“Contrary to what TV may have taught you,” Charlie says, “it’s not actually compulsory to throw the ball across the room like a twat.”
You know how you were saying that I'm brilliant?
Well, I'm not. You are.
I'll bet Charlie insists on fighting David's Pokemon (with his own, not just, like, running around drop-kicking them into walls) to show him how to protect himself in the likely event of a Pokemon battle.
("I hate to break it to you," says David, "but the chances of my entering a Pokemon battle are extremely unlikely. I have, after all, lasted this long without getting into pissing matches with complete strangers. I just explain to them that I don't want to fight them and that I don't have a Pokemon!"
"Oh, I bet you did as well," says Charlie, looking appalled. "Well, I'm sorry, but you can't do that anymore. There are rules about this sort of thing, and one of them is that you can't walk away from a battle."
"So the rules say that, if I have a Pokemon, I'm suddenly obliged to pit it against other people's?! Christ, that's horrible! It's like a socially acceptable form of animal abuse! Don't they get a say in this? Don't I get a say in this? I don't want to spend even a second of my time participating in another in a long line of archaic blood sports, designed to make the winning party feel secure in the knowledge that his cock is ultimately the biggest.")
Except David looks so stricken every time his Pokemon takes a hit, even if it's just a gentle one - and his Graveler didn't half look confused when Charlie told him to tone it down a bit - that Charlie ends up feeling like the bastard.
no subject
You know how you were saying that I'm brilliant?
Well, I'm not. You are.
I'll bet Charlie insists on fighting David's Pokemon (with his own, not just, like, running around drop-kicking them into walls) to show him how to protect himself in the likely event of a Pokemon battle.
("I hate to break it to you," says David, "but the chances of my entering a Pokemon battle are extremely unlikely. I have, after all, lasted this long without getting into pissing matches with complete strangers. I just explain to them that I don't want to fight them and that I don't have a Pokemon!"
"Oh, I bet you did as well," says Charlie, looking appalled. "Well, I'm sorry, but you can't do that anymore. There are rules about this sort of thing, and one of them is that you can't walk away from a battle."
"So the rules say that, if I have a Pokemon, I'm suddenly obliged to pit it against other people's?! Christ, that's horrible! It's like a socially acceptable form of animal abuse! Don't they get a say in this? Don't I get a say in this? I don't want to spend even a second of my time participating in another in a long line of archaic blood sports, designed to make the winning party feel secure in the knowledge that his cock is ultimately the biggest.")
Except David looks so stricken every time his Pokemon takes a hit, even if it's just a gentle one - and his Graveler didn't half look confused when Charlie told him to tone it down a bit - that Charlie ends up feeling like the bastard.