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Video Game Rehab: Pokeholics Anonymous
Growing up in the lush suburbs of Pallet town, Ash Ketchum had no friends.
A lonely boy, with nothing more than a slightly obsessed love of one day becoming a Pokemon trainer, he fortunately managed to make it to age 10 without dying from a lethal purple nurple.
Yes, life was lonesome for Ash, the bullies were cruel, and it probably would have stayed that way……if Professor Oak, the town hero, hadn’t decided to give away his last remaining Pokemon to some worthy trainers.
Through a strange twist of fate Ash managed to get a Pokemon from the Professor.
So it was that through the years Ash, and Pikachu managed to defeat some of the toughest foes the Pokemon world had to offer.
Sometimes Ash narrowly made it, and other times he climbed his way to the top.
To one day become the Pokemon Master.
And it would have happened, had becoming “Pokemon Master” not been like chasing the “Magic Dragon.”
It had been one year since Ash started sobriety, and it had been one year since he had seen Pikachu.
Things just weren’t the same ever since he pimped Misty out for that Mudkip.
His Mom had disowned him, and got hitched to that stupid Mr. Mime. His old room was now occupied by his stepbrother, Mime Jr.
After months of soul searching in Viridian forest with Brock, and Pikachu, he was nowhere closer to being the very best, like no one ever was.
He lashed out. He was stupid, and burned down the campsite when Pikachu accidentally sat on his Pokedex.
He hadn’t seen his friends since.
That’s when he had an epiphany:
There was no end to the number of Pokemon . . .
He couldn’t catch ‘em all.
That same week he found himself on Professor Oak’s doorstep. Beaten, and broken by Team Rocket, who turned out were a lot tougher without Pikachu.
That was one year ago, and he had learned so much since then.
He had learned that his epiphany was the first of 12 steps. He had learned he had a disease:
Ash learned how he had hurt himself through his addiction to Pokemon, and how his actions had hurt others.
He followed the steps, and ultimately came to the realization that he became a Pokemon trainer because he never got to know his father.
Ash had joined a new family.
He had joined Pokeholics Anonymous, and now he takes things one game at a time.
He had made plenty of new friends here at PA. In fact, some of them were regulars who often had the same sad stories to tell.
-There were the gym leaders who had justified their addiction by letting the disease turn into a renewable form of income. Only to lose it all after the hundredth 10 year old managed to beat them in their own gym.
-There were the bug catchers who not only had to “Catch ‘em All”, but had managed to amass a huge collection of particularly useless copies of the exact same Pokemon. This of course led them to lose hour after hour of precious life they could have spent doing something productive (like getting laid).
-Then there were trainers like Ash. Who had sought out to become the very best, only to see it all go to hell when their competitiveness got the better of them.
Ultimately it didn’t really matter what walk of life you’d come from. At the end of it all there was just three things that were constant:
And that each meeting meant free Repel, and sugar cookies.