Editorial: Elvis Appeared to Me While Playing Pokémon, Asked For Taco

By Paul St. Fakename, Esq.

Porn Queen

Will someone please explain to me what this whole Pokémon thing is about??? (Editor’s Note: This is not actually an invitation to e-mail the editor and explain what this whole Pokémon thing is about. Get a life. I’m SORRY The Phantom Menace did not live up to your high expectations. Life sucks, usually on a 9 to 5 basis.) When did being cute and pudgy become the basis of a video game? Shit, I’ve got the potential for five games in my ass alone.

After extensive research, I’ve found that the object of Pokémon is to find the dead, naked body of Richard Nixon and fix upon it an ass-whuppin’ the likes of which no Presidential cadaver has ever seen. Then again, I have been drinking. Always remember, if you piss yourself, the cops can’t arrest you. It’s some kind of Irish thing.

Okay, so the real object of Pokémon is to tame all these cute little pocket monsters and then train them to go out and beat up on other people’s pocket monsters. Why didn’t they just call it "Learn to be John Gotti"? I honestly can’t believe that parents actually think this is a better video game for kids than Doom, a game where you mercilessly kill things that are just unquestionably evil and, more importantly, ugly. Tammy Faye Bakker ugly. Yes, Doom is terribly addictive and horribly violent. But at least it doesn’t use the animated equivalent of bunny rabbits to nurture and groom the next Khmer Fucking Rouge. Yeah, let’s teach our five year olds to manipulate their peers to achieve total domination of kindergarten. Because, dammit, Pol Pot was really a helluva Democrat. All he needed was Dick Morris and deeper graves.

Where was I? Oh yeah...I was visited by Our Lord and Savior Elvis Presley while playing Pokémon. He asked me to get him a taco. So I asked him, "Why’d you keep the sideburns?" He said, "Please?" So I told him that I don’t fetch no tacos for no low-rent Luke Perry wanna-be motherfucker. Then he tried to get Pikachu on my ass so I shoved an old bass guitar up where 50 million Elvis fans can be wrong. Then I bought myself a taco. Best damned taco I ever ate.

I’m willing to bet that at least half the people reading this are not wearing pants. THE PORNO SITE HAS MOVED. PLEASE UPDATE YOUR BOOKMARK, FUCKHEAD.

When I get a little time off this is what I’m gonna do. First, I’m going to hunt and train the Smurfs as my own personal pocket monsters. Like they have other plans, anyway. Christ, I’m pretty sure I saw them camping off a highway in Arizona toasting Ho-Ho's and singing Kumbaya in some kind of funky Jamaican accent. Then we’re going after Elvis with a flamethrower and a rack of lamb. I’m sorry, but nobody but that guy from the Rockford Files appears in my fucking video games and, even then, only after 14 shots of bourbon or a heavy night of huffin’ to Tony Bennett tunes at the Flamingo. After that we take over Nintendo and I name myself the new Supreme Donkey-wearing Donut-eating Mofo of the Universe. Then I bang Smurfette and ride at dawn. Jack Kerouac can smoke my big fat salami. On rye.

Maybe I’m all wrong on Pokémon. Maybe it didn’t cause all those kids in Colorado and Georgia to go nuts after seeing big fat Elvises running after them like barbiturate cheeseburgers. But I doubt it. Hey, remember that Pokémon cartoon episode that caused 700 Japanese kids to have seizures back in ‘97? Well I watched it about 57 times while researching this column and I didn’t even twitch once. I still can’t find my own nutsack and think my wife’s name is Larry but, dammit, I didn’t even twitch. Hell, I got a better buzz off that Olean crap, no pun intended. If parents want to think that Doom is killing their schoolchildren but Pokémon is the perfect game for that little ankle-biter they call a nephew, fine. I’ll just sit here naked with Elvis and Richard Nixon, trying to find my balls, waiting patiently for Larry to bring me another beer.

Main Archive Table of Contents

June, 1999 Issue Table of Contents

Elvis... Pokémon   Losers With Guns   Holy Trinity

Moon Walk

Undergarments For Alcoholics   Trenchcoat Mafia   Tips For Living   Silence of The Lambs II

The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.