344 - Pokimortal


Tangela!” you shout as you spy the soggy mess of blue-dyed leather straps on the sidewalk.

“No, baby that’s-“ (not a Pokèmon) your mother tries to tell you, but her efforts come a split second too late.

You have already scooped up the loose mass of halfway-to-moldy hide strips and gulped them all down like so much disgusting spaghetti. You have a poor understanding of the finer operational details, or even really the basic rules, of the Pokèmon games.

Your mother gasps in shock and grabs you by the shoulders. “Why would you do that?” she begs to know. Her confusion, though understandable, is mostly her fault. Maybe she should have watched your cartoons with you instead of screening Highlander on her tablet right next to you.

Your mind has a way of mixing information, and mixed well it has.

“I caught them all!” you proclaim “I know everything! I am everything! Kurgan, I choose you!”

Your omnipotence is short-lived. Your body quickly rejects your pica(pika?)-induced meal and you fomite blue strings back onto the concrete path.

“What is wrong with you?” your mother asks.

“There can only be one hundred and fifty,” you say. You know your mother is just jealous of your newfound power. Well, Ash McCleod has an answer for that.