Pokémon Goes Out of Control

Remember when we’d stalk the streets and pile into parks searching for Pokèmon? When the cops would ask you what you were doing hanging around outside a stranger’s home at midnight and you could explain that you were just on a quest? Or when a slim chance of catching a Vaporeons was worth stopping traffic and risking your life for? Good times.

But as popularity for the app wanes, Pokèmon have gone from being the most hunted species on the planet, to a damn nuisance. They’re fucking everywhere. The last remnant of sad Pokèmon master trainers are said to be outnumbered 7000-1.

Parks (‘GYMS’) have become breeding grounds, and our streets are at risk of being overrun by these pests once thought cute and fun. And now our native wildlife are suffering. Poor street rats are being forced out of their natural habitats behind Chinese restaurants. Not to mention, the damage being done to our property. Just recently, a car in Brooklyn was set a blaze by a rampant Charizard.

But it doesn’t end there. While walking my dog this morning, I happened to step right in Pokèmon poop. Sure, it may be invisible to the naked eye, but it’s safe to say it was probably there. I mean, let’s face it, based on the sheer numbers of Pokèmon roaming around, we’ve probably all stepped in their shit. Go on, check your shoe.

My question is: how long before a mother claims that a Diglett took my baby?  What we must do is simple. We need to dust off those cobwebs from our Pokèmon Go app (or re-download it in most cases) and take action! But this time, we gotta catch and kill ’em all.

 

 

 

Little Like The Fly

I return to the table from a short bathroom break and our eyes meet. My date smiles at me as she elegantly brushes the hair away from her face, while sipping her green tea. I sit down and do the same hoping it will calm my nerves. I don’t have any hair so it doesn’t quite come off. As I’m about to take a sip of my tea I happen to notice a small dark blur floating around in my cup. I catch it in the bottoms of my eyes as it passes beneath my nose and hurries into my mouth.

I try to convince myself that I’ve only swallowed a loose tea leaf that somehow managed to slip through the tight security of the strainer. Then paranoia sets in. Could there have been a fly swimming around in my tea cup? What if I have swallowed a fly? I hate flies; I have a phobia of them, they call it – Pteronarcophobia. It all happened so fast I can’t be sure what I saw. I’m starting to sweat. My date excuses herself from the table and I’m convinced that my least favourite thing in the world is now inside me.

I imagine the fly must have landed in my English breakfast whilst I was in the bathroom earlier. Perhaps it attempted to drink its way out at first, eventually swallowing more tea than it could stomach. Is it possible that the fly was lactose intolerant? Did it drown, or was it still breathing? Meanwhile, the back of my shirt is now completely soaked.

Should I say something? Do I ask the waiter for a new cup? By asking and explaining the situation am I going to embarrass myself? Even if I didn’t swallow the fly, she’s still going to think I did because I mentioned it and made a whole big deal over nothing. She’s going to wish she swiped left rather than right. Tinder hasn’t been kind to me, I need this. I don’t have to tell her, and I won’t. Still, I’m worried about the fly that’s now nesting inside me. My date returns to the table and looks uncomfortable; did she see me swallow the fly? Perhaps she noticed that it was in my tea and didn’t say anything, or tried to, but it was already too late. She starts staring at me, swiping left with her eyes.

We talk about a range of topics, but not the fly. She’s amused that we share the same taste in films, music and food, but not so in our choice of tea; I avoid the topic of tea altogether and steer the conversation elsewhere. She seems to have forgotten what happened and entertains me with her quirky tales of adventures abroad, but all I can think about is this disgusting fly. ‘It’s possible he swam out.’ Says a voice coming from within me. ‘What? No! What did he do? Swim to the side and climb out using the ladder?’ I mutter to myself, earning an odd look from my date. ‘Flies shit wherever they land’ Says another voice. Great, now the voices are back. How common is it to suffer from both Schizophrenia and Pteronarcophobia? I’m not thinking clearly, my body’s having a reaction to the fly. I’ve gotta keep it together.

The voice continues ‘I’ve heard if you swallow a fly it’s like swallowing gum. It clings to your insides for eight years and you’re unable to digest it.’ The other voice butts in. ‘No, that’s ridiculous. Gum stays wherever it lands; it hugs the streets, hides under school desks and resides on the backs of cafeteria seats. I’ve never seen a fly stay anywhere for too long, they can’t sit still.’ I cover my mouth and whisper back ‘When it’s alive that is.’

 The date may as well be over, she waves her finger in the air to signal the waiter for the bill. ‘I strongly believe if the fly is in there, he will fly out and everything will be okay.’ Says the voice. ‘She was the only girl who swiped right! We need this!’ Adds the other voice. I wonder what the chances are that he will fly out of my stomach, up through my throat and out of my mouth? Can a fly escape from an ear? Or nose? Or? Oh no. This is bothering me a little, little like the fly.