…And All The King’s Horses

By anonymous

All general disclaimers apply

Author: Damn, these drabbles are addicting. This is a senseless piece of writing that if you actually like it- you’ve been lowered to my level, which isn’t that bad because some where in the dark harrowing corners of my mind- I’m an intelligent person. Besides, you don’t really need those extra brain cells do you?

GEN- crack/slight parody fic

Property owned by Ash Ketchum.

Dear Memoir- Why do people always write Dear Diary? That is so cliché, what if it doesn’t want to be called Diary? Has anybody ever taken that into consideration? But I digress.

Anyways, defended my title again this morning. Brock snapped at me and threatened to personally operate the demasculination of yours truly, I guess he’s a tad grouchy I’m not sure. But enough about him, I feel… high-spirited today, a surge of something. I have a sudden urge and the need to write poems- with rhyming schemes, and imageries, possibly allusions… but I shouldn’t, how would it look if the Pokémon Master is caught writing love poems?

Ah, screw it.

My love, you have eyes like stars

They look back and forth, near and far

Your cheeks are rosy but sometimes it’s pale

Your skin has the scent of ginger ale

You are so beautiful, you give me a twitch

It really is too bad you are such a—

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“I told you he would get high off of that stuff,”

“How would I know he was such a light weight?”

“Brock… you know better than have him buy those pill-looking things at that guy’s black tinted garage,”

“Do you suppose he was still on crack while writing this?”

“‘The sudden urge to write love poems with rhyming scheme?’ I’d call that high,”

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Dear Journal;

I don’t know what happened last night, I remember vaguely about writing a poem but before I knew it, I blacked out. Damn Misty for giving me this journal for my birthday- I had different expectations on my birthday that involves her. If I don’t know better, she is probably having a few giggles reading my private thoughts. Key my ass, all diaries have the same keys and there is absolutely no privacy whatsoever. Having a diary- I mean- journal with a ‘key’ is like begging for it to be read. Well guess what Misty? I refuse to be analyzed! Do you seriously think that snooping around would give you a better sense of what you’re marrying? What you’re getting yourself into? Well too bad! I gave you a choice, and you said ‘yes’, you can’t take it back. Don’t try to make sense of me! But you’re not going to stop until you get something analyzed aren’t you?

Well, I wear Pikachu boxers. Make sense of that!

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“I didn’t know I had a choice when he proposed!”

“What does it mean that he wears Pikachu boxers? Quite manly isn’t he?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter May, I don’t really approve of what he wears but to each his own I guess.”

“Trust me Mist, you’re lucky that at least he wears something,”

“Why? What does Brock wear?”

“I repeat, at least Ash wears something,”

“Oh…”

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Dear Journal;

You knew I couldn’t resist, didn’t you Misty? You strategically bought a journal with an ass whopping yellow Pikachu on the cover. You knew I couldn’t resist yellow! Brilliant woman. Oh and a pink tuxedo? A pink tux on our wedding? Are you serious? I don’t care if it matches with your Tiffany Blue decoration. What the hell is Tiffany Blue? And I don’t care if the flowers are buds or full blooms, or if they are orchids or lilies.

But on a different topic, I want to talk about those magazines. Don’t you deny it, woman, I saw the magazines you were hiding under the bed. You know what I’m talking about, the ones with the Fabio look-alikes on the cover with barely a towel to cover his non-humanlike pecs. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was when that Johto League big-shot journalist came to write an article about the life of a Pokémon Master and found your secret stash? Now I had two choices. One, I say that they’re yours and risk rumors that the Pokémon Master can’t satisfy his fiancée so that she has to turn to magazines. Two, say they’re mine and… I suddenly don’t feel like writing anymore.

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“Max! I told you not to leave your subscriptions at my house,”

“Sorry Misty, but anyways I’m curious… wedding is around the corner and shouldn’t the bride be the one doing all the bitching?”

“Actually I feel fine, I think the sympathetic-bride-syndrome hit him harder than I anticipated, I mean, I couldn’t get that one band, but after a two hours conference with Ash and they even agreed to lower the price!”

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My Dearest Scriptures;

Oh thy shining brilliance that showers rays upon me from the vast heaven above. Twinkling radiance like flashes of ambers that leave me yearning for thy light in thy absence. Thou art the heaven’s masterpiece and as art is eternal so will my love for thee, ever the kindling fire of passion. Doth the sun thy soft luster? Doth the moon thy manifold brilliancy? My faint heart, how it flutters as I watch thee, the sparkling myriads of the opaque silky night. How I worship thee as I double the light of thy essence with the blur of my tears.

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“Misty, has Ash been reading your 16^th century erotic novels again?”

“…”

“Misty?”

“Damn,”

“What?”

“Well, I really took Max’s comment about Ash’s pre-wedding-bitchiness to heart, so I decided to give him some of my birth control pills. They really help in keeping me temperate during PMS, so I figured- hell, pills know no gender,”

“So… is this a male’s version of a mood change during menstrual cycle?”

“…”

“You know that’s not how those pills work right?”

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Till death do us part…

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End.