Chapter 6 : Six Plus Six Equals Wasted Pryce


It's a very bustling region, filled with busy inhabitants. People say it's not, but it has a helluva more business-like stature than Hoenn could ever hope for.

There's a lot of hustle and bustle, but as you reach Mahogany Town, you'll see that even big regions have country-like towns.

But of course the only reason anybody passes this little town called Mahogany is because of their gym. The gym, which is a brick building filled with chilly ice, is a wonder to see.

Not their gym leader, though.

Meet Pryce Jenkins, the old man in charge of this gym. About sixty, this guy has very bad temper tantrums unless he has his Piloswine and a bottle of some form of alcohol with him. Or, to be more accurate, a bottle of some form of alcohol.

Anyway, one day as Pryce was sitting in his wheelchair counting his Social Security pension, his wife, Sheila, came up to him. " Pryce ? Blaine called. He wants to know if you want to go to the bar in Olivine City. "

In an instant the grumpy old man shined a hearty smile. " Sure ! I'll be there as soon as possible ! "

Sheila sighed. " You're not gonna get drunk again, are you ? "

Pryce shrugged. " Eh. You can't tell me what to do, woman. I'm sixty-two. I can do whatever the hell I want ! "

So the old man quickly vanished outside to booze himself up with his best friend, Blaine Brimstone of Cinnabar Island.

A familiar sight at the Olivine Olive Pub. Blaine, getting really drunk with shots of tequila, and Pryce, getting wasted with a six-pack.

No, wait. He did it double. He got a wasted on a twelve pack.

" YAAAAAAAAAH ! I LIKE CHICKEEEEEN ! " Pryce screeched as he gulped down a bottle of beer.

Blaine nodded. " Me too ! And I like FIAH ! "

" Fire sucks, man ! " Pryce said as he wiped the foam off of his lips.

" No, it doesn't ! "

" Yes, it does ! "

" No, it doesn't ! "

" Yes, it does ! "

Blaine stood up from his seat. " You wanna fight over it, Jenknis ?! "

Pryce nodded as he grabbed his stool and smashed it on Blaine's head. " Sure thing, Brimstone ! "

And so the two old men started to fight. Blaine, who was only slightly more sober, seemed to have the advantage over Pryce, who was so bombed that he couldn't even see straight.

Things surprise people, though, and Pryce somehow grabbed a shotgun and pointed it at Blaine. His grumpy demeanor turned into a coldhearted, douchy figure. " Okay, Blaine. I need you to do something for me. "

" Yeah ? What do you want ? " Blaine inquired, whimpering.

" Uh...could you drive me home ? I just pissed myself, so I'm pretty sure that I'm done for the night. "

Blaine facefaulted. " You have got to be kidding me. "

" No...didn't you hear me ?! I said I just pissed myself ! "

The fiery old man groaned. " Well, I can't drive. I got that D.U.I. last week, and that Officer Jenny has a vendetta thing planned out for me should I attempt to drive a car or a truck or a school bus again. "

Pryce sweatdropped. Blaine hushed him as he continued. " However, there is one way I can get you home to your ugly shrimpy wife. "

(Somewhere in Goldenrod...)


Pryce was shoved into the wagon as Blaine fastened it to the little girl bike that they had stolen. Pryce scratched his head. " Blaine, are you my mommy ? "

" BE QUIET ! " Blaine hissed. " The cops are about one hundred yards from us, and I'm not going to jail again with that crazy guy Eusine ! "

Blaine looked both ways before pedaling the bike towards Mahogany Town. Of course, as we all know, if they would've just taken the bus at Olivine City, Pryce would probably be at his home by now. But, as we all know, these two old guys wanted to do it the criminal style.

So they pedaled and pedaled. Soon, as Blaine passed out due to too much Tequila and Nyquil, the two fell into a bush somewhere near the Lake of Rage.

(Lake of Rage...)

" Look ! I'm home ! " Pryce cried as he jumped into the lake.

Blaine sweatdropped. " Pryce ? That really isn't a good idea..."

Ten seconds later, Pryce's corpse floated atop of the lake. Blaine's jaw dropped. " Oops. And he was so close too. Well, better go tell his wife and plan out a legend for him. "

And that is what Blaine did. He got sober, told (and bitchslapped) Sheila of Pryce's demise, and wrote The Legend of the Wasted Pryce. Truth is, nobody really cared about him, so nobody missed him and nobody cared.

And that is what ends the tale of the last time that Pryce got drunk.