IceKing
31st March 2007, 01:52 PM
A short, comedic ditty. Enjoy!
It was hot.
It was broiling like a lonely Jynx’s uterus. The evil sun cackled at his melting victims in the colossal coliseum below. Their flesh oozed with salty sweat, eroding the cheap wooden stands they laid back on. Far too little people had remembered to wear their deodorant today; the collective stench was worse than a Grimer’s backside. Some of the poor foolish chaps had attempted to defy the great Sun’s power by fanning themselves lackadaisically with their programs. Oh, but the victims failed miserably. They were being cooked alive while greedy mosquitoes tried to take early munches to their tired meal’s indifference. Nothing could move their bottoms from their seats now; nothing could swerve their eyes from the center field of the stadium, for it was the finals of the Red-Orange Pokemon League!
Eight badges, several toils and tribulations, and one evil team overthrown later, sixty-four contestants had managed to make it to the glorious Olympus Stadium to have their swipe at the Red-Orange Trophy, eternal glory, and plenty of roadies! Now it was down to only two contenders, Ferdinand Marquee and Narcissa Nelsen. Both were a fresh eighteen years old and equally vivacious, neither missed out on an opportunity to liquefy their enemy.
Though only eighteen, Ferdinand appeared thirty with his thick, dirty beard and stone-cold gray eyes. Deep lines had etched onto his face from every time he victored over Team Aero. He took off his Dragonite-hide jacket and wore only a simple white t-shirt, large puddles of sweat revealing his sides. He was a Man’s man and not about to lose to some girly! In contrast, Narcissa Nelsen had a youthful, round face, still wearing her cherry hair in pigtails. But she had battle scars of her own: she was tanner than her Tauros boots and nursed a broken arm from when she had recently taken down the evil Democratic Party. Narcissa’s face was beaming and confident, unlike Ferdinand’s somber ready-to-kill snarl. The lady had dominated the battle for the last half of the battle, and intended to keep the winning streak going!
The once grassy-field dividing them was obliterated away; the verdant grass was charred and crumbled at the slightest breath of air, the surrounding winds had become soggy with ash, causing the nearby people to choke as it slithered into their lungs. But Narcissa and Ferdinand were not wheezing. They simply sniffed their nostrils shut as the ashes fluttered by and continued to stare each other down, Narcissa particularly angry. Ferdinand’s Steelix was being crushed by her Magmar and one more blow would have knocked him out, but the so called “Man’s man” ordered his Steelix to use Explosion in a battlefield covered in smog, easily defeating Magmar and destroying the battlefield in the process. The vents had started going and soon the battlefield would be ready for battle once more. Both twirled their last pokeballs eagerly, they saved the best for last!
Suddenly, a massive rumbling sounded through the entire stadium, shaking the rickety stands rather ominously. The vaporized center field was the source of the commotion, as it slowly sank to the nether lands below, leaving a pitch-black gaping hole in its place. As soon as the noise settled, a new rumbling replaced it as a plain white battlefield ascended to its place. It took several minutes, but the stadium was dead quiet, the dust had cleared, and the ash had disappeared. The time had come to finish the battle!
Frau Moleman, the infamous dwarf referee, stepped into the battlefield, armed with one scarlet flag and one emerald flag, and gave a quick glance toward Ferdinand and Narcissa. They were ready.
“Let the final round of the Redorange Pokemon League Championship commence!”
“Crush this little lady for me!”
“Show this hotshot up!”
They tossed their pokeballs high into the air, the audience held their breaths as they watched the shiny silver orbs pirouetting through the air, ready to reveal the mighty contestants of the epic battle. After what seemed to be eons, the two halves of the ball split, firing a red beam toward the respective ends of the field. The audience’s sweat-drenched butts slid ever so closely to the edge of their seats as the pokemon began to materialize…
“WOBBBBUFFET!”
“WYYYYANNNAUT!”
“Err…”
It was certainly an awkward moment. Everyone, from the audience to the referee to the battlers to the mosquitoes had gawked silently at the field. At one end, there was a tall and sturdy turquoise blob. It stood as solid as a Buckingham Soldier, rectangle arms glued tightly to its sides exclaiming “WOBBBUFET!”. On the other side of the field was a miniature version of the Wobbuffett, barely a sixth of its size, hopping in place ecstatically with its long ears flapping squealing, “Wy-a-naut!”
A very dull battle awaited.
Ferdinand and Narcissa exchanged disgusted looks. They were supposed to shock the other with their odd choice of a pokemon, and then defeat them in a shocking upset, making their championship the most famous of Red-Orange Pokemon League History! But they had pulled the same strategy against each other! Wobbuffet and Wynaut had no offensive moves—what were they going to do? Meanwhile, the silence in the stadium had escalated into a gentle murmur as the audience members whispered amongst each other what would happen next. The referee was speaking into his ear-piece, looking rather angry.
Several minutes of this confusion passed, the two pokemon were indifferent to what was going on, Wobbuffet still adamant and Wynaut still hyper. Finally, Moleman blew his whistle shrilly, bringing immediate silence to the stadium.
“I have just spoken to the tournament officials…and errm…the battle WILL go on!”
The silence immediately broke and shouts of annoyance and boos (as well as boo-urns) came from the audience: they came for a blockbuster battle with gigantic pokemon and lots of firepower, not two dumb blobs smiling stupidly at each other! Moleman ducked his head as a torrent of popcorn and soda bottles rained down on him, while the previously shell-shocked trainers now refused to make eye-contact with anyone. The only beings that remained static were the pokemon who everyone hated in the first place, Wobbuffet still standing perfectly still and Wynaut still hopping energetically.
“How will this battle go anywhere?” Ferdinand cried out to Moleman, red in embarrassment.
“It’s possible,” Narcissa grumbled. Of course, no one could hear her the first time so she had to shout it a second time.
“No…No f’ing way!”
“Yeah. We have to exhaust all our moves until our pokemon start using struggle!”
Both trainers looked down at their pokemon despondently and sighed. Half the audience had already left; their attention spans were much too limited for their own good. The trainers gave a fleeting glance at the referee one final time, hoping that he could pull some last minute strings. But all he returned was a disappointed shrug.
The magnificent battle commenced.
“Counter!”
“Mirror Coat!”
Wobbuffet glowed a fiery red waiting to reflect a physical attack, while Wynaut erupted into a spectrum of rainbow colors, ready to counter elemental forces. Of course, with no attack to reflect, the attacks faded within seconds. And the pattern continued…
One hour later
“Mirr Cot…”
“Coner…”
The one good thing to say about the battle was that the sun was no longer hanging directly over them. But it was still hot. Hotter than the undersides of a Snorlax’s love handles. Frau Moleman wasn’t even bothering to watch the match anymore; instead, he was inspecting the cuticles on his fingers the size of baby carrots. Ferdinand and Narcissa hung over the railings of their trainer’s box, slurring half the letters of their commands. Only about fifty or so people remained in the stands, glued to the edge of their seat, bloodshot eyes eagerly wide open in anticipation of the imminent move that would make Red-Orange League History…
“WOBBUFET!”
“WYNAUT!”
The crimson and rainbow auras blazed once more, and the pokemon were more than content with the repetitive pattern, the only remotely interesting thing happening in the past hour being Wynaut hopping two seconds later than he should in one instance. The trainers began to glare murderously at the pokemon, hoping for one of them, even their own, to randomly suffer a heart attack and die. Anything to get the battle over with. Except for forfeiting. They wouldn’t forfeit with a knife at their throat. But, alas, the pokemon weren’t about to die of natural causes, and they knew it.
Neither pokemon had budged an inch from their original positions, Wynaut’s hopping had become slower by about a half a meter per second, but still, the dull monotony of the battle would never cease. Ferdinand couldn’t take it any longer. He hadn’t come this far to win like this!
“THAT’S IT! I’VE HAD IT! WOBBUFET, STOP ATTACKING AND JUST GO BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF THAT WYNAUT!”
“You can’t do that! That’s not an official pokemon attack!” Narcissa cried in retaliation. In a battle of pure brawn, Wobbufet’s size would surely overcome Wynaut.
“Watch me!” Ferdinand growled, his fist in the air and his eyes on fire. The audience began to perk up; things were getting more interesting now.
“WOBBUFFET!”
The blob pokemon began to wobble duck-footedly towards the little Wynaut his arms flailing in the air and panting heavily before he even ran a few feet. Wynaut still bounced stupidly in the air, unafraid of the pokemon half-charging at it. Narcissa began to sweat.
“Run, Wynaut! Run!”
It was actually an amusing sight. Two cyan globules chasing each other in circles around a plain battlefield, at the speed of a one-legged Rapidash. What was particularly amusing was that their dispositions hadn’t changed at all, one was still grinning stupidly and the other was still unnaturally staid. Wobbufet was beginning to gain on Wynaut, running faster by the minute. Wynaut began hopping as he ran…until—
“WYYY!”
“WYNAUT!” Narcissa shrieked.
Upon one of his landings, Wynaut had stumbled and fell smack forward onto the ground, leaving him vulnerable as his opponent dove down into him, crushing him with nearly eight times his weight. A collective groan filled the stadium as Ferdinand beamed.
“That’s what I’m talking about! Kick his ass!”
Wobbuffet did as he was ordered and peeled himself off of the squashed Wynaut and commenced to stamp down on the pancake’s rear-end until it turned bright red. All the while, Ferdinand cackled madly while Frau Moleman hung his head down in disgust and Narcissa covered her streaming eyes, unable to bear the symbolic rape of her pokemon. The cruel pokemon pounced on his opponent once more, slapping it with its flimsy arms until it could take no longer.
“ENOUGH! THIS BATTLE HEREBY OVER!” Frau Moleman shouted, raising the green flag in Ferdinand’s favor.
“YAY! I WON! I WON!” Ferdinand shouted frantically, recalling his Wobbuffet and leaping madly into the air like the slain pokemon motionless on the battlefield once had.
“Hell no. You’re disqualified. The winner of the match is Narcissa Nelsen!”
Narcissa, would had run out into the battlefield to examine her fallen Wynaut, looked up cheerfully with a big grin. “Oh! I won? I won!” Ignoring her pokemon, the girl ran out into the center of the battlefield, raising her unbroken arm high into the air, gleaming like a lighthouse. Ferdinand’s joyous face had come tumbling down like a scoop of ice cream from a wall of ice. Gulping once, the crest-fallen trainer put his jacket back on and walked down from his trainer’s box and away from the stadium, never to be seen again. Rumor had it he took a flight that night to Evergrande City and became a prostitute in the dark corners of Victory Road for losing trainers needing a severe boost of confidence. Other rumors had it he was eaten by an Ursaring or that he was really a woman.
But who cares about that dumb loser, what was more important was that Narcissa stood happily in the center of the field, waving to the stands fully devoid of any living creatures. She would never know any greater jubilance in her life, which was kind of sad. Triumphant victory music blared through the speakers. It was scratchy and only played half the notes but no one cared. A few tournament officials came out onto the field dragging a small gold trophy with them and tossed it at Narcissa’s feet before they marched away with Frau Moleman, ready to drink their ways into one helluva hangover at the nearby bar.
And so the champion of the Red-Orange Pokemon League stood there, in the center of the grand arena, scooping up her cracked trophy in her broken arm, waving to the invisible cheering audience, and crying triumphantly as the same note played over and over in the background. It was an amazing victory indeed; her toils would be remembered for centuries to come in a small blurb in Worst Champions in All of History Weekly. Her victorious pokemon lay unconscious not too far away from her. Slowly, the lights shut off and the arena hands began to file past the champion, one or two giving her a pat on the back.
“Dude, your pokemon is dead,” one of the last ushers to leave mumbled, poking her in the side.
Narcissa abruptly turned to face her fallen pokemon. It hadn’t moved since Wobbuffet first attacked it.
It was hot.
It was broiling like a lonely Jynx’s uterus. The evil sun cackled at his melting victims in the colossal coliseum below. Their flesh oozed with salty sweat, eroding the cheap wooden stands they laid back on. Far too little people had remembered to wear their deodorant today; the collective stench was worse than a Grimer’s backside. Some of the poor foolish chaps had attempted to defy the great Sun’s power by fanning themselves lackadaisically with their programs. Oh, but the victims failed miserably. They were being cooked alive while greedy mosquitoes tried to take early munches to their tired meal’s indifference. Nothing could move their bottoms from their seats now; nothing could swerve their eyes from the center field of the stadium, for it was the finals of the Red-Orange Pokemon League!
Eight badges, several toils and tribulations, and one evil team overthrown later, sixty-four contestants had managed to make it to the glorious Olympus Stadium to have their swipe at the Red-Orange Trophy, eternal glory, and plenty of roadies! Now it was down to only two contenders, Ferdinand Marquee and Narcissa Nelsen. Both were a fresh eighteen years old and equally vivacious, neither missed out on an opportunity to liquefy their enemy.
Though only eighteen, Ferdinand appeared thirty with his thick, dirty beard and stone-cold gray eyes. Deep lines had etched onto his face from every time he victored over Team Aero. He took off his Dragonite-hide jacket and wore only a simple white t-shirt, large puddles of sweat revealing his sides. He was a Man’s man and not about to lose to some girly! In contrast, Narcissa Nelsen had a youthful, round face, still wearing her cherry hair in pigtails. But she had battle scars of her own: she was tanner than her Tauros boots and nursed a broken arm from when she had recently taken down the evil Democratic Party. Narcissa’s face was beaming and confident, unlike Ferdinand’s somber ready-to-kill snarl. The lady had dominated the battle for the last half of the battle, and intended to keep the winning streak going!
The once grassy-field dividing them was obliterated away; the verdant grass was charred and crumbled at the slightest breath of air, the surrounding winds had become soggy with ash, causing the nearby people to choke as it slithered into their lungs. But Narcissa and Ferdinand were not wheezing. They simply sniffed their nostrils shut as the ashes fluttered by and continued to stare each other down, Narcissa particularly angry. Ferdinand’s Steelix was being crushed by her Magmar and one more blow would have knocked him out, but the so called “Man’s man” ordered his Steelix to use Explosion in a battlefield covered in smog, easily defeating Magmar and destroying the battlefield in the process. The vents had started going and soon the battlefield would be ready for battle once more. Both twirled their last pokeballs eagerly, they saved the best for last!
Suddenly, a massive rumbling sounded through the entire stadium, shaking the rickety stands rather ominously. The vaporized center field was the source of the commotion, as it slowly sank to the nether lands below, leaving a pitch-black gaping hole in its place. As soon as the noise settled, a new rumbling replaced it as a plain white battlefield ascended to its place. It took several minutes, but the stadium was dead quiet, the dust had cleared, and the ash had disappeared. The time had come to finish the battle!
Frau Moleman, the infamous dwarf referee, stepped into the battlefield, armed with one scarlet flag and one emerald flag, and gave a quick glance toward Ferdinand and Narcissa. They were ready.
“Let the final round of the Redorange Pokemon League Championship commence!”
“Crush this little lady for me!”
“Show this hotshot up!”
They tossed their pokeballs high into the air, the audience held their breaths as they watched the shiny silver orbs pirouetting through the air, ready to reveal the mighty contestants of the epic battle. After what seemed to be eons, the two halves of the ball split, firing a red beam toward the respective ends of the field. The audience’s sweat-drenched butts slid ever so closely to the edge of their seats as the pokemon began to materialize…
“WOBBBBUFFET!”
“WYYYYANNNAUT!”
“Err…”
It was certainly an awkward moment. Everyone, from the audience to the referee to the battlers to the mosquitoes had gawked silently at the field. At one end, there was a tall and sturdy turquoise blob. It stood as solid as a Buckingham Soldier, rectangle arms glued tightly to its sides exclaiming “WOBBBUFET!”. On the other side of the field was a miniature version of the Wobbuffett, barely a sixth of its size, hopping in place ecstatically with its long ears flapping squealing, “Wy-a-naut!”
A very dull battle awaited.
Ferdinand and Narcissa exchanged disgusted looks. They were supposed to shock the other with their odd choice of a pokemon, and then defeat them in a shocking upset, making their championship the most famous of Red-Orange Pokemon League History! But they had pulled the same strategy against each other! Wobbuffet and Wynaut had no offensive moves—what were they going to do? Meanwhile, the silence in the stadium had escalated into a gentle murmur as the audience members whispered amongst each other what would happen next. The referee was speaking into his ear-piece, looking rather angry.
Several minutes of this confusion passed, the two pokemon were indifferent to what was going on, Wobbuffet still adamant and Wynaut still hyper. Finally, Moleman blew his whistle shrilly, bringing immediate silence to the stadium.
“I have just spoken to the tournament officials…and errm…the battle WILL go on!”
The silence immediately broke and shouts of annoyance and boos (as well as boo-urns) came from the audience: they came for a blockbuster battle with gigantic pokemon and lots of firepower, not two dumb blobs smiling stupidly at each other! Moleman ducked his head as a torrent of popcorn and soda bottles rained down on him, while the previously shell-shocked trainers now refused to make eye-contact with anyone. The only beings that remained static were the pokemon who everyone hated in the first place, Wobbuffet still standing perfectly still and Wynaut still hopping energetically.
“How will this battle go anywhere?” Ferdinand cried out to Moleman, red in embarrassment.
“It’s possible,” Narcissa grumbled. Of course, no one could hear her the first time so she had to shout it a second time.
“No…No f’ing way!”
“Yeah. We have to exhaust all our moves until our pokemon start using struggle!”
Both trainers looked down at their pokemon despondently and sighed. Half the audience had already left; their attention spans were much too limited for their own good. The trainers gave a fleeting glance at the referee one final time, hoping that he could pull some last minute strings. But all he returned was a disappointed shrug.
The magnificent battle commenced.
“Counter!”
“Mirror Coat!”
Wobbuffet glowed a fiery red waiting to reflect a physical attack, while Wynaut erupted into a spectrum of rainbow colors, ready to counter elemental forces. Of course, with no attack to reflect, the attacks faded within seconds. And the pattern continued…
One hour later
“Mirr Cot…”
“Coner…”
The one good thing to say about the battle was that the sun was no longer hanging directly over them. But it was still hot. Hotter than the undersides of a Snorlax’s love handles. Frau Moleman wasn’t even bothering to watch the match anymore; instead, he was inspecting the cuticles on his fingers the size of baby carrots. Ferdinand and Narcissa hung over the railings of their trainer’s box, slurring half the letters of their commands. Only about fifty or so people remained in the stands, glued to the edge of their seat, bloodshot eyes eagerly wide open in anticipation of the imminent move that would make Red-Orange League History…
“WOBBUFET!”
“WYNAUT!”
The crimson and rainbow auras blazed once more, and the pokemon were more than content with the repetitive pattern, the only remotely interesting thing happening in the past hour being Wynaut hopping two seconds later than he should in one instance. The trainers began to glare murderously at the pokemon, hoping for one of them, even their own, to randomly suffer a heart attack and die. Anything to get the battle over with. Except for forfeiting. They wouldn’t forfeit with a knife at their throat. But, alas, the pokemon weren’t about to die of natural causes, and they knew it.
Neither pokemon had budged an inch from their original positions, Wynaut’s hopping had become slower by about a half a meter per second, but still, the dull monotony of the battle would never cease. Ferdinand couldn’t take it any longer. He hadn’t come this far to win like this!
“THAT’S IT! I’VE HAD IT! WOBBUFET, STOP ATTACKING AND JUST GO BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF THAT WYNAUT!”
“You can’t do that! That’s not an official pokemon attack!” Narcissa cried in retaliation. In a battle of pure brawn, Wobbufet’s size would surely overcome Wynaut.
“Watch me!” Ferdinand growled, his fist in the air and his eyes on fire. The audience began to perk up; things were getting more interesting now.
“WOBBUFFET!”
The blob pokemon began to wobble duck-footedly towards the little Wynaut his arms flailing in the air and panting heavily before he even ran a few feet. Wynaut still bounced stupidly in the air, unafraid of the pokemon half-charging at it. Narcissa began to sweat.
“Run, Wynaut! Run!”
It was actually an amusing sight. Two cyan globules chasing each other in circles around a plain battlefield, at the speed of a one-legged Rapidash. What was particularly amusing was that their dispositions hadn’t changed at all, one was still grinning stupidly and the other was still unnaturally staid. Wobbufet was beginning to gain on Wynaut, running faster by the minute. Wynaut began hopping as he ran…until—
“WYYY!”
“WYNAUT!” Narcissa shrieked.
Upon one of his landings, Wynaut had stumbled and fell smack forward onto the ground, leaving him vulnerable as his opponent dove down into him, crushing him with nearly eight times his weight. A collective groan filled the stadium as Ferdinand beamed.
“That’s what I’m talking about! Kick his ass!”
Wobbuffet did as he was ordered and peeled himself off of the squashed Wynaut and commenced to stamp down on the pancake’s rear-end until it turned bright red. All the while, Ferdinand cackled madly while Frau Moleman hung his head down in disgust and Narcissa covered her streaming eyes, unable to bear the symbolic rape of her pokemon. The cruel pokemon pounced on his opponent once more, slapping it with its flimsy arms until it could take no longer.
“ENOUGH! THIS BATTLE HEREBY OVER!” Frau Moleman shouted, raising the green flag in Ferdinand’s favor.
“YAY! I WON! I WON!” Ferdinand shouted frantically, recalling his Wobbuffet and leaping madly into the air like the slain pokemon motionless on the battlefield once had.
“Hell no. You’re disqualified. The winner of the match is Narcissa Nelsen!”
Narcissa, would had run out into the battlefield to examine her fallen Wynaut, looked up cheerfully with a big grin. “Oh! I won? I won!” Ignoring her pokemon, the girl ran out into the center of the battlefield, raising her unbroken arm high into the air, gleaming like a lighthouse. Ferdinand’s joyous face had come tumbling down like a scoop of ice cream from a wall of ice. Gulping once, the crest-fallen trainer put his jacket back on and walked down from his trainer’s box and away from the stadium, never to be seen again. Rumor had it he took a flight that night to Evergrande City and became a prostitute in the dark corners of Victory Road for losing trainers needing a severe boost of confidence. Other rumors had it he was eaten by an Ursaring or that he was really a woman.
But who cares about that dumb loser, what was more important was that Narcissa stood happily in the center of the field, waving to the stands fully devoid of any living creatures. She would never know any greater jubilance in her life, which was kind of sad. Triumphant victory music blared through the speakers. It was scratchy and only played half the notes but no one cared. A few tournament officials came out onto the field dragging a small gold trophy with them and tossed it at Narcissa’s feet before they marched away with Frau Moleman, ready to drink their ways into one helluva hangover at the nearby bar.
And so the champion of the Red-Orange Pokemon League stood there, in the center of the grand arena, scooping up her cracked trophy in her broken arm, waving to the invisible cheering audience, and crying triumphantly as the same note played over and over in the background. It was an amazing victory indeed; her toils would be remembered for centuries to come in a small blurb in Worst Champions in All of History Weekly. Her victorious pokemon lay unconscious not too far away from her. Slowly, the lights shut off and the arena hands began to file past the champion, one or two giving her a pat on the back.
“Dude, your pokemon is dead,” one of the last ushers to leave mumbled, poking her in the side.
Narcissa abruptly turned to face her fallen pokemon. It hadn’t moved since Wobbuffet first attacked it.