Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon, and I wear that like a badge of honor.
I hope anyone who has read this before will enjoy the revised version, which lengthened the original and took the few bits of dialogue out of script format. If you don't like it, well, I hope you saved the original copy, because there will be no further changes unless I see fit, and they won't be to put it back into script format. Enjoy.
If you are in the Pokemon section of this site, you've heard of it. It's 99.9 percent likely you've heard of it. But for those precious .1 percent of people who are here for no real reason, here's a little taste of the long-forgotten sensation that you've missed.
Once upon a time in the land of Poke-Earth, Ash Ketchum (FUNNY PUN GET IT HA HA BECAUSE HE CATCHES LITTLE POKEYMAN THINGS AND SHIT), Misty Waterflower (BECAUSE SHE USES WATERY POKEYMANS), and Brock Samson... er, I mean, uh... well, okay, let's go with Stone (HE LIKES POKEY ROCKS), because I can't find the last name anywhere and, besides, that would make his dad's name Flint Stone. If you don't get the joke, then you're beyond my help when it comes to pop culture references from the mid-60s.
Anyway, these three are up and about and as productive as you can imagine, especially Pikachu, Ash's annoying little companion who often shouts his own name for no important reason and, on a semi regular basis, shoots millions of volts of pure piss yellow electricity through Ash's entire body and all it's systems. Ash is still very much alive, but very much retarded, though I don't think he needed Pikachu's shock treatment for that. Misty's little companion, Togepi, is pretty much the same way, only it can't shoot thunder and be yellow, so it's COMPLETELY fucking useless. But at least it's safe for petting and snuggling and all that useless shit that girly girls like Misty are wont to do.
Oh, and both Pikachu and Togepi are allergic to Ritalin, so Ash and Co. are just plain old shit out of luck. I'd feel bad for them, but they're too oblivious (read: dumb) to realize how brain-melting irritating that name repeating shit gets on a daily basis.
But, honestly, if I could name my pet and that pet repeated the name I gave it in different inflections and variations for the rest of its life, that would be some fun. I'd probably name it something crazy like "HEY ASSHOLE MAKE ME SOME PANCAKES." And then I'd be like "OKAY, GOOD BOY."
...Where was I? Right, Pokemon.
Okay, so now Brock is up making food while Ash and Misty are having a polite discussion- err, I mean arguing obnoxiously about what direction to go in so they can get to the next town. Yee-haw. Feel the tension. By the way, Ash and Misty are both wrong, but they always go in Ash's direction, which is significantly more wrong than Misty's direction. Why Ash's direction, you ask? Because he's the Pokemon Master. Bow before him, all of you pathetically insignificant fools. Anyhow, the group eats to their hearts content once Brock's blind ass gets finished cooking, especially Ash, who eats roughly the same amount of food as a herd of genetically altered hippos and elephants with eight stomachs... per stomach.
Now that the group is finished sitting absolutely still and wasting your time, watching Ash graze like a damn animal and talking about nothing, they took to doing what they were second best at besides pissing me off: walking aimlessly and stumbling upon random shit. But, if you ask them, they're just going toward some city with some gym that uses some type of Pokemon and offers some badge. To be honest, it really doesn't matter much. Everyone knows Ash is just going to win anyway because he's the Pokemon Master, and you better not forget it you little poser bitch. Okay, so halfway to whatever European hovel they're going toward by taking Ash's path, Misty's level of bitchity goes into MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE (PMS).
MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE MISTY, with the help of her MAXIMUM BLEEDING VAGINA, goes and picks another meaningless, ear shattering argument with Ash that ends with Ash being pulverized with a huge hammer Misty hides in God knows where. Brock would normally do something about it other than try to talk calmly to them, but he can't, because he is one hundred percent incapable of seeing. Let me explain: In the cartoon, it may look like he can see, but they are only cleverly editing out all the shots where Brock runs into something, which is hard because it happens like every twelve seconds. You may ask, "But Ned, if he can't see, how come he is always able to see how pretty girls are?" Simple. He can smell them, and his mind can create an outline of what they look like. Or something.
Okay, look. Just look at him. His eyes are lines. No evidence can support any theory that he can see out of those damn things. He's blind. Horribly blind. Got it? Good.
Picking up where we left off, which was in the middle of ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOWHERE, the group is still walking about, and at this point, any normal group of people would be getting mauled by bears or Jason Voorhees or bears wearing hockey masks and holding machetes and repeating JASON VOORHEESU in a loud, squeaky voice eternally, but not this little group of heroes. We can only thank Poke-God for how lucky we are. But, just as they're about to reach an untimely death from starvation and exposure to the elements OH MY GOD WHO SHOULD APPEAR BUT THE INFAMOUS...
COMMERCIAL BREAK MY THUMBS