As seen in: The Adventures of Princess Tomato in the Salad Kingdom (NES)
Also in: Your nightmares
Distinguishing feature: As button-cute as he is odious.
Strengths: The personal clarity and freedom that come with a psychotic lack of empathy.
Weaknesses: Percy cannot be hampered or dissuaded; as the player, your only hope is that you can turn the game off.

Profile by Nicola Nomali | January 10, 2010

Many growing seasons ago, I, the brave Sir Cucumber, drove the Farmie menace from the Salad Kingdom and rescued Princess Tomato from the traitorous Minister Pumpkin. For this, I earned the Princess's fair, seedy hand, and my deeds became the subject of song and myth. But all for naught, all for naught -- because I'll never sleep again. He won't let me. He's broken me, and I can never escape him.


My first act of heroism on that crusade to the Zucchini Mountains was to feed water to a baby persimmon I found drying out in the Celery Forest. After getting the lad into some jaunty overalls, he guided me to the Melon Patch, where the Farmies had stopped watering the vegetables, including the exiled Prince Lettuce. From this lead, I was able to sneak into Saladoria, and since Percy seemed to have no parents, I informally adopted him from then on. As my faithful ward, Percy settled many battles in bloodless bouts of rock-paper-scissors and "look the other way." I allowed him to manage my inventory, hold my coinpurse, and offer advice on what our next move might be.

Gourd save me. If only I'd known. Had I known --

Percy could walk and talk as well as any adult vegetable, and for this, I forgot my first impression of him: A baby persimmion. This was the beginning of my folly, for he was no less an albatross than a helpless infant. More than serving as a guide, he provided running commentary on our status, stating the obvious when I'd already begun my adventure with a narrator who didn't constantly yelp, "Boss!" That was what he called me -- a welcome enough term of endearment, but around the hundredth time he exclaimed it, I began to loathe it. No, I feared it! "Boss!

"Boss! Boss! Boss! Boss! Boss! Boss! Boss!!!"

It wasn't that I couldn't match his childish exuberance; simply, no good news ever followed that word. As often as Percy would offer me some vital insight, he'd chirp some maddening, irrelevant remark: while running circles in Minister Pumpkin's castle, he gleamed that he'd beaten Milon's Secret Castle in two days. Well, then tell me which invisible brick I need to shoot with a bubble to find Princess Tomato, you little freak!

Not that I could say that. I tried to be was more than that. Each time I saw that vapid, empty smile, I could tell there was no way I could ever stifle him.

Inevitably, he bore out my worst mistake: entrusting him with my items. Aside from vile acts like plucking a doughnut from a lavatory wastebin, he repeatedly dropped unrecoverable portions of my equipment; at first, I could suffer what appeared to be a string of childish mishaps, but he eventually dropped his fašade and told me he was throwing away my valuables just because. With that placid grin, as if to add, "And what are you going to do about it?"

That's when I knew: Percy wasn't merely a burden for me to shoulder as a hero. No, there was a villain right beside me, far worse than Minister Pumpkin or any of his underlings, from Bananda to Saladron. Percy was pure evil, and in all the years since we rescued the Princess, he's been with me to stay. All the juice spilled, the murders -- nothing I do will cut him out of my life! Gourd, I hear him even now, calling me. "Boss!

"I'll never let you kill me, Boss."

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