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Dear Ash,

This letter is a bit overdue. I want to formally apologize for all I’ve done to you in the recent years. Nobody really deserves the amount of stress, heartbreak, and embarrassment I put you through, all for mostly my own amusement. In spite of it all, Ash, please be aware that I do respect you. I respect you, even in spite of how you’ve never beaten the Elite Four. I still respect you. I’m honestly impressed a kid like yourself hasn’t been killed yet. Do keep it up.

Well, then, there’s really no point in beating around the bush, so I’ll just be blunt I guess. First of all, I’m sorry for forcing your Pikachu into slave-labor. I’m sorry for kicking away your crappy little Pidgey and just grabbing it in the middle of our climactic battle. Though I really must say I’m stunned no one has ever thought of doing so before. I’m sorry for making all the training you gave it seem like a waste by simply remembering to wear rubber gloves. If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t the only Pikachu I stole that day, and it had some friends as it worked for hours for no pay.

In fairness though, this whole pokemon thing…it’s pretty much cockfighting isn’t it? But I digress. This is just the world we live in. I’m so sorry for then selling your prized Pikachu, who, as you’ll no doubt remember, I trained to only respond to, “Ash Has a Vagina.” But even more than simply selling Ash Has a Vagina, I want to make amends for specifically selling him to Jesse and James, the two Team Rocket idiots who hound you day and night. I can’t think of a thing that will make up for how I then spent the tens of thousands of Pokedollars they gave me to hire a small contingent of school children to follow you wherever you went and spit on your shoes and the chains of your bike. It was a spiteful moment in my life, and I’m very sorry. How would I know that weeks of child spit would so rust your bike? But apparently it did, and for that, you have my sincerest apologies.

Next – this’ll be tough – I’m so sorry for seducing and impressively making love to Misty. And for making you watch. That was mean of me. I shouldn’t have been texting her the entire time you guys were on a journey together, stirring up our sexy sex loins like a frappe at Starbucks. That’s the thing about a front-facing camera on a smartphone though, Ash, it’s basically only for Skype and long-distance affairs. And Misty and I went from one to the other vigorously, and quite publicly too. I really do feel terrible for asking her to meet me on the S.S. Anne, making love on the deck, and locking you inside your cabin with the windows mysteriously “stuck” so you had no choice but to watch me drop my One Ring into her Fires of Mordor repeatedly and happily. In all honesty, I never thought the other passengers would actually start applauding. That was unexpected. And I’m sorry for doing a victory lap when we were finished. I really, really am. I was just sort of…in the zone, as they say. But that’s no excuse. To be fair, however, you and Brock never quite turned your swag on, you know? So who can blame her really?

Nonetheless, I’m truly sorry.

What I want to apologize for next, I do so with the utmost sincerity. I may have gone a bit overboard with this one. I’m so very sorry for spiking your morning grape drink with massive amounts of estrogen, so that your balls would remain smoother than eggs, and less hairy than a freshly-shaved Onyx. I apologize for basically stunting your growth, and delaying puberty for another decade at the earliest. It was mean of me. It was excessive how I would also sneak up to you when you were asleep and inject some excess estrogen into your arm. I’m sorry that I did it so often that they looked like track-marks, and Brock ended up having an intervention that your mother and Professor Oak attended. That was a bit far on my part. More than anything I apologize that you, for a time, grew breasts, and got hit on by Brock, and ended up having to file a restraining order as the hormone therapy slowly turned you more or less back to normal. It was an unfortunate side-effect that you’ll always sound like a pre-pubescent girl with a slightly husky voice forever and ever, and for that I stay awake every night regretting my actions.

Finally, and perhaps, most importantly, I want to apologize for hooking up with your mother. This one was more of a coincidence than anything. I hadn’t expected her to actually make the trip from Pallet Town to attend your intervention, nor did I really expect things to go so far when I asked her to go get Red Lobster with me as she was leaving. All it took was a few cheddar biscuits, and I’m sorry to say, the deal was quite done. I proposed to Mrs. Ketchum, Ash, and we married in the Spring after she divorced your vagrant father. We thought it better you focus on your journey a bit before telling you. And hopefully that’s some degree of joy amidst all this apologizing. I’m very proud to say we’re working hard with our genitals to create a new brother or sister for you to play with. For all I’ve done, my step-son, I’m sorry. But at the very least, I’ve proved that I’m simply better than you. And always have been.


Gary Oak