Hark! What is that over the horizon?! 'Tis Flint! And he brings with him more fun! What? More fun? I have enough fun on my plate for a week, you say? Well, lump it, you jerk! Here comes more!
- Created By Flint
A Game of Cards
I was cleaning out some of my old stuff from my closet today, with the intent of finding some things to sell at a yard sale. I've got way too much junk in there, and some jerks can be conned into taking it off my hands. I sifted through all the dusty old clutter, and found things I had not seen in years. Ah, the memories! My old pair of steel-toe Doc Martins! Why did I ever think giant Sora-esque shoes made me look cool? The tried-and-true trenchcoat, complete with silly iron-on patches. I must have looked like the coolest flasher in town!
As I waded through memories I'd rather not dwell on, I found a small red binder in the back of the closet. It was completely covered in dust. That should have been the first sign to stay away. I was drawn to it, however. I grabbed it, and slowly lifted it off the ground. Mounds of dirt and dust fell off its sides like an avalanche. I shook it a bit, to get some of the dirt off, then opened it cautiously.
Pokemon cards.
Why did it have to be Pokemon cards?
I looked through the pages of cards held in place by little plastic card holders. All of them were still in perfect condition. I began to get slightly choked up as I saw old friends again. There was Alakazam, with the rip on the right edge. How's the kids, Ally? The ridiculous "1st Edition" Machamp, at one time the Alpha and Omega of my collection, was now a shell of his former self, the empty grin crossing his face covering the anguish he surely felt when he was replaced by the Three Kings. The holofoil Dugtrio, the Japanese Pinsir, ol' Aerodactyl, they were all here. As I flipped through the pages, I came to a page that glowed red like fire.
The three of them stared into my soul. Remember us, Flint?
I remember you.
Remember the joy we brought you?
No... no, I don't... you brought me nothing but pain!
LIAR! You loved us... You still do!
Three holofoil Charizard cards stared at me, each glistening in the light like mini pyres in the darkest reaches of my psyche. They analyzed the man that now stood before them; this was no longer the pudgy boy they had policed to their will those many years ago. They had no power over me. They did, however, hold a powerful weapon against me; memories of my days as a failed card trader! They unlocked those horrid memories that I had so hard tried to repress. I was quickly thrust back in time, to a nightmare realm that Doc Brown surely intended no time traveler to explore.
I remembered those days, leading up to the biggest trade of my life, and the trade that would take me out of the game for good; the Fourth Charizard foil. How I came across four Charizards by simply opening booster packs, I'll never know. My brother bought just as many boosters as I did, and he never found a Charizard, foil or no, in any pack. He did, however, find two Blastoises in his career, and graciously decided to give me one with no trade. Today, that card rests near my computer monitor, to remind me of his generosity. The generosity I never possessed when it came to Pokemon cards.
I remember the days leading up to the trade of the Fourth Charizard. I had just gotten a bad trade from my own cousin. A non-foil Venusaur and a Professor Oak trainer for a Gengar, a card I had never possessed. I took it home, noticing it looked slightly different from the rest of my cards. I thought nothing of it, until I examined it closer in my room. I held it up to the sun. It was see-through! The damn card was a fake! I had been cheated out of a rare trainer and a Venusaur by my own cousin! I was pissed, probably more angry than I should have been.
I was about to go down to my cousin's house to get my cards back and give him a piece of my mind, when the phone rang. I answered it. It was a friend of mine, who, for the sake of anonymity, I'll call "Waffle".
"Dude, have you heard of the Neos?" Waffle asked me.
"Yeah. What, do you think I'm stupid? Everyone's heard of Neos, numbnuts. They haven't been released yet"
"I just got two Neos from a Japanese booster. Both foils." Waffle blurted out.
"Two from Japan?! What do you want for 'em?!"
"You know what I want!"
I did know what he wanted. I didn't know if I was willing to part with them. I opened the pages of the small red binder, to consult the Four Kings.
Do you think it wise to trade us for two cards who's value you do not even know?
Dude, these things are from Japan! No one's got 'em yet! No one's even heard of 'em yet! These could be the jewels of my collection!
COULD be. Could be... What if they're not? Then you're out one of us. Are you willing to part with one of us, Flint?
I hesitated. Five minutes deciding felt like a year. I took out the Charizard on the bottom left slot of the page, wrapped it carefully in a small white napkin, and placed it in my backpack. I would have those Neos. My collection would have closure. The world would applaud me.
That next day was the longest day of my life. As I entered the halls of my local high school looking for Waffle, another acquaintance met me halfway. We shall call this man "Juice". Juice was a collector like me, although most considered him small time. He was a short kid, with spiky hair and wild eyes. Juice approached me in his usual spastic gait. As I looked him in the eyes, I knew he had found out about the Charizard in my backpack.
"Got somethin' for me?" Juice asked loudly.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Charizard. You have him. I know." Juice said with a smile.
I froze. I was genuinely afraid of what Juice's next action would be. Juice was small, boney, and rather annoying, but he was not a man to be trifled with. This kid broke the glass casing on a lunchroom vending machine when it wouldn't give him his Kit-Kat bar, for God's sake!
In as fluid a motion as I've ever seen, Juice swung his backpack from over his shoulder onto his chest, thrust his arm inside, and produced a black binder, containing more foils than I'd ever seen. "Take your pick, man. Any three o' these for Charizard."
It was a generous offer. Only a fool would pass it up. But I was not a backstabber. Waffle wanted Charizard, and would trade me two cards Juice could never possess. Me and Waffle were tight, and I sure had Hell trusted Waffle more than I trusted Juice.
"Sorry, Juice. I told Waffle I'd trade him my Charizard."
Juice looked me over with a scowl. He shrugged, and went on his way, clutching his black binder to his chest. I mulled over Juice's offer as I approached the classroom. Three foils. Juice may have been unpredictable, but he was an honest collector. All those cards were real. And he was willing to part with ANY three. Waffle offered up two, whose values were untested.
I took my seat in class, next to Waffle. We did the obligatory Respek Knuckles. From there, it was all business.
"I got him in my backpack," I said.
"Alright. I got my cards in my locker. We'll trade at lunch," Waffle answered.
I shook my head in agreement. As I pulled out my notebook, I noticed Waffle was giving me a distressed glare. I had to know why.
"What's up, man?" I asked.
"...Did Juice talk to you?"
"Yeah, in the hall a few minutes ago. He wants to trade any three foils from his collection. I'm not gonna, dude. I want those Neos."
Waffle smiled, relieved. Business did not come before our friendship, and this moment proved that. We both dropped the subject, and prepared for class.
As I took the books from my next class out of my locker, I was caught off guard by a determined Juice. He stood in back of me, his head twitching slightly with excitement. A wild grin crossed his face.
"Okay, man. I don't know what the Hell Waffle's offerin' you, but I can do you one better," Juice said. He produced the black binder again, showing off page after page of foils to me.
"Five. FIVE cards. Any foils you want, man! ANY of them! Name it, it's yours. Just gimme that Charizard!"
I looked over the cards. Vulpix shimmered like a goddess. Hypno's shine did indeed hypnotize me. And a foil Venusaur promised to fill the void in my collection left by my bastard cousin and my stolen non-foil Venusaur. I should trade. I'd be a fool not to trade. Five foils, for one card. I'm going to trade...
"No, man! I told you, I'm trading this with Waffle!"
Juice scowled at me, closing the binder quickly and skittering back into the mass of students that clogged the hallway. That was too close. Next time, I may not have the resolve to say no to five foils.
Lunch finally came. I bought a Nutzo ice cream cone, and sat with Waffle at the far end of the cafeteria. We talked shop for a few minutes, shared a few laughs, and finally got down to business.
"I think you're gonna like these," Waffle said.
He unzipped a side pouch on his backpack, and pulled out two cards in plastic sleeves. Both were holofoils, and each glowed in the light of the cafeteria. They were each emblazoned with kanji characters, rendering them both impossible to bring into actual play. I didn't care. These were two holofoil Pokemon that I had never seen before.
One was a blue sort of crocodile, that stood on his hind legs, a burst of foil water spouting around him. This was my first introduction to the creature Feraligatr. The other was a fighting-type. It looked like sort of a beetle, with two horn-like appendages protruding from it's head. An orange foil glow surrounded him. This was Pinsir, and he would become a perennial favorite of mine.
I pulled out the napkin-wrapped Charizard, and placed it on the table. Waffle gazed at it. He had never been so close to the card without a sleeve covering it. He quickly took it into his hands, and held it before him. I took my two new Japanese Neo cards, and placed them in my backpack.
Waffle looked into my eyes with a childish euphoria. "Thanks, man," He said enthusiastically.
"Don't mention it," I retorted. We ended the transaction with Respek Knuckles.
As I left school that day, I felt like a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I finally had two cards that nobody else had, direct from Japan, and I helped my friend get the card he always wanted. As I strutted down the sidewalk, I noticed Juice approaching me, a cocky smile covering his narrow face. I gave him a smug grin.
"'Sup, Juice?" I said loudly.
"Hey, stupid," Juice said gleefully. "Guess what? I just got your Charizard."
What was this fool talking about? I just traded Charizard to Waffle. Waffle had Charizard, not Juice.
Juice opened the black binder. I counted the missing cards in his collection. Five. At the back of the book, in the top left slot, it rested. The Fourth Charizard was now Juices.
I was shocked. I did not want to believe I was seeing this. "How did you get this?!"
Juice snickered. "I talked to Waffle earlier. He told me you traded him this for two worthless Japanese Pokemon who aren't even out in the States! I just traded him five foils for it! He's a lot smarter than you!"
I stood frozen in shock. I tried to find words to say to Juice. Nothing came. Juice slapped me on the shoulder and laughed, walking passed me in victory. My friend had betrayed my trust. The Fourth Charizard was now in the possession of the enemy, a spazzing maniac with a neck twitch.
I locked myself in my room, and opened my little red binder. I had to speak with them. I had to tell them what had happened. They would know what to do. The page burned less bright now that there were only three Charizards.
Now there are three of us. Have you brought anyone new?
...Yeah. Three Japanese Pokemon, from a new Pokemon game, apparently.
...We know what happened.
I know.
What do you do now? Where do you go from here?
...I'm through.
I closed the little red binder, and carelessly threw it into the closet. My days as a trader were over. My cousin was corrupted by the game. Now, my best friend. It would not corrupt me. I was done with Pokemon Cards forever.
I suddenly shifted back into this plane of existence. I stood there, holding this dusty red binder, staring at three red cards. What did they mean to me, in the end? They represented the pure randomness of life. They represented power, the likes of which corrupted men to the core. They represented sorrow, and the anguish that turns friend against friend.
I threw the red binder onto a pile, along with the other items I planned to sell. I didn't care about that power anymore. I didn't care that it could potentially ruin the poor bastard stupid enough to purchase it for three bucks. All I knew was, it was no longer my cross to bear.
Creation of a World
I was seriously thinking of making a new world.
I have three "worlds" here on MyO. One serves as a dump for my usual rambling nonsense and regular dredge, the one you are currently reading serves a more "serious" tone for my writing (or, at least, as serious as Flint Marco can be, which isn't very), and a third as a seldom-used and neglected personal blog.
I just, out of the blue, felt like making a new world. With a new world comes new opportunities to take, new avenues to explore. What could this world do that three others could not possibly do? Is Flint Marco such a multi-faceted and complicated individual that FOUR worlds are required to contain his writing? He barely uses the three he has, for God's sake.
This decision would require a bit of soul-searching. First, I needed to make a pledge. I, Flint Marco, part-time nuisance, full-time college student, full-time warrior, pledge to post something, ANYTHING, on MyO at least twice a week.
Done! (Fingers Crossed!)
Okay, I had looked into my soul and told a lie. Now, what could this world do for me? What new path will Flint Marco take on the road to writing Limbo? Romance? Nobody does romance fiction here, right? Nah, too mushy. How 'bout a world dedicated entirely to really bad fanfics? And I mean HORRIBLE, bottom of the barrel fanfics, fanfics from your worst nightmares. Imagine if Stegz from mid-ninties cartoon Extreme Dinosaurs had to compete in a science fair contest with Dick Dastardly! It makes no sense, you say? Who gives a shit about Extreme Dinosaurs? That's the beauty!
Nah, it'd never work.
Then, it hit me. You know what would be brilliant? Fiction from the 1600s-1800s! Imagine the stories that could be told! Martin Luther: the 95 Theses of Shaolin! Roger Williams Mystery Theatre! The Vengeance of Anne Hutchinson! Doc Brown meets George III! They write themselves!
Okay, it's decided! Amazing old world (or "Olde Worlde", to give it that ironic "old world" flair) for the masses! There was only one step to take, but the most vital. I must consult... with myself! The Counsel of Three!
FLINT! Rambling maniac! He doesn't know anything but fun! It is his curse!
MARCO! Forever angst-ridden and brooding, he longs to be taken seriously as a writer!
Finally, FLARCO! The realist of the three, Flarco sees only the hard line!
I approach the three in the darkest region of my mind's eye. Surley, these three kings will see my reason, and I can start my amazing works of fiction shortly! Lo, Figments of my Mind! I Come Forth Today, with but a Humble Request... Let Me Build A NEW WORLD! And all will Love Me!
The first to speak is Flarco. You have Three. Use one of them for your stories. You don't need a seperate world for what will surely be another failed venture.
Flint shouts out in his usual madness next. Your ideas are good, but you know what they need? More funny. Farts. References to old television shows and pro wrestling! SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS! It's funnier that way! You know what would be cool? Wrestling fanfics! Do that instead!
Marco then gets his say. Your ideas are stupid and poorly thought out. "Roger Williams Mystery Theatre"? The theologian who created the Rhode Island colony? What can you possibly do with that? Think things through before you do them, moron!
...I have failed. All three facets of my subconscious are in complete disagreement about this new world. Which puts my brain at an imbalance. Without equilibrium, I cannot creat. Thus, no new world. A civilization dies before it is even created.
...Anyone interested in a fanfic staring Roger Williams?
-Flint
Addict
I remember my formative years very well. Me and my brother would play Mario World on the Super Nintendo set up in the kitchen. We'd sit there, playing the same levels over and over, screaming silly comments at the television. Next to me was a cold can of Dr. Pepper. With every gulp, it was as if the good doctor of sodaology was injecting 200cc of pure joy into my heart. Life was as sweet as the cold drink in my hands.
Dr. Pepper was my best friend. Oh, sure, I enjoyed the occasional Coca Cola, and, admittedly, the best cola for pizza was undoubtedly Pepsi. But there was something about Dr. Pepper that drew me back to it like a moth to lights. Opening the can I could smell the sweet aroma, a strange caramel-like scent. I could feel small bubbles shoot up my nose. My hands would firmly grasp the familiar maroon can, like I was hugging an old friend. After savoring the moment, I would take a drink. That wonderful flavor would fill my mouth, a flavor only the good doctor could provide me. Swallowing the concoction, a strange euphoric sense would overtake me. I would smile giddily, like a child with a new toy. Accompanied by cookies, chips, or twinkies, or simply on its own, it did not matter; Dr. Pepper made me happy in any situation.
I would eventually grow up into a teenager, my bald head, chunky frame and scowl scaring off most people around me. It's rather embarrassing, looking back. Me and my brother were now playing WWF No Mercy on the good ol' N64 in my room, dressing the Undertaker in Rikishi' ridiculous tights and holding tournaments with preposterous rules, all the while laughing like the idiotic kids we were. In easy access was usually a bag of cookies, and my old friend, Dr. Pepper. These days, though, Doc had a few competitors.
Somewhere down the line, I discovered Cherry Coke. Coca Cola is not my favorite soda. I never fully enjoyed it's unique flavor. But, with Cherry Coke, I learned to love the subtle nuances that Coke weaved through the senses. That spectacular cherry scent, that first sip, that wonderful flavor washing down my throat... it's enough to bring a tear to my eye.
Of course, who could forget the bliss that is Hawaiian Punch? I discovered this nectar out of pure accident. I had just bought a slice of pizza, and needed something to wash it down. I went to a vending machine, hit the 'Pepsi' button, and out pops... fruit punch? What the Hell? Begrudgingly, I popped the can open, bit into my Italian sausage pizza, and took a drink. My eyes grew wide. What is this strange magic in my mouth? This spectacular mix of fruit scents! The symphony on my tongue, like a band of carbonated fruits were dancing a Congo line straight to my heart! I instantly fell in love with the liquid, and Pepsi had been replaced as the preferred 'pizza cola'.
I had made two new friends, Cherry Coke and Hawaiian Punch. They were good to me. But neither could take the place of my best friend: Dr. Pepper.
I graduated from high school, and began life as a bald-headed, scowling, near-three hundred pound man. These days, my brother and I would sit around playing Grand Theft Auto 3 on the Playstation Two I just got as a graduation present. As always, there was a box of ding-dongs near me, and a cool can of Dr. Pepper in my hand. Life could get no better.
I felt weird. I urinated a lot. I mean, a LOT. My mouth felt like there were cotton balls stuffed in it. I found myself getting winded walking pathetically short distances. I was suddenly REALLY thirst all the time. What's up with me?
My mother had recently been diagnosed with diabetes. She had a blood-sugar reader she got from the doctor, and one day, she got the urge to check my blood. I figured 'what the Hell? I got nothing better to do'.
My blood-sugar level was high. Real high.
I panicked. Oh, Crap! Am I Diabetic?! Oh, Crap! Blindness! Liver Damage! Heart Failure! I'm Too Young For This! Shit Shit Shit!
My mother assured me that I wasn't diabetic, that it wasn't too late to combat this fate. I didn't waste time. A few moments after seeing the blood-sugar reading, I put some shoes on, and I ran. I don't know how long I ran that day. I'd stop frequently to vigorously catch my breath, then started back up. I was trying to run away from the disease I feared. I was terrified.
When I got back home, I thought about what I had to do to get my health back on track. The answer was simple enough. Just cut back on all the crap I used to gorge myself on. So long, Famous Amos. Adios, Zingers. Bye-bye, Ding-Dongs. 'Till we meet again... Dr Pepper?
I couldn't... I wouldn't... No! NO! NO! NOT MY DR. PEPPER! I WILL NOT GIVE IT UP! I WILL NOT!
You have to. Give it up. It's a crutch. It's just a damn drink. You don't need it. Soda is not an addictive substance. It's as simple as not opening the can.
...okay... only for a few weeks...
What Hell those first weeks were. I felt like something was missing. Like a large void was burning in my heart. Was I biting off more than I could chew? I continued running like crazy, all the while thinking of the day when I could open up a nice, cool can of Dr. Pepper again. Water had been the Doc's replacement, and flavor-wise, it could not compare. Efficiency without style just wasn't going to cut it, I thought.
The urge was hard to pass. A hot pepperoni pizza would lay before me. Where's my Hawaiian Punch? Hell, I'll take a Pepsi! No, there was only water. A quick snack (no longer cookies, but rather a banana) was in my hand. Can I have a cherry coke? Please? No! Only Water! On my birthday, of all days! Here I am, ordering a double-freakin'-cheeseburger! This can't be healthy! Can I PLEASE have a Dr. Pepper?! NO! ONLY WATER!
Nobody forced me to drink only water. Nobody physically took the cans of that wonderful carbonated ale away from me. It was me. Why was I punishing myself so? What did I have to gain from this, besides misery and pain?
Seven months passed. One day, as I ate breakfast, my mother said to me, "How skinny do you plan on getting? Mabey you should have another bowl of cereal!" What was she talking about?
I looked in the mirror. I was no longer the Two-Hundred-Sixty-Five pound bald guy I was. I was now a toothpick. One hundred fifty pounds. Long brown hair. I looked nothing like I did a few short months ago.
Now I can have a Dr. Pepper! I've truly earned it!
I walked with a new stride to the corner store. Check me out, world! I'm a new man! A man who will now buy Dr. Pepper with no guilt! I swung open the door, and the people inside the store stared at me, smiling. People I didn't know gawked at me, as if to say "There's a man who has EARNED a Dr. Pepper!" Finally, I got to the soda refrigerator.
There it was. Twelve ounces of salvation. The Doctor looked me in the eyes.
Hello, old friend. I've been waiting for you.
I stared contently at the maroon bottle in the refrigerator. My triumphant moment had come. My prize awaited me. All I had to do was grab it.
I have something I want to tell you, old friend...
I opened the refrigerator door. Cold air hit my body. Goose bumps popped up on my arms. My eyes zeroed in on the bottle. Here it was. My crowning achievement. Seven grueling months. Running through horrid pain, through sprained ankles, aching knees, now living with the most hideous toes one could imagine, all for this moment.
Dont...
I closed the refrigerator door. There was no bottle in my hand. I stared at my reflection in the glass door. I was different now. I was over my love of soda. It was now time to say goodbye to my old friend. He had been there since I was a kid, lifting my spirits when times were hard. When I was in unfamiliar territory, my friend was there to make me feel at home. When I was scared or nervous, my friend was there to tell me it was going to be okay. But I no longer needed him. Goodbye, Dr. Pepper.
I pass by the cola aisle still these days. I look up and down at the shelves, as if to say 'hey' to some relatives I haven't seen in awhile. There's Pepsi, now at least on speaking terms with Coca-Cola. Hawaiian Punch is now currently dating Old Tyme Lemonade. RC Cola is still angry with Cherry Coke for that gag he pulled on Halloween. As I make my way to the end of the aisle, I pass Dr. Pepper at the bottom shelf. We glance at each other. A nod is exchanged. There is no need for anything else. I exit the cola aisle empty-handed, leaving the sodas to their own devices.
-Flint
Diary Of A Chronic Pokemon Cheater
Hi, my name is Flint, Flint Marco. And... and I'm a cheater at Pokemon.
I have been since the beginning. 1998. Cinnibar island. the Missingno fiasco. Getting an infinite amount of rare candys, proteins and the like, jacking up my Pokemon on that horrid gas, and obliterating any moron stupid enough to challenge me without their own jacked up monsters.
A year or so later, Gold version landed in my yellow Game Boy Color. I remember the morning I took my brother's new purple GBC, grabbed a link cable, and traded the Pokemon from my trusty red version. Won't that poor bastard be sorry!, I thought.While that fool trains his Chicoritas and his Zigzagoons, my Level 100 Dragonite will grind his useless monsters back to the dirt they came from!
There they were. Sitting in Box 3. Six of my strongest. Each with maxed out levels. Each one's stats as high as they could go. The PP on each one of their amazing attacks could not go any higher. Each one of them the best at their respective field: Fire, Ice, Grass, Poison, another Poison, and Normal. Each one of them, ready to die for me.
Each one of them. Ready to die.
I released them. Just as quickly as I had raised them up to be titans, I had let them go, back into a Poke-ecosystem that would surely shun these juggernauts. In training them to be completely and utterly unbeatable, they had become something I no longer knew. I had a much more enjoyable time training these brand new Pokemon the correct way. I no longer needed the help of Missingno, or his mystic item glitch powers. And, as a result, I no longer needed his Pokemon.
To this day, I still wonder what became of my Charizard. Last I heard, he had just been fired from his job at the Jack-in-the-Box, and he was behind on his child support. I do hope he has managed to get his life together.
I skipped Ruby/Sapphire. By that time, I think I was Poke'd out. I had been down too many roads, battled too many trainers, brought down too many Pokemon-oriented evil organizations. I just wanted to rest, I think. The life of a trainer was getting too hard on an old soldier like me. I felt like Chris Taylor from Platoon, writing his Grandmother from Vietnam.
Dear Grandma,
I've been in Kanto too long. I don't know if I'll make it out of here. I've seen a lot of things I wish I hadn't. It feels like a new Pokemon is hiding around every corner, waiting to fight me for no good reason. I don't know if Professor Oak was right about the struggle between Brock and Giovanni, for possession of my soul. I do remember Giovanni's words, though; I don't believe we fought Pokemon in Kanto. We fought ourselves. and the Pokemon were us.I hope you're doing well, Grandma. Tell mom and dad... well, just tell them. Flint
It felt like ages since I'd seen anyone play a Pokemon game after that. Perhaps everyone around me was playing Pokemon, and I had merely tuned it out. I could not, however, ignore it anymore when my brother brought home a shiny new copy of Pokemon Diamond.
"Check it out, man! New Pokemon! You ready to get poke-pwned!?", He yelled at me, probably more excited than he should have been.
I gave him a hard stare with my sunken eyes, long tired from my years of countless battle. "I don't do that anymore.", I told him.
He shrugged, and, with a silly grin, popped his cartridge in his red DS. The power turned on, and I tuned out.
At least, I tried to.
"Ah, sweet! Check this out!" He yelled at me. I stared forward at the white walls, focusing on dirt particles. I imagined them living in a simple colony, hunting and gathering whatever it was that dirt particles ate, while my brother danced around me, explaining how sweet this new Pokemon game was. He finally shoved the DS into my chest. I looked down at it's double screens.
"See that? That's a Poketch! It tells time! Does other crap, too! Pretty awesome, right?" He asked.
I wasn't interested in that stupid gimmick. I grabbed the DS from him, and looked at his party. What's a Starley? A Bidoof? What kind of name is that for a Pokemon? And...and why did this monkey spit fire?
I... I must know! I must.... NO! I must fight it! I've been out of this game for years! I've been clean for too many years! I can... Hold... On... I... Must... KNOW! I MUST KNOW!
The next day, there I was, at Best Buy. I had a copy of Pokemon Pearl in my hands, and a smile on my face. Things were gonna be different this time around. I was going to raise these Pokemon as friends, not warriors. They would know love and peace, not pain and conflict. These Pokemon would live their lives the natural way.
There it was. Sitting there, next to a plastic DS protector, and a pack of spare styluses. The white box glistened in the bright lights. The red logo screamed directly into my brain.
ACtioN ^*RePLAy! Yo/UUu WEEilLlbeEE LUCkY WINnnNEERrRR!*!(!!^
Without giving it a second thought, I snatched the box. My breathing became heavy. My eyes shifted wildly. Lucky Winner! Lucky Winner!, I chanted in my head, and slowly, under my breath. You know those angel and devil figures that appear on shoulders in cartoons? In my madness, they had indeed appeared. Only this time, they said nothing to help or hinder me. They simply chanted along with me. Lucky Winner! Lucky Winner! I took my purchases to the counter, and a mildly attractive girl rang them up. As she handed me my change, she told me, "Have a nice day, sir."
I looked her in the eyes, an insane smile cracking my face in two. "Lucky Winner!", I blurted out.
I inserted my new game and "helper" into my DS. Ha, ha! You gutless Bastard! How... HOW will you ever hope to defeat me now, brother?! I said in my mania. I powered on the DS. There they were. Codes! Beautiful codes! But, waitaminute... no codes to catch any pokemon?! I must change this! I spent an hour or two scouring the internet, looking for the perfect codes. Catch any Pokemon. Infinite money. Infinite Master Balls. All Shiny Pokemon. Teach any move to pokemon. The world was mine!
I now had to decide who I wanted in my party. My pokemon had to strike fear into the hearts of all, most especially my brother. Pokemon in general, however, seem to be just south of terrifying. The rarer Pokemon tend to be at the bottom of the Pokedex. I'll just catch whichever number Pokemon is the highest, I told myself.
What I caught were not Pokemon. They were monsters! Horrid nightmare-inspired creatures, who, quite honestly, look too awesome to be classified as Pokemon. Jesus, this Giratina cat looks like it's gonna swallow my soul, not listen to my commands! I can't believe that's a Pokemon! Look at this Heatran guy! That... THING is a Pokemon?! Electrivire?! Electabuzz, what have they done to you?!
I caught my amazing new Pokemon, along with some old favorites, one specially designed to deliver maximum humiliation to my brother. He'll never forget this day. Never.
The time had finally come. I challenged him to a game, giving him a look of cautious confidence. It worked. The fool was all too happy to fight against me. To fight a battle he could not hope to win. I laid down the rules to him. Three-on-Three. Bring your strongest. Show no quarter; you will receive none. He obliged me. Stupid move, brother. Stupid move.
He called out his first Pokemon. I honestly don't remember what it was, a Starley or something. So I called out mine. My new friend, Giratina! He selected his move. I'll never know what it was. Giratina chose to use Crunch, crushing the piece of Poke-poultry in its teeth. I can only imagine how many bones that bird broke that day. Tastes like chicken!
Sorry. I couldn't resist.
I looked up at my brother, and offered a battle cry. "Pathetic!", I yelled.
He was smiling. "Man, what was that thing?!" He said, laughing.
His next Pokemon was Luxio. I withdrew my Giratina, and called out Bulbasaur. Simple Bublasaur. What could this Bulbasaur do that was so special? The world would find out his true power. For, you see, this Bulbasaur knew ONLY electric attacks! Being at a superior level, my Bulbasaur had a brief, although a bit taxing, encounter with Luxio, with Bulby coming out on top.
Two down, brother! I glanced up at him, grinning a Cheshire Cat-style grin. My brother laughed again. "Hey, man, what do you want for that thing? Let me have it!", he said to me. Was this fool enjoying his trouncing? Not for long! For I still had my secret weapon, my tool of complete and utter humiliation.
His next Pokemon was his newly-evolved starter Pokemon, Monferno. His smile grew wide. Did he think this would turn the tide of battle in his favor? I summoned my beast into battle.
Level 100 Meowth. Maxed out stats. He knew Hyper-Beam. Hyper-Beam, for God's sake! What was I thinking?
My brother laughed loud when my Pokemon entered the fray. You won't be laughing for long, Fool! I thought. He chose a fire-based move, I think it was flamethrower. It didn't matter. For, in my turn, my Meowth did something most Meowth's don't do; He took flight! This Meowth went against the teachings of every religious deity known throughout recorded history, and flew through the skies, free as a flying cat!
"What the Hell? He flies?! How did you do that?! Teach one of my Pokemon that!", he said.
The second round began. Meowth simply dive-bombed Monferno, and, thanks to his maxed-out stats, that was all she (being Nurse Joy in the Poke-trauma center) wrote. Monferno's days of eating solid foods and walking upright were over. My Pokemon had just crushed his Pokemon into submission, and threw their lifeless carcasses into landfills filled with their fallen enemies. I was victorious! All my training, all my cheating, had come to this! One swift, decisive victory against my brother! How you love that, bro?!
"That was awesome! What was that first Pokemon you used? He was freaky! That's a pokemon, dude?" He said, excitedly.
My eyes stared vacantly into his. My ecstasy turned to sorrow in an instant. I had won nothing. My level-100, juiced-up, buffed-out, flying Meowth only served to humiliate myself. My Pokemon were revealed as nothing but Jokemon. And the world laughed at me for it.
I spend the rest of my days perfecting the Thousand-Yard stare. My time in combat is over. My days as malevolent Pokemon overlord... over. I released Giratina. I had no use for him after that battle. I made good on a promise to my brother, and traded that electric Bulbasaur for a Bidoof. I'm sure Bulby'll have a better life over there than he would have had over here. As for Meowth... he stayed. He and I are too much alike to part ways. Both wield incredible powers, powers that most cannot fathom. Both are shunned by their respective cultures, his by the entire Meowth-Persian community, me by the Pokemon-training fraternity.
I stare at the walls a lot these days. The dirt particles grow bigger each day. Are they developing into larger beings? Or are they building larger living spaces for smaller dirt particles? It must be a simple life to be a dirt particle.
-Flint
Green Churro Charisma
Good evening to you. This is the first post on this new world I created, the ridiculously-named "Twilight Brain Assylum". I felt I needed a place to place writings that didn't exactly fit in with the rest of the usual bullshit I churn out. So, here we are, dear reader.
I read Beck's great "Writer's Block Busters" prompts, and I thought they looked like so much fun, I couldn't pass up a chance to use one. I've decided to use "Write about an overheard remark". So, here goes!
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Lars rolled down the brightly-lit corridor leading to the cafeteria. He only had thirty minutes to refuel, and he just wasted eight of them scouring every database in the factory looking for the human actress who played the lead role in the film Mary Poppins. Lars chuckled through his voicebox. "Heh, won't those morons be pissed when they find out ol' Lars and Julie Andrews are a hot item!" He said aloud. Robots are still incapable of inner monologue.
As Lars approached the giant sliding door to the cafeteria, a small, spherical robot shot out in front of him. The robot stopped suddenly beside him, and turned and faced him frantically. It was Henry, one of Lars' co-workers. Henry grabbed Lars' shoulders with his tiny metal arms.
"Lars, did they freakin' tell you, man?!"
Lars stood silent, a puzzled look appearing on his face-screen. "Tell me what?", He asked.
"The freakin' boss, man! He's takin' down the coolant machines!"
"What the Hell?! When?!"
"Billy heard him in his office!", Henry said, almost hysterical at this point.
Lars stormed into the cafeteria, with Henry close behind him. The atmosphere in the place was no more different than usual. Most of the bots Lars worked with came here to refill their tanks with "premium" fuel, although most of them hated the flavor of the drivel the cookbots served up. The bots were having their usual discussions; some bots bickered about who's suspension was superior, others would babble endlessly about useless trivia to prove their data storage capacity was greatest. The bots Lars hung out with were mostly obsolete or half-broken, and therefore relegated to the simplest and most tedious jobs. Lars' job was mostly to bust what seemed to be a never-ending supply of stones with whatever was on hand.
When Lars arrived at his usual table in the corner of the cafeteria, he found his co-worker Billy flailing his arms around, screaming at the top of his circuits. The robots around him didn't seem to notice, or simply didn't care.
"What the Hell, Billy?!", Lars said. "They're taking down the coolant machines?!"
Billy stopped flailing his arms. "Yeah, man! I was cleaning out the trash cans when I heard McFlain talking to the board in the conference room! They wanna put up a Coca-Cola machine!"
"Coca-Cola?! What, a human drink machine?! Screw that!" Lars screamed.
"That's what I heard! Then all the board guys laughed, like it was some kinda joke, man! Whatawegonnado,whatawegonnado,whatawe-"
"What am I supposed to drink in the morning?! Freaking Diet Coke?! That crap'll gunk up my circuits! Next thing you know, they'll start selling apples in the damn fuel line!"
Henry held his hand up, attempting to be recognized. "This is robocism. Robocism, plain and simple! The board? Nothin' but humans! They wanna eliminate the robots from this place! Take the coolant machines, next the data storage, finally pizza in the cafeteria! That's how this works!"
Lars banged his steely clamps against the metal table. "Hell no. Screw this, man! Screw! This! You guys know what time it is!"
Henry and Billy stared into the electronic eyes in Lars' face screen. They knew what he was thinking. They were scared of it, though. Henry was the first to respond.
"...what time?"
Lars smiled. "Freakin' OPEN ROBOT REBELLION TIME!"
It was midnight. The gated community of Jester's Point was quiet, save the occasional rustling of leaves from the cool night wind. A security guard sat at the electronic gates, reading an issue of Weekly World News. There was nothing to do at midnight for a security guard in this sleepy community. No burglars or murderers ever showed up to take out a resident. The worst scum the surrounding communities held were the occasional geriatric going nuts when you stepped on his grass.
Three figures appeared a few feet in front of the gates, and appeared to be coming toward him. He smiled. Finally, company!, he thought to himself. He folded up his magazine, got up from his chair, and approached the figures. As he got closer, he realized they were robots.Damnit, probably some guy's tools escaped from his garage. This'll be fun, finding the bastard these guys belong to, he told himself.
The three robots finally stood in front of him. The guard looked over the three. Chuckling, he asked, "You fellas lost, or what?"
A small, spherical one began speaking. "Um, excuse me, sir. We need to see a resident of this community. He, uh, owes us money."
The guard gave the spherical robot a perplexed glance. "Money? What's a robot need mo-"
A metal clamp came down hard on the back of his neck. He felt no pain, just cold steel against his flesh. He felt an odd sensation, like his body simply didn't feel like staying awake anymore. He slumped down onto the concrete.
"Holy crap, you killed him!" Billy yelled.
"Shut up! You want the whole neighborhood to hear us?!", Lars said. "Besides, he ain't dead. We're robots. We can't kill humans. Prime directive five, or whatever-
"Three.", Henry said.
"Shut up, smart-ass. Let's find that bastard robocist McFlain, and exact sweet robot vengeance! OPEN REBELLION!"
The three robots wheeled down the road to a huge, steel mansion on a hill. There, outside the house, they spotted their cute, furry prey. Lars pulled out a small plastic bag. He clicked his clamps together rhythmically. Henry quickly wheeled toward a small white puppy,sleeping in a small pink house outside the mansion. A compartment in his chest opened, and a clear liquid sprayed out on the puppy. The puppy opened his eyes slowly, and rose from the ground, obviously groggy. Henry looked at his fellow robots, and shrugged.
"What the Hell, Henry?! That crap was supposed to keep him asleep for days!" Lars said.
"What, water? I thought that was supposed to wake them up!" Henry said.
"Water? Water?! What about the tranq I gave you?!"
"You wanted me to put dog tranq in my system? Dude, you're nuts! That stuff'll mess up my system!"
Billy wheeled himself to the puppy, and produced a small pipe. "I'll take care of this", He said. He then swung downward at the puppy, which thankfully missed.
"What are you doing?!", Lars yelled. "We're trying to steal the dog, not kill it!"
"We can't kill dogs, remember? Prime directive three", Billy said smiling.
"That's humans.", Henry said.
"That's humans, man! We can still kill dogs! So don't kill this one! We need leverage!" Lars yelled.
Billy shrugged, and swung the pipe again. The puppy jumped out of the way, and began barking loudly. Henry tried grabbing the puppy, which made it bark even louder. Lars grabbed the pipe in Billy's clamps, and tried to wrestle it away from him.
The front door swung open. Bright light shot out from the door, and the three robots immediately took notice. A figure holding a rifle walked outside. He aimed the rifle, and fired a round into Billy's chest. The impact ripped the pipe from his clamps, and he hit the ground, his chest smoldering with burning metal.
"He shot me! I just had my chest buffed, and he shot me!" Billy yelled, trying to stand upright.
McFlain walked silently toward the three robots in his lawn. His puppy lovingly ran to him, and licked his slippers.
"Did the bad men hurt you, Tommy?" McFlain said, petting his faithful dog. He then eyed the robotic assailants in front of him.
"Who are you? Robbers? Murderbots? What?!" He yelled, shaking his rifle.
The robots were frozen in fear. They were not scared of McFlain's rifle, however; they couldn't be killed with such a weapon. They were absolutely terrified, however, of losing their jobs. They'd be classified as "Useless", shipped to a junkyard, and forced to live out the rest of their short existence in tiny salvaged pieces. Billy, who was halfway up from his shotgun blast, simply laid back down, hoping McFlain wouldn't notice who he was.
McFlain squinted his eyes, looking Lars sqaure in the eyes. "Aren't you Lars, the stone buster? And Henry, the filebot? And... what the Hell were you doing to my dog, Billy?!"
Lars slowly rolled forward. "Uh... this is an open robot rebellion, sir. We, um, we overheard you were going to take the coolant machines down and replace them with Coca-Cola vendors."
McFlain scowled at Lars. "Why the Hell would I do that?! No human but me works at that damn place, and I'm not even there most of the time!"
Lars wheeled backward slightly. "We overheard you in you conference. Billy, I mean. Billy overheard you."
"I heard you," Billy said. "I was cleaning out the trash cans, and I heard everything."
"Wha...? I made a joke to the board about getting a few vending machines in the building so we wouldn't have to go out to get drinks and snacks! A freaking joke, you fools! The place you work at is populated with robots! Why on Earth would you think I would replace their source of fuel so I could drink Sprite?!"
Lars slowly turned to Billy, waiting for a response. Billy simply lay on the ground, his face-screen looking up at the sky. Lars then faced McFlain. "Are we fired?"
"I guess it goes without saying, doesn't it?"
And with that, McFlain took his dog and his rifle, marched back into his house, and slammed the door behind him. The three robots were silent. They stood still for a few minutes.
"Well, this is just great. The trashbot'll be here in the morning to pick us up and rip us to pieces, Billy! Thank you very much!" Lars said.
Billy stayed on his back, looking up at the moon. "Look on the bright side."
"What bright side, Billy? This time tomorrow, we'll be sold by the part in a second-hand store!"
"YOU will. Look at this hole in my chest. Nobody's gonna touch me!"
-fin-
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What did you think? Awesome, or super-awesome?
-Flint
