"KAMEK, I TOLD YOU TO MAKE THE PUNCH MAKE PEOPLE TURN INTO THINGS, NOT TO TURN THE PUNCH INTO A THING," barked Bowser.

The ancient mass of Gothic-era decay fidgeted nervously on the broom he was somehow, defying all expectations, remaining perched on. "Your Burliness, you didn't let me have a chance to prepare anything, I..."

"YOU'LL NOTHING," interrupted Bowser, grabbing the satchel of rancid jellied eels and throwing him, broom and all, across the room and out a window.