Charlie rose from his seat, brushing his fingers forward to send Charmander into action.
“Fine then, Charmander. David’s dribbling a little, why don’t you help him mop it up.”
David stiffened.
“Fine, bro, you asked for it. Squirtle, I t’ink dat Charlie’s pants are on fire, why don’t you hose him down?”
For those of you who are waiting for tonight’s chapter, I’m afraid to say that it won’t be up until tomorrow, due to heavy work loads this week.
Then after that every chapter will (hopefully) be posted every Thursday as normal!
ROBERT WEBB
A shit trainer with a shit Pokemon and a brain the size of a bacteria’s nuclei. He doesn’t understand the rules of Pokemon let alone how to raise, train and battle with one. He was cast out by David the moment he was born and by Charlie a few years later when he caught him trying to dry hump his Snorlax doll. Ever since then, Robert has been the village idiot of Pallet Town with no hope of escape or a taste of the outside world. But after a terrible incident involving a Pidgey, a baseball bat and some Viagra, his mother and father want rid of him so they’ve sent him off to the Laboratory to get his Pokemon and get the hell away from them.
The bush exploded in a flurry of feathers, spitting and cawing and scratching. The thing, whatever it was, spewed towards Charlie, knocking his cigarette from his hand and slapping him hard across the face.
“The fuck—” he started, but the spitting, cawing, scratching thing wasn’t finished. The Professor cried with fear, Charlie could almost hear the sound of a large one curling in his underwear as the Pokemon went for Charlie once more. It was a Pidgey, about the side of Charlie’s hand, terrified by the sound of the Professor’s barking.
We’ll be switching off messages to the blog so that it’ll be story and updates only. If you’d like to message us to say what you thought of the story, could you please message either myself or Liberty. We’d really appreciate it and we’d love to hear what you thought of our handywork!
Just an update to let you know that we will be posting a new chapter every Thursday evening!
DAVID MOTHERFUCKING MITCHELL
David is cool and hipster and generally 100 times better than Charlie. His wit is better, his clothes are better, his sex-drive is better, but his hair isn’t. Whatever Charlie does, David does it better. He’s just the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best, and you know it. He is also an outright whore, the dirty beggar. His parents are, of course very proud of him and have packed his bags all ready for him to go off on his wild adventure; his mother is weeping at his bedside and his father has a milky tear crawling down his cheek. Their little stud-muffin’s all grown up.
PROFESSOR FRY
An older gentlemen who has retired from travelling the world gathering information on pokemon. His pokemon knowledge makes up for the fact that he his very forgetful concerning anything not pokemon oriantated, ie. your name, his grandson’s name, whether you are male or female etc. Many people believe he holds some sort of magicial powers, say you were 100 miles away from Pallet Town and think “Hey, I want to ride my bike in this Pokemart.” Professor Fry’s head would appear in mid-air and glare at you. “Now is not the time for that, boy. Don’t be a dick.”
CHARLIE BROOKER
He is a 40 year old ‘boy’ living in Pallet Town with his mother. His arch-nemesis is David Mitchell. He’s his own spirit, a free child or whatever but whenever David is near he tries to act cool but fails miserably. He’s never had a girlfriend in his life because David always pips him to the post. Charlie believes that if he can’t beat his arch nemesis in sexual prowess, he can beat him with Pokemon. Because clearly they’re identical and give back identical pleasures. Charlie wants rid of his home life, his father left many, many years ago and his mother only ever seems to be a crooning, whining, high-pitched voice in the background with no body and no real purpose other than to make him look like a tit in front of everyone else. But maybe that’s all the authors’ fault, who knows?
Anonymous
