Confessions of an American Pokium-Eater

Friends and readers, I have been hit by the so-called PokeBug. No, not the cool kind a la District 9 where I steadily gain a South African accent and turn into a Pokemon. I have the other type of PokeBug, where you neglect your Econ summaries in favour of searching two hours for an Eevee which is supposed to have a 5% appearance right but really doesn’t because someone apparently hates me. Think Thomas de Quincey, but instead of laudanum I eat  Pokemon…just not literally…because that would be weird.

My transformation from “normal human being” to “currently struggling not to spend morning playing video game and only succeeding because I know my lit professor is evil and I’m actually enjoying Candide” occurred nigh instantaneously, leading me into this labyrinth of suffering. I suppose the root cause of my insanity would have to be weakness of will. I’ve always been partial to adorable little cartoon sprites that don’t judge me for playing a children’s game several hours out of my day, and any time I get a new game this happens. I do it to myself. I play for hours on end for maybe two weeks and then I crawl back into my cave and forget Pokemon exists. It is inevitable, like urination.

Kids, don’t play Pokemon. It’s not worth it. You’ll forget about all your awesome friends and outside and books and learning and all those magical things and the next time you look in the mirror you’ll be a little Smeagol.

Parents, don’t let your children play Pokemon. You don’t want them to end up like me, do you?

~~La Stranezza

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