Dear Diary,

Well.

Well well well.

Today has been a very eventful day so far. It’s…ooh, two o’clock in the afternoon? Roughly that, I think. Today has been so hectic that I haven’t been able to keep track of the time.

Well, it’s not my fault. I’m absolutely perfect, nothing can be my fault. It’s…it’s the clock’s fault! That’s what it is! Bah, look at me, accusing an inanimate object. I’m starting to let this carefully constructed persona of mine slip. Such lacking composure is not becoming of the future planetary ruler. But I digress. On to the matter at hand.

The matter at hand is, of course, those snivelling, backstabbing, cowardly, mentally deficient, borderline psychotic, pathetic, (Note to self: insert some more insulting adjectives here when these memoirs are published) spherical sacks of Pokémon refuse that call themselves Electrodes. You may remember yesterday’s events, Diary. Well, of course you do, I did write them on the last few pages. However, for the benefit of anyone that may read my memoirs when I publish them (after I ascend to my rightful place as master of all things on Earth), I will describe them for you.

Around eleven o’clock in the morning, I came up with the magnificent idea of allying myself with the Electrodes. My reasons are logical and reasonable, of course; I wouldn’t make such a bold step without making sure it was the right thing. Of course, it wasn’t the right thing in hindsight, and the idea turned out to be measurably less than magnificent, but I honestly don’t care, because I’m Mewtwo and I’m always right, damn it. And if anyone says otherwise, I’ll make their heads explode or something similar. Or maybe I’ll just stop their hearts; random head explosions would cover the walls in unsightly splatter marks.

Anyway, after I had the idea of an alliance with those insufferable spherical dolts, I left my lair – and you, Diary – to pursue the matter. I found what seemed to be the leaders of the Electrode’s little society down here, and discussed the matter with them. After dealing with some little niggles and details, we settled upon an agreement; they would come to my assistance when I needed them, and I would provide them with a source of extra power, in the form of my old friends, the Raichu. It was decided, and I left for my lair.

Now, here is where the problems start. As I was leaving, I could’ve sworn I heard some of those damn Electrodes sniggering about something. At the time, I shrugged it off, but now I know better, of course.

I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh, Great and Majestic Mewtwo, why didn’t you use your incredibly powerful psychic abilities to read their minds and find out about their planned betrayal before it happened?’

Well.

I…

Hmm.

You see…I simply…uhm…

I…I forgot, damn it! Is that such a crime?! Is a person of my infinite stature not allowed to have such lapses of memory?! And yes, I know I ramble on about my supposed perfection, but if you looked up ‘Mewtwo’ in the dictionary you’d probably find ‘hypocrite’ as a synonym.

Sigh.

Anyway, it was two o’clock in the afternoon. I was updating my entry in you, Diary, when a band of supposed Electrode ‘diplomats’ arrived at the entrance to my lair. I graciously greeted them like the calm, refined, well-mannered individual I am, and what did the little bastards do?

They blew up in my face!

Was I angry? You bloody well bet I was.

Was I thrown from my door, across the length of the main all of my lair, and slammed into a wall from the sheer force of the cumulative blast? You bloody well bet I was.

Was I screaming in pain? You bloody well bet I wa – well, uhm…not really. I-I don’t feel pain. Honest.

I found the strength to record this humiliating event in the last entry, swearing vengeance, before pouring myself a nice hot bath (I recently had hot water installed, thanks to my good associates the Sandslash), having a good long rest, and then planning my blitzkrieg upon those traitorous, dishonourable Electrodes. The following morning (this morning, of course. Do keep up, Mr. Reader, I’m sure you’re not that stupid), I have enacted my sweet, sweet, destructive retribution. It was almost apocalyptic in the level of death and damage dealt. Oh yes, they paid dearly for their insolence. I can almost hear their screams in my ears again...such sweet music.

Apart from...they didn't pay. I was too lazy to get out of bed for most of today.

Yes, I lied about the death and the damage and my ultimate victory. It is an accurate depiction of how events would go however, even if I feel slightly hollow for not actually carrying it out.

Something has just occurred to me. Such an inadvertent show of mercy could be construed as a sign of weakness by anyone reading my memoirs. Seeing as I plan to publish these when I become ruler of the Earth and enslave those Slakoth-like humans, any foolish rebels could find inspiration for an attempt to overthrow my reign. It wouldn’t succeed, of course, but it would be quite annoying. I do not want annoying when I am ‘maxing and relaxing’ in my palace with my harem of girl slaves, sipping Johto’s renowned gin and tonic, reading a fine classic book in my favourite mahogany armchair next to a roaring oaken fire, while in a silk dressing gown.

Yes, I have planned this quite meticulously.

I even know what to name my future heirs. I quite like the names Joanna and Percival, although Ronald and Ermintrude are possible alternatives. I know, I’m such a dab hand at good names, aren’t I?

Anyway. I must address this issue of sparing the Electrodes. And the best way to do that is…

To not spare the Electrodes.

Ta-ta, Diary. I’m off to start a killing spree.

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Aaahhhhhhh.

My name is Mewtwo and I am a very, very relaxed and content Pokémon. Why, do you ask? Isn’t it obvious?

The body count rises into the hundreds. That is reason enough to be relaxed and content. Oh yes, the Electrodes will think twice before messing with me. Especially since I made an example out of the parents to traumatise the children. Seeing your dear, kind mother explode like an overstuffed piñata full to the brim with blood and vital organs leaves I mark, I think.

‘Leave out the gruesome details’, you say? ‘It’s too much for our fragile, weak-stomached selves to handle’?

Too much? Too little, I say. But, I shall refrain from detailing the horrific massacre that I undertook in the past hour. Fifteen minutes of which was me cleaning the blood and various scraps of flesh and organs off my person.

Hang on, there’s something at the door. I’ll be back in a second, Diary.

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I don’t believe it.

They…

She…

And then…and…

With the…

Ah…

ARGH!

BLOODY CHANSEYS.

Me?! Need COUNSELLING?! Who are they to decide such a thing?! Those irritatingly cheerful marshmallows!

Ahem. Let me gather myself and explain.

At the door was a Chansey. A Chansey that told me something along the lines of ‘we have decided that you need counselling because of your obvious vicious tendencies blah blah blah horrible mass killing of Electrodes blah blah blah need to be a better person’.

Need to be a better person? My arse. I enjoy my vicious tendencies! It’s what makes me…well, me. Nevertheless, they have posted me a Chansey counsellor so we can talk over my ‘problems’. I have suitably low hopes for this situation, and I foresee a bad outcome in the end. Well, for the Chansey.

Oooh, I’ll show them vicious tendencies.

Farewell for now, Diary. Expect to be told about a mangled Chansey corpse tomorrow.