Our story starts 10,000 miles under the surface of the Earth. Crash Bandicoot, the evil raccoon tycoon, is angrily waving its tiny raccoon fist and demanding that we drill more resources out of the Earth’s core. I groan internally and start my drill up again, flinching at how loud it seems. “If he keeps us going at this rate, soon there won’t be much of the Earth’s core left,” I grumble under my breath to Khelacka, the Excavation Alpaca. Khelacka grumbled back in response and then promptly dropped to the ground, sound asleep; I could not blame the great Excavation Alpaca, we had been drilling for weeks and were in dire need of a nap.
I do and have always claimed to be a godly man: true in spirit, loyal in my devotion to the Furry One. Yet I do not know what madness seized me in that very moment. I grabbed some soap, some brown sugar, a bit of charcoal, and made pore-cleansing face mask for the Khelacka. Of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and as I apply it to his furry face with clumsy but gentle fingers, the Bandicoot notices our pause. Furiously, he starts screeching about capitalism and hard labor, insisting that we jump into the molten core as penance for our sins; but at this I became furious, as his sins far surpass my own, and I grab Crash Bandicoot, the evil raccoon tycoon, and throw him into the Earth’s core myself.