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I’m 32, and I still like love Pokémon. I’ve been to a ton of Pokémon events, and at each one, a parent of a young Poké-fan has approached me with something along the lines of “Jesus, mister, you’re still playing with them Pokemans? Goddamn, I hope my kid don’t turn out weird like you,” or, “Where’s your handler? Do you got a MR-M bracelet on you somewhere?” implying that I must be a developmentally disabled adult who’s escaped from his cage.
Avoiding conversations like that is just one of the reasons I think I’m going to hire one of my friend’s kids to go to Toys ‘R’ Us to fetch these event Pokémon for me. Being treated like a child molester or a mildly retarded man is a super-effective way to get me to start hating myself.
[Via GoNintendo]
