You'll see Mario's picture on walls, Mario-themed cafes, and a general love of the chunky (and hunky!) Italian across the country. He can dress as a tanooki and a super saiyan cat, and people don't give him a wide berth while making stinky poo-poo faces in his general direction. They cherish him and accept him, and no other white man could ever be seen the same way.
Except maybe Sam Elliot?
I remember my birth, as most people do. The doctor pulled me free of my mother and gently held me in one of those as-seen-on-TV grabby claw arms. Apparently, I was stuck so deep down he had to use it because I couldn't jump free of the birth canal as babies should. He turned me in the claw then and said, "Yes, I see the problem now. It appears your baby is white." My mother and father gasped, though it wasn't entirely unexpected. The doctor then slapped my butt and muttered "Excellent bounce on those cheeks," as I cried for the first time.
One of the first things most white men learn is that they simply can't jump. There's even a movie about it. I haven't watched it, because I imagine it would be way too painful, but I'm sure it's therapeutic to some like my amazing mustache screenplay. White men are simply unable to jump any height. We can hop, we can skip, but the jump forever eludes us.
But Mario? Mother fucker Mario never has to worry about that shit. I'm sure many of you don't know this, but his original name in an underwhelming arcade game was actually Mr. Jump. That's right. The whole concept, the entire conceit behind Mario was "What if a white man could jump?" And they ran that idea all the way to the bank. That's why Mario took off. White men everywhere bought the game just to know what it felt like to jump, just to get that pleasure of both feet touching air as the body glided over chasms and monsters. It was freeing. It was life-changing. As other kids experienced drugs and alcohol, I experienced the literal high of jumping up. I was never the same again, and I'm sure all white men will agree.
"How do you know this?" you might ask. "Do you know every white man?"
Yes, I do. I know every white man, and I am every white man (except in the ass department). I am the spokesperson for every white person across the globe, and everything I said is true. I am in no way projecting my own insecurities and family issues onto a video game character. That would be weird, and I've never been weird a day in my life thank you very much.