• There were no words to describe how annoying this delusional, half-witted, self-righteous, impulsive brat was to the little electric mouse, who was now being dragged through the dirt trail that marked the beginning of their journey, despite digging his heels in and whining ever since they left that good-for-nothing Pallet Town. What mother in her right mind would send their boneheaded ten-year-old to travel across the world alone anyway? This guy was persistent, he had to admit that; at least he thought of using rubber gloves to pull the rope that was tied around Pikachu’s middle, otherwise he would have electrocuted the punk for the forth time that day. The fact that he was somehow still alive was inconceivable to Pikachu. That boy was a miracle child.

    “Why can’t we be friends?” The naïve boy had asked multiple times that morning, and was now reiterating his question. Pikachu’s answer hadn’t changed from the irritated, “Pika, pika! Pikachu!” Which more than likely translated to, “Because I don’t like you!”

    Finally, the boy looked like he was ready to give up. After hours of whining to have his way, perhaps it had actually gotten through his head…what was his name again? Ash? Ketchup? Mr. Miscarriage-That-Survived? Whatever. Maybe it had gotten through his head that there would be no controlling the electric rodent, or demanding that he fight on his behalf. If he wanted more Pokémon so badly, he could fight them himself.

    The imbecile got down on one knee and untied the rope, then discarded his mother’s rubber kitchen gloves in the high hopes of earning the small creature’s trust.] “There, is that better?” Nope. Pikachu whipped his head away stubbornly, and gave a curt, “Pika.”

    “Would an apple make you feel better?” Did he really think he could win him over with food? Before Pikachu could retaliate, he overheard a familiar, “Hey, Ash!” followed by an excitable, “Squirtle! Squirtle!” It was Gary Oak, the brat’s apparent rival and the grandson of that old coot. Well, they could fight like little girls over who would “catch ‘em all” for all Pikachu cared. He was much too delighted to see a friendly face. Pikachu pounced on all fours with his paws barely kissing the ground, and frolicked over to greet his old friend in their Pokémon dialect.

    “Hey, Pikachu! How’s it going?”

    “Horribly, I can’t seem to get rid of this kid. He’s so stupid. He completely forgot to pack food and the apples he picked have worms in them,” The yellow mouse explained to his water-type comrade, waving his small arms to animate his dilemma.

    “Yeah, mine’s pretty dumb, too. Before leaving Pallet Town, we went to his sister’s house. While he was packing, I took some of the spices and replaced them with weed. Pretty cool, huh? And the saltshaker actually has cocaine in it. I’m getting this kid high off his a**, than leaving him to join my gang. You interested?”

    “Hell yeah, I am! We can use the kid’s bag to store your goods. I put some crystal meth and Molly in Ash’s. He actually thought the Molly was sugar and the crystal meth was a water evolution stone for an Eevee. Say, will I get any of those cool shades your gang wears?” Squirtle nodded in reply, adding, “Of course! This is going to be great!” While the two Pokémon conversed, their trainers looked at them dumbfounded. Then, Gary snapped his fingers and with every bit of melodramatic enthusiasm, called out, “Ash, I challenge you to a Pokémon battle! Squirtle, get ready!” Ash equaled his ridiculous showmanship.

    “Argh, you’ll regret this, Gary! I’ll show you! Pikachu, I choose you!” For the first time that whole day, Pikachu took a fighting stance, as did his water-type comrade. Once again, in their unintelligible Pokémon speech, Squirtle said, "I got the Mama’s boy. You take out Gaylord behind me. All those girls he drives around with are just a cover-up.”

    “Yes, sir!” The electric mouse’s red cheeks began to produce sparks in anticipation for the short-lived battle that was going to take place.

    “Pikachu, thunder shock attack!”

    “Squirtle, use water gun! Now!” The two Pokémon obeyed their delusional trainers; only they aimed for different targets that weren’t the intended ones. Pikachu leaped into the air and shocked Gary until every single hair on his body stood on end and the hopeless child passed out from electrical burns. Simultaneously, Squirtle blasted water from his open orifice directly at Ash, causing a resounding snap in four of his rips. He, too, fainted. While Squirtle retrieved Gary’s backpack and Yin-Yang charm necklace, Pikachu took the liberty of stealing Ash’s hat and putting it on backwards before tugging the green backpack he had off his shoulders and slinging it onto his own.

    “Are we ready? Should we bother hiding the bodies?” Squirtle asked, fetching a pair of shades he tucked away into Gary’s belongings as well as a matching pair for his partner.

    “No, let's leave them here. The Pidgeots will eat them. Hold on, I need a blunt,” Pikachu said, pulling out some square pieces of paper, tobacco, and rolling it into a death stick to place between his lips. Squirtle produced a lighter from Gary’s backpack and did the honors of lighting the butt of the cigarette. Feeling relieved, Pikachu and Squirtle started walking off into the thick, tall grass, never to be seen by their trainers again. And everyone lived happily ever after. The end.