I've been trying to get to this review, but every time I start it, I think about eating handfuls of delicious Pikmin and I get too distracted. I like to imagine myself lying flat on my belly with my mouth open, hundreds of Pikmin lined up and marching right down my gullet. As you can imagine, it's hard to write a review with such decadent fantasies dancing through my mind.

If I could, I would shrink myself down to Pikmin size, and like Captain Olimar, I would gain their trust. There are so many Pikmin that they would never notice one or two of their own missing. Rather than satiate myself on many Pikmin, I can gorge myself on one. A plump Pikmin roasting over an open fire, filling my nose with such smells, my ears with the gentle crackles and pops of its searing flesh... Ah, a delight for the senses.

By the time my many crimes are exposed it will be too late. My belly will have popped, come undone like some flimsy seam on an old overworn shirt, and they will have to roll my bloated form into the autopsy room. "Cause of death: overconsumption of Pikmin," they'll note. "At least the bastard died with a smile."