I'll just leave this here.

Pokemon was a horrible show that should burn in hell. It was so bad it made Digimon look good. You and your family should be ashamed for endorsing and reproducing icons that lead to inspiration and identification of a repetitive and inhumane working class society where the fantastic possibilities of mystic creatures is undermined by values of nihilistic success and teenage carelessness.

You never had a childhood. You were given the internet, which is a hollow substitute for true happiness and a delusion that modern society instills to make you believe that you had a privileged experience. You idealized a man trapped in the body of a young boy, seeking to escape the hole of plot that has been reprocessed and regurgitated to make you into a consumer of the American Dream. Four-square, pogs, warheads, and cocaine were what we lived and died on. Knock-out displayed our godly athletic abilities and recess was a period of lawless independency. We crafted our own childhood or we died in the process.

I started out my childhood with a raspberry warhead and a seven minute mile. I had to be diligent to survive. I scoured the classrooms for leftover warheads and sour patch kids. Anything I could find, I kept in a steel box of Buzz Lightyear. Eventually I learned how to work the system. I knew the Leibowitz family would trade three apple green warheads for two raspberry red warheads. The Ivanovs would take every apple green warhead and give back two blueberry warheads. I would then go to the Parks who would take my blueberry warheads and give me back an equal amount of raspberry ones. It was a tough business, but I managed to build myself up from the bottom and become a well known dealer.

There were some conflicts. Some groups wanted to put a hit on me because they noticed I was starting to become successful, too successful. Usually these hitmen would target my asian identity in order to knock me out of the sugar business. Everyone knows asians can't play sports and knock-out was the rule of the land. If you got knocked-out you were gone from the business. Everything hinged on a hip-sway, a push, and a swish. Luckily for me I had allies. Allies who knew their comrade was in need and helped me survive when they were behind. In return I helped them when they needed to be covered. This was the rule of the playground. A band of brothers gathering together to forge their own purpose on this cold, lonely basketball pavement.