I Am the Pokemon Master
I dragged myself upstairs. My Lovely Wife was still reading in bed, smirking at me as she saw me. "Did you win?"
I stepped onto the bed, standing over her, hands on my hips. "You are looking at the newest Pokemon Master, after defeating my greatest rival - Butthole!"
Butthole, off and on for the last several months, has been the greatest nemesis of my life. When I fired fired up the game Pokemon Leaf Green for the Gameboy Advance (a remake of the original Pokemon game for the original black and white (or black and green, depending on how far back you go) Gameboy ), I was asked what my name was, and the name of my rival.
If you've never played the game, your rival is some "childhood friend" - if by "childhood friend" you mean "complete and utter jerk." When you get your first Pokemon - in my case, a turtle looking creature that spits water called a "Squirtle", my rival picked a little monster called a Bulbasaur - which, being a "grass" Pokemon (no, that doesn't mean you can smoke it) can absorb my turtles water attacks.
In other words, this "childhood friend" picked their Pokemon purely based on its ability to kick *my* Pokemon's ass.
Great friend. No wonder I called him "Butthole".
From then on, Butthole was always one step ahead of me. Just when I thought I had a moment to breath, Butthole showed up with a new cadre of Pokemon to try and defeat me. If I wanted to talk to a captain of a ship, Butthole emerged from nowhere. No way to escape, no way to stop him. Even when I was going through the criminal underbelly of the dreaded Team Rocket who sought to use Pokemon to take over the world - sure enough, blocking my path was Butthole.
There is no real "end" to Pokemon, through the closest thing might be defeating the Elite Four - the four strongest Pokemon Trainers in the game - and being declared the Pokemon Master. For hours I battled against each one, thinking outside the box to counter their strategies. Finally, I emerged from defeating the last of the Elite Four, battered, bruised, my Pokemon hanging on by their fingerstips, barely any healing tonics left - but triumphant.
Until -
Butthole. That little bastard had beaten the Elite Four just "minutes before me". Now, in order to *really* become a Master, I had to beat Butthole.
I could have just put it down. Just put it away and left it. But there was no way I was going to let someone named Butthole send me to bed without my victory.
Of course, by now, I knew how he thought. I knew his Pokemon. I knew he'd start out with a giant bird, which could be countered by my rock. His oh-so-powerful Alakazam - a Psychic pokemon that wielded Uri Geller like spoons as proof of its power - would be no match for biting attacks.
And of course, that flowery Bulbasaur he was so proud of so it could defeat my Squirtle - well, turns out, plants burn really well, especially when you're using a Pokemon that breathes fire.
Goodnight, Butthole.
I stepped onto the bed, standing over her, hands on my hips. "You are looking at the newest Pokemon Master, after defeating my greatest rival - Butthole!"
Butthole, off and on for the last several months, has been the greatest nemesis of my life. When I fired fired up the game Pokemon Leaf Green for the Gameboy Advance (a remake of the original Pokemon game for the original black and white (or black and green, depending on how far back you go) Gameboy ), I was asked what my name was, and the name of my rival.
If you've never played the game, your rival is some "childhood friend" - if by "childhood friend" you mean "complete and utter jerk." When you get your first Pokemon - in my case, a turtle looking creature that spits water called a "Squirtle", my rival picked a little monster called a Bulbasaur - which, being a "grass" Pokemon (no, that doesn't mean you can smoke it) can absorb my turtles water attacks.
In other words, this "childhood friend" picked their Pokemon purely based on its ability to kick *my* Pokemon's ass.
Great friend. No wonder I called him "Butthole".
From then on, Butthole was always one step ahead of me. Just when I thought I had a moment to breath, Butthole showed up with a new cadre of Pokemon to try and defeat me. If I wanted to talk to a captain of a ship, Butthole emerged from nowhere. No way to escape, no way to stop him. Even when I was going through the criminal underbelly of the dreaded Team Rocket who sought to use Pokemon to take over the world - sure enough, blocking my path was Butthole.
There is no real "end" to Pokemon, through the closest thing might be defeating the Elite Four - the four strongest Pokemon Trainers in the game - and being declared the Pokemon Master. For hours I battled against each one, thinking outside the box to counter their strategies. Finally, I emerged from defeating the last of the Elite Four, battered, bruised, my Pokemon hanging on by their fingerstips, barely any healing tonics left - but triumphant.
Until -
Butthole. That little bastard had beaten the Elite Four just "minutes before me". Now, in order to *really* become a Master, I had to beat Butthole.
I could have just put it down. Just put it away and left it. But there was no way I was going to let someone named Butthole send me to bed without my victory.
Of course, by now, I knew how he thought. I knew his Pokemon. I knew he'd start out with a giant bird, which could be countered by my rock. His oh-so-powerful Alakazam - a Psychic pokemon that wielded Uri Geller like spoons as proof of its power - would be no match for biting attacks.
And of course, that flowery Bulbasaur he was so proud of so it could defeat my Squirtle - well, turns out, plants burn really well, especially when you're using a Pokemon that breathes fire.
Goodnight, Butthole.