An Ask Ally Quickie No.2

In Uncategorized on November 24, 2007 at 4:24 pm

Well, I’m sure you all remember what a quickie is – blah blah broom closet blah blah no satisfaction blah blah made a mess with the cleaning supplies blah blah – so we can move along then!

Rory (remember Rory? Apparently he’s from Antigonish) pens:

Hi, I’m from Antigonish. (Thanks for that, Rory)
Thanks for answering. (Oh, you’re welcome!)
Do you liek mudkips? (L-I-K-E, Rory, l-i-k-e)

*   *   *   *   *

Dear Rory,

Yes I understand the cultural reference behind both the question and the deliberate misspelling of the word “like.” Just needed to preface with that so I didn’t get a barrage of (okay, two) horrified comments. Though, I am likely to get them still…

… No. I do not liek Mudkips. I don’t even like them. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. But, for serial, I don’t. I know that there are those out there who adore these little fishy smelling buggers to the point of severe sexual deviancy, but I am proud to state – nay – YELL to the heavens that I am not one of those people.

. A Mudkip .

Why don’t I like Mudkips? Several reasons.
Reason the first: They’re smelly. Like fish. I may like some kinds of fish but I hate the smell. And this is not some humourous reference to vaginas which 15 year old male virgins can giggle at. Real fish-smell makes me nauseous, hardcore. And I can just tell that Mudkips smell like that.

Reason the second: Seriously, Mudkips? I know that someone’s trying to play with linguistics or nameology or something here, but it just sounds like some sort of weird fetish thing.

Reason the third: My heart will always belong to Jigglypuff.

Reason the fourth: I’m allergic to things so intensely un-awesome. I break out in hives… of glamour.

Reason the fifth: Didn’t Pokemon and all fascination with it die back with the Red and Blue versions? Honestly, it’s just done. Accept it. Move on. Mudkips or no Mudkips. And no, what you did to yourself at night while thinking of that Mudkip doll is not okay. It should be kept between you and God. Or, more appropriately, you and your twenty-seven years of court ordered psychiatric treatment.


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