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"Polycharacters" There is a great darkness that descended upon the life-forms of Earth as soon as it detected their existence, which was almost automatically, and it was in the evolution of moral awareness in the most intelligent of primates that an evolution was also acting upon this darkness, introducing a nefarious element to what is generally referred to as suffering. The harsh, bitter, freezing winds are just one of the many examples of those things that have the darkness as their source. But at least no weather is ever generated from malice, and it is those things that are the true umbra, since then you know that there is an intention to end any warmth that remains in your heart. But it is said that if you go far enough a field, be it to your Occident or your Orient depending upon your geographic position, but somewhere generally considered to be the latter, you will find a place that was talked of to a Chinese Emperor millennia ago, one that is literally called by its locals the Source of the Sun, and one which seems to dissolve the great darkness as the day draws near when the sun rises in this land that the aliens in the English-speaking world, still thwarted with the umbra, like to call the land where this golden orb makes its original materialisation on every occasion. It is a land that seems to fit accurately the descriptions of the metaphors that surround its unique celestial nature. With a swiftness that defies all the generalisations that geographers care to make, this went from the source of a political darkness in the absence of decent technology, wealth or industry, to a financial miracle with a system positively describable with infinite flexibility, that permits the intellectual inhabitants to receive the fully deserved respect that goes here, in a society that has only the benefits and none of the drawbacks of every governmental function from meritocracy to democracy. In all of its glory, it has every advantage (where existent) yet lacks every curse of the homologous land in the Occident, which may by a similar analogy be referred to as the place where the heat of hope ends every journey, that place where it leaves us once again and restores the umbra to its unabated cover yet another time too many. It is a land that is said to have a dream of its own, and one I would imagine to be a nightmare – completely opposing what goes for that place I have already talked of how to get to. And so, it is to this land that I turn at this point, to tell one of those tales that never ceases to gently warm whatever term you wish to use to describe the centre of all human thought, which is usually preferred to be one of cardiological nature. That is where we go for this tale. But is not to any old place that we go in that world. For we go to a place that is the least so in the Orient, which almost makes me wonder why I choose not a tale in the Easternmost part of this Eastern place; why have I chosen its Eastern least? Simply because those that it involves originate from that most Eastern, that place where the greatness of this land is most concentrated, a place that is literally called by its people “the East”, or in their language, Kanto. I think that you all already know the people to whom we focus in this text. They need know mentioning. Without further ado, let’s get on with the story! *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** It was Ash, the boy who knew no satiety, who first introduced the concept of excessive consumption of food to Misty, a girl who had abandoned her hometown of Cerulean City. But the Ceruleans have traditions to go far beyond their initial teachings. Don’t ask me why! This is a tradition that appears from research to be “inherited” by the pokémon of Cerulean trainers. It is for this reason that the obesity that Misty quickly obtained through this accidental occurrence with Ash was an inspirational spark for the events of which knowledge I now impart. Misty, like many other people from her homeland and like every one n her family was a pokémon trainer, and in fact she was from the family of Gym Leaders. Cerulean was a beautiful little seaside town within strolling distance of many locations in Kanto, and because of its proximity to the ocean, it was a breeding-ground for marine trainers, sometimes informally referred to as hydrophilic trainers. Misty was no exception to the generalisation that the fishless Cerulean was the pokémon-lacking Cerulean, and to that end she had a fascination with marine life. Obesity was not an agent that would change that. After all, her increasing size soon meant that only in the largest bodies of water was it possible for her to bathe. That is if you think swimming pools are among the “largest”. And whilst she bathed in public baths (call them what you will), which even for her were ample in all spatial dimensions, her pokémon shared the environment, albeit at their own risk. Psyduck, being the only water pokémon in the world who couldn’t swim, as well as being hydrophobic additionally, had to sit out that one though. Besides him, Misty still had plenty of bathing accomplices. Goldeen, Staryu and Corsola were always entertaining, and even Togepi was a joy for her to have around at these times, as was ever the case whatever the circumstances. But Misty had a particularly high level of affection for Togepi, a maternal love, which was warranted by the fact that Togepi believed Misty to be its mother, and Misty was certainly not going to admit the truth, which made her Obi-Wan Kenobi to this Luke Skywalker. (I say “its” … I haven’t checked!) She also had a similar bag of feelings for Poliwhirl, because Poliwhirl had once evolved in a match just to help her win said match and the prize, a Totodile, and although these efforts were in vain, Misty was wiser than the victor Ash, and knew that it is the thought that counts. But even before that fiasco, Misty had had a RAISON D’ETRE thankful to Poliwag (as was its name before – there goes the genderless pronoun again), because she had met it when searching for a naturally growing plant that her friends desperately needed for medicinal purposes, and it was Poliwag who directed her to the plant in question, namely the elusive Salveo weed. Poliwhirl was also a very good swimmer, and Misty, being a typical Cerulean, loved swimming as strongly as any one she could ever know, and the strong swimmers would always receive her admiration – so long as she had no reason for the opposite reaction, which had been the case with her belligerent-but-only-to-her-and-not-each-other sisters. (Bit of a mouthful!) Poliwhirl was certainly a favourite of Misty, better than Psyduck anyway. And Misty as about to learn another reason to like Poliwhirl even more … *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** As I have already said, it was Ash who introduced Misty to overindulgence, but she kind of overdid the idea. Her feminine gender put her at a greater karyotypic susceptibility to high body fat percentages, cravings for sweet foods and bingeing sessions (as are characteristic of bulimia) than a male, and because Misty certainly had no intention of going down the emetic path that bulimia offered, the calories that were far from needed ended up (as the French say) FAIRE LEUR LE PLUS MAUVAIS. Her weight skyrocketed in a manner that would not have been warmly accepted by the majority of girls, and for the life of me I have often failed to understand why that is the case, and why she was exceptional. It appears that the explanation is of a romantic (which I use as euphemism for sexual) origin. Even if they have a “partner” (whatever the current politically correct term is, that’s what I meant to put, but not what I meant to mean), girls still have justification to the belief that obesity will do them no good in the love department – a guy had might be lost to a thinner counterpart, and a guy not had might never be, again absorbed by the counterparts from the impossibly tiny-bottomed club, as I am sure Dawn French would agree. But Misty had a guy, or even two if you count Brock in reserve (although I think she would prefer to have no reserve whatsoever), and the chances of her (insert appropriate word or phrase) performing a vanishing act is probably the most over named number in existence. The intelligent, educated human with the flexible diction, such as myself or her, could describe the probability in an almost endless list of ways: “Zero!” “Zilch!” “Nought!” “Nowt!” “Nothing!” And that’s just the start of the list’s preamble. Later we get in to metaphors and similes, such as “It’s as likely as it is that Ash will successfully catch a boat!” Which is why Misty worried a teensy bit when Ash actually caught that ferry just before they met Sammy and Celebi. Fortunately, the others have not yet provided discouragement, such as that one about “It’s as likely as Ash passing an intelligence test”. In fact Ash couldn’t even pass the Turing Test, so she was very much reassured. And if you really want to hear some insults to dig in it Ash, the full list is now available in bookshops, under the title “The Bible” (although there’s another one identical in size and name that is only a riveting read to people with Hebrew names, so be careful to check for a blurb before you buy …) But there were – or should I say, are – insults at people or things other than Ash I n this probability list, e.g. “As probable as a Frenchman living next to a brothel moving house” or “As likely as NASA successfully converting between imperial and metric units when building a probe to Mars”. The list goes on and on. A leaving Ash is like an intelligent AND/OR non-evil politician: if possible at all, still being of probability remote. And there were a few simple reasons why Misty could be sure of this. Ash owed her a bike. She remembered well the bike that she had once had. If only she had had a twin sister as svelte as herself (svelte in those BA (before Ash) days anyway), she could have given the illusion that this bike was a tandem. This bike had provided ample room for her, because it was brand new, and intended to last her all the way into the growthless era we call adulthood. There is absolutely no definition possible of the word beauty that was a positive description is aesthetics that could refute the claim that her bike gave beauty a good name. “It had had a red frame” would be an unimpressive linguistic description of it for any author to use, and it also provided very little accuracy. But then again, you were never sure whether it was scarlet, crimson, burgundy, ruby, cherry, viridian, cinnabar or even a near-red colour, be it orange, pink or even yellow, and its many shades; just like her blue-green-or-anything-in-between-or-any-variety-of-said-hues eyes, this was a surface that never made its mind up which wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation to absorb and which to reflect. The vibrancy of this frame was in its changeability, its livelihood. It had had black rubber tyres, and identical black rubber on the handlebars, but in both cases it was the lightest, warmest and shiniest black you ever did see, as if it wished to wink at you, and shine light even in the darkest of circumstances. This was a black like none other in the world; it was black, not grey, definitely black, but it was a chromatic black that would have made you think. That shade existed nowhere else in all the Universe, as unique as anything else about the bike, or indeed its owner. Then there were all the metal parts. They were not the normal silver, oh no. They LOOKED silver, no question, they looked silver, but there was something special bout this silver. It had lustre indicative of a precious metal, shining everlasting; even in the darkest place imaginable, you would swear that every part of this bike was luminous. And if you were really, REALLY lucky, one day in the bike-days past you might have catch a glimpse of a golden glitter somewhere on the horizon, as this special vehicle sailed into view. There was really nothing like it ever, and never would be again. Then Ash had to mess that up! Oh sure he saved a life (at least that’s what you were intended to believe), but destroying it entirely! It was hardly the stuff of lifesaving. He owed her that bike back, and if money could buy back a soul, it would take a lot of money; if money could not, then he could never shake her off. He accepted his responsibility. That was just one reason. The other was, of course, that he had nowhere to run to. He was a traveller, as every trainer should be, and trainers cannot run. It is not in their blood. H sure they leave every place they go behind, but they are very particular about how their company never changes – not in human terms, anyway. You either were a loner or a groupie – and you didn’t switch. It wasn’t the way. And finally, he had no ONE to run to. Misty was as unique as the lost bike, and so were her ideas about romance. If she liked you, then that meant no one else did – but at least it was better to be loved by her than any other individual. Ash was lucky in some ways, albeit not many. He was a n idiot with low-level pokémon that seldom improved or updated their performances, he was not the best human magnet in the social world bar for repulsion, and it was only with much luck that he won battles. But of course, some said that battles, and indeed life in its entirety, were all about luck. It was with all of this reassurance that Misty continued her physical expansion. We join her in this story an unspeakable weight in, when by some miracle she has still maintained mobility, but only just so to this point in time. We join her at this point because she has just encountered an unusual and uneJabedinable set of circumstances… *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Having kept you dangling long enough, let me tell you what actually happened. Misty and friends (notice the change?) were visiting an all-you-can-eat buffet, which was of course a fairly rudimentary operation by now. It was with this that Misty felt rather jaded, and to that point had chosen an unusual one, outside of which was a rather interesting sign: “Think you can manage to crush the as yet undefeated challenge of Maximus? Enquire within.” Investigations had revealed that this was based on reports that the Roman Emperor Maximus used to consume daily a total of twenty kilograms (forty-five pounds) of meat, guzzled down with the assistance of a table-underneath thirty four litres of wine. Misty was idolising over the only man I history fat enough to wear his wife’s bracelets as finger rings. “How much does it cost?” “To attempt it is P 10, 000, but if you finish all that in ode day, it’s free! You need to be here tomorrow to have it for the whole day – breakfast lunch and tea and so on. The full Maximus works, including the vegetarians side orders. None of the one hundred and seventeen who have ever attempted it at this branch have managed it – it always gets live television coverage, though.” Misty was in for a tough set of circumstances … *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** “Misty, are you nuts?” asked Brock, albeit perhaps rhetorically. “All I have to eat is ten seventy-two pounce steaks and fifteen large salads, and I only need to drink about seven and a half gallons of a drink of my choice, given that I’m too young to legally drink alcohol.” (Whether or not that was true, you ain’t hearing from me.) “But in ONE day?” “Are you implying that there’s not room in my alimentary canal for it, given I have a whole day for digestion during the eating process?” “It’s not so much the quantities as the time. Finishing one seventy-ounce steak in an hour is considered pretty good because it’s not easy, and each will take longer than the last due to the increase in sustenance. Then you have to drink an amount that alone could fill your stomach, plus those salads take time to eat as well …” “Oh, liquids don’t stay in the stomach: they’re absorbed immediately and you know that!” “Oh sure, the water is, but anything else in the liquid stays behind-” “Stay behind? They’ll be dissolved, and … well just in case, I’ll have water.” “You still have the time factor. You’re being given from 7 am to midnight, which is seventeen hours. Are you sure you can even stay awake that long? That much food could make you drowsy.” “Hey, I’m used to not sleeping – you and Ash are pretty good at keeping me awake with all the noise you make – and you manage that WITHOUT snoring!” “Yes, but even so, if each salad takes five minutes that’s over an hour for them alone, and it could take the equivalent of up to a few hours to drink as well … I just don’t think you could masticate fast enough.” “Oh, masticate … Not many fools know that word!” “Nor do many fools get the maths right on things like this …” “Which leads me to an interesting conclusion about yourself!” “Oh, very funny! Well, we’ll just see who got it right and who got it wrong!” “Fine!” This conversation didn’t go too well. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Well, there’s not really any way of describing the events that followed. All I can do is specify the exact times of each stage in the meal beginning and ending, and it was hardly easy to keep track of. But what I can say is that her speed on the salads was a handy way of sorting out the time factor. She crushed the food in, faster than the leisurely amount of time Brock had assumed, and within less than five minutes, ALL the salad was gone. Drinking down a couple of pints (of water) in the process, Misty immediately proceeded on to the steak, and when she had gotten through more than a steak and a half in the first hour, and showed no signs of slowing down, Brock wished he hadn’t made that bet. The TV companies were all there, but being on every channel in the country – and even a few from abroad – didn’t seem to make her nervous. Her speed was phenomenal, even by her standards, and the speed and quantities were both impressing to all the news crews present, even the ones that were used to feats like these, from such eating contest fancying nations as America and Japan. When Misty had gotten through the first five steaks, she started slowing down, but though taking a drink would help, and by diluting the acids in her stomach it did make her feel a bit better. Nevertheless she did not regain full speed; however, only the most dim-witted of those present criticised this. By that, I refer to a group of people who were mostly those from the media, since people with sense usually don’t join in with that. When Misty finished at almost 10 pm, not only did she get a full written apology from Brock (who was now in serious debt), but she was even offered an American citizenship. Entrance to America can’t be handed out to every Tom Dick or Harry, but suppose they would have liked to have that sort of thing for their television shows – who wouldn’t? “Hey Ash, shall we get something to eat as celebration?” *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Well, Misty never got that celebration, partly because of the fact that even she felt history should be preserved with respect, and a record not exceeded, as would seem contradictory to said respect; she had in fact been “having a laugh.” But the events of the previous day led up to what happened on the next. In a vain attempt to escape the parasitic media, Misty and her friends were forced to take refuge under the cover of the only restaurant in the whole town that didn’t already have a pathogenic infestation waiting for them. It was a quaint little restaurant, not the kind that serves buffets of the “All You Can Eat” variety, but rather that serves set meals at their own prices, a bit like the typical sort of traditional restaurant of times immemorial. Misty certainly had no intention of wasting valuable money on the small pickings they had here, at least not for her, but she knew that her pokémon could do with a bit of feeding – then again, of course, you really should go to the pokémon centre for that. This sort of food was not suitable for the pokémon gastronomy, which was highly dissimilar from the human equivalent, even surprisingly distinct in fact. The pokémon centre, on the other hand, provided food that was not only ideal to avoid alimentary “arguments” (like the kind with windows), but also highly nutritious, and unless you made your own, it really was the best way to go. Brock did make his own for the whole group of course, but the problem was still not entirely solved. You see, as I have explained, they couldn’t exactly make use of the facilities. However, you can not eJabedin to stay in a restaurant without purchasing a single product, like the way you have no hope of surviving the entrance to any economic building – well, not a survival that is financially intact, anyway. They would make you buy SOMETHING – even if it was only a drink each, which would be typical at 11.30 am in Spain, but at 10.30 pm in Japan you would have to eat a snack – whatever the healthy-diet version of “brunch” was. The Japanese weren’t fast-food junkies yet. Then again, they couldn’t leave now, not with a flood of enraged fungi awaiting them outside to launch an infection upon them. (Okay, taking metaphors too far, all the way in to medical language. I admit it.) “What on EARTH are we going to do?” said Misty, so nervous her speech had become old-fashioned. Before that question could be answered in a manner that would permit escape fro m both of these modern evil dangers, both originating from the umber I mentioned earlier on, although no time would have sufficed given the rather non-intellectual company that Misty had, the sort of answer that would only be welcomed by one of the alien, non-symbiotic parties was launched by such a party, thus preventing any escape from the cliff-hanger. They had been spotted in the restaurant, and that meant only one thing: they had to buy SOMETHING. Fortunately, the food didn’t seem that bad for pokémon on a second (albeit biased by the restaurant) inspection: soups are good for any animal that can take the heat; milk is a wonderful drink for every creature that is used to it, and fruit juices are universal; fruits, salads and many fruit-based desserts are recommendable to all but the carnivorous; chocolate and many other vegetarian options seem to be as cosmological as fruit (oh wait, that’s not what “universal” means in this context); and if the meat is good enough for a houndour, it’s good enough for the pokémon who turns down plant material in the manner that many humans (who are obsessed with the part of junk food left over without the bread and salad) believe it deserves. Of course, all the rubbish in this paragraph came from the waiter, but what are you going to do about it? Mind you, on a third, CORRECT inspection, it’s not all good. For instance, there were no solids that Togepi would like, and all it would go for was a nice, cold dink of milk, sucked through a straw, and it had tasted better. A huge number of rice balls supplied the “nutrition” for the majority of the others, not to mention some other rubbish. But Poliwhirl responded in a rather unexpected way, when it pointed at a picture of a seventy-two ounce steak. “Oh Poliwhirl, that’s a VERY big steak. Most people find that impossible, and people are larger than Poliwhirl. It’s about THIS big” (she made an imaginary shape, which she could guarantee to be accurate from experience; she even showed the thickness). “Are you SURE you want to try that?” Poliwhirl was sure. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** To understand Poliwhirl’s decision, you need to see it from … I’m fed up with genderless pronouns, I’ll just risk a ticking off for being wrong. You had to see it from “his” position, “his” perspective. Okay, no more quotation symbols for that! Break away … He had seen his trainer pull off an amazing feat of eating the day before, and trainers always serve as their pokémon’s role model; furthermore, Poliwhirl didn’t want to have his trainer think that he wouldn’t satisfy her standards. Poliwhirl also had the additional position of sharing common interests with his trainer, particularly bathing (or even swimming) AUX PISCINES PUBLIQUES. That was something he did not want to change. … Poliwhirl had observed her behaviour for several months, and was very much intrigued: it looked fun, and it was obvious that she enjoyed it, and if what was good for the goose was good for the gander as well, maybe there was a similar pokémon-trainer relationship. He couldn’t wait to try it! But yesterday’s “Maximus” feat was the turning point. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Poliwhirl did a lot better than Misty had expected. He did not appear to struggle with the large quantities of meat set before him, and he certainly seemed to have been fully aware of how large the steak would be when it arrived. His strategy, whatever it was, for completing the task in hand was obviously a very good one, unless he was helped by luck (which I do not suspect to be responsible), because he finished that steak within the first two hours. It wasn’t quite as fast as his trainer, but it was a start. There’s not really much more that can be said, apart from the fact that even the most bloodsucking news teams had given up and gone home by now, so they were safe a t last, albeit with a huge gape in their wallets. And that’s how it started. … *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** From that point on, Poliwhirl practiced magnificent feats of digestion and consumption. But then next Nurse Joy they saw was concerned about this dietary change. “I think if Poliwhirl is going to be eating this much, you should encourage him” (see, even she takes that risk!) “to do some more exercise as well, to compensate for the increase in caloric intake. I don’t think you’d want to put his health in danger, would you?” But the problem with that is that if you are going to get a pokémon to exercise more, the trainer needs to do that so that the pokémon follows suit, and Misty was hardly ready for exercise. Her muscles were buried under mountains of fat. She needed to lose weight to exercise, but she also needed to exercise to lose weight, so you see the spot this put her in over Poliwhirl’s health. The alternative option was for her to stop eating so much, so that Poliwhirl would as well. Not a hope in hell for that one! This was a serious dilemma, which was solved by an unexpected event that took place with surprisingly close temporal proximity. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** There was a man who liked very much the concept of pokémon who ate a lot, simply because he had a Snorlax farm, and he certainly wouldn’t want to think that he was unlucky enough to be burdened with big eaters, so if a Snorlax ate almost its whole body weight each day, surely all other pokémon species should. Right? Well, he founded the pokémon eating contest society (PECS). They were occasionally confused with OPEC, but only by idiots and Americans – I mean, I’m sure those are separate groups. The American confusion probably originates from the fact that, like over developed nations, they buy a lot of OPEC products – and since they are both English names, English is the language in which the mistake most commonly occurs. Anyway, the point is that his representatives were always looking for new pokémon to compete in their competitions. So when the typical representative sees a Poliwhirl that calls a huge steak a snack, that’s darn good. Rachel was one of those girls who thought that eating a lot was impressive, partly because it made her feel better about her self. She was an Arcanine trainer. She had grown up with a Growlithe, and they had always been the same weight, but evolution ruined that, and yet now she had managed to catch up. If you have ever slaved over a book or electronic pokédex, you will know that a typical Arcanine weighs 342 lbs – and so did Rachel, at long last. She was pleased by that, because she had always used that as a spiritual connection to her pokémon. This week was particularly lucky for her, because she also set her sights on a very promising competitor, whom she knew the judges would just eat up (metaphorically speaking, of course). “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said, approaching Misty, who really could be any age nowadays, and certainly with that corpulence it was impossible to tell, “but would that Poliwhirl over there happen to be yours?” “Yeah, why, is something wrong?” “Oh, no! I represent the PECS – Pokémon Eating Contest Society – and I think that your Poliwhirl would do well in our competitions.” “Really?” “Yeah. My name is Rachel.” “Hi, Rachel. My name is Misty. So how does this contest work? Speed? Quantity? He’s quite fast at eating, but quantity is his real strength.” “Well, actually, pokémon eating contests are a little different. You see it wouldn’t be fair to pit your Poliwhirl against, say, a Snorlax. So we use what is called a subjective form of competition.” “Subjective?” asked Ash, wishing to add this to his diction, only to lose it again before it had been in there for five seconds. “Yes, Ash!” replied Misty, whose vocabulary was for larger – and, dare I say it, better. “It means it’s a matter of opinion, rather than being measured by a set of ‘objective’ criteria. For instance, ice skating is a subjective sport, whilst the long jump is an objective sport, because there’s only one right answer to the question ‘How far did you jump?’ but there’s no right or wrong answer to the question ‘How well did you skate?’” “But surely there’s a right or wrong in eating?” “Well, Rachel can explain that to us, can’t she?” “Yes,” she replied, concealing a little giggle, though not particularly well, but fortunately even if Ash had taken offence, he accepted the apology. It turned out that Poliwhirl had to perform an eating feat in front of a group of judges, and once they had seen all the entrances, they would watch them again on video tape and each would give a rating from 1 to 10. The end result would be that each of the ten scores (from as many judges) would be added together, to give a score out of 100. However, the judges, who were the founding ten members of PECS, disagreed about all the key issues, and so almost no one impressed them ALL very well, and in fact no one whatsoever had ever done better than a score of 90, which was the highest ever. That was eight nines, a seven and a three. Each judge had their own ideas about what were the qualities of a “good” eater. Misty agreed to have Poliwhirl enter, at least eventually, but before she would do that, there were still some outstanding problems to settle, some conflicts on which to conflict dissolution. This hadn’t changed the fact that Poliwhirl still had the problem of having his health in danger as a direct result of overeating. The problem still needed solving. “I don’t know if I should do this, Rachel. Poliwhirl has only just started overeating, and I think he should stop soon, because I don’t want him to get health problems because he’s too fat.” “Don’t worry, we have metabolism accelerators to deal with that – not to mention our insurance policy is with a company that guarantees liposuction if everything else fails. We take care of the health of our entrants.” “Well … how much does it cost?” “Oh, it’s free. We’re funded by the government.” “Then count me – and Poliwhirl - in!” *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Once again, the government wasted its money on crackpot ideas. No explanation necessary. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** We were very fortunate that this story didn’t take a turn for the worse at this point. Rachel was an enormous girl by typical human standards, but by Misty’s she was a very small little creature, and although Misty said nothing, Rachel felt incredibly covetous of Misty. For Misty as much ‘dwarfed’ Rachel as Rachel now would have dwarfed Misty before she had met Ash, and keeping in mind that Misty had once been very underweight because of a cerulean lifestyle and a position in the family of gym leaders, that means she was pretty much huge at this stage. If there was a living human heavier than Misty, he or she was bound to tilt the continent. When Rachel envied someone, she would normally go for self-improvement rather than revenge, but she would rather keep her bond with Arcanine; it was more precious to her. On the other hand, she WAS jealous. She had an inkling in her towards revenge. It was so unlike her, but the umbra I have mentioned oh so many times already has a tendency to capture everyone once in a while. This is the reason that sins, and much of human suffering, occurs, but suffering only serves to bring out more sinning, and more causing of suffering. Even in non-sinning species, this cycle can be seen, but without an ethical angle; suffering causes actions that cause more suffering. And in beings with a moral awareness, which must be intelligent for this to be the case, this could be as bas as (say) was, so the implications are oh so much worse. But Rachel had many things in her life to attend to. For example, she had a job at the PECS, which she had to live up to. She was just one of many PECS employees, who had to locate pokémon that would make excellent achievements in the society – at least, they had to be as good as could be mustered. Rachel was particularly lucky in having located Poliwhirl, but she knew right from the start that the trainer of a top choice pokémon was bound to be heavier and fatter than her, and her heaviness and fatness were things of which she had grown proud – although no one was ever sure why – so she had always known she would get jealous when she met the right pokémon’s trainer. Nevertheless, it was her realisation that her job would require her to adjust to this that finally stopped her from taking any immoral action. This, of course, was a relief to everyone who knew about it – which was just she and I, and I only knew because this is MY Story! Actually, now I come to think of it, it’s not like she could have done anything! *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Well, that was an awful detour. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Poliwhirl now had to go through a rigorous training program. Every day, Poliwhirl had to guzzle down four ounces of steak, a fluid once of drinks in general, and at least four ounces of some all the other forms of food more than the day before. Poliwhirl liked challenges, and although this was a huge increase by some standards (not his!), he was willing to take it up. Within a few months, Poliwhirl could guzzle more food than one could imagine. Improving at the rate of seven pounds every two fortnights, he went up to being able to pass the Maximus challenge within the course of just seven months. Misty made sure not to fool behind him by increasing her own intakes by twice as much, and every day when Poliwhirl would have an eating contest against her, he won nor the speed contest (which was usually a set amount of food to consume in the least time but sometimes a set time to consume the most food instead), nor the quantity contest that came afterwards; in spite of all this, however, Poliwhirl never felt the same sorts of feelings towards Rachel as Misty had. When Poliwhirl became the lightest living thing to ever pass the Maximus challenge, Misty was very, very proud. But he could not have done that if Rachel had not helped him keep in shape. As with food intakes, this had to have minimum daily increases to compensate for the number of calories. To fit in both schedules, they actually multitasked – and yes, even though Poliwhirl was male, that was possible. And yes, I did check properly. The method was that Poliwhirl would run on a treadmill – which Misty did not do at first, but she was MADE to join in later, despite the fact that her muscles were buried under mountains of adipose – and the eating would occur during this. After all, you don’t need your legs or feet to eat! However, after training for seven months, Poliwhirl had gained five pounds, which is a lot more for a Poliwhirl than it is for a human – ten to fifteen pounds by our standards, or even more if you’re fat! *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** The plan all along had been to have Poliwhirl eventually achieve the Maximus challenge, and send that in on tape, as all the new steams would record it (and they did). The fact that it had happened could not possibly be denied, or even questioned. Rachel was certain that Poliwhirl was a “shoe-in”. It wasn’t exactly a contest as such, as it went on al year round, and was judged case by case, each case individually assessed, and compared to those so far. That meant you were told your percentile so far – record breakers got on national news, and of course for Poliwhirl that was by this time a pretty dismal affair. But Poliwhirl would have to appeal to ALL of the judges to do as well as was hoped for. Rachel was not one of the judges, but she would have contact with them when she took the tape in, and perhaps then she could manipulate them … not likely! You see, they were not exactly easy nuts to crack. Perhaps you should meet the “family”. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** 1.
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*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Rachel entered the office of the ten judges, carrying all of the video footage, borrowed from CNN. The whole challenge took seventeen hours, and was divided in to two four-hour periods and two four-hour thirty-minutes periods. Each period was on a separate videocassette. These were the terms under which the PECS operated; the footage had to be in VHS format, however many cassettes that took. And it could have taken more than would be expected – four cassettes was highly unusual. “So this is the so-called Maximus feat?” said Primo Snorlaxis as she entered. “It sounds like something that deserves ten out of ten without me even looking!” exclaimed Hamasaki. “I’d dare say that’s what you would think!” protested Prima. “You ALWAYS give ten out of ten.” “It’s better than the way you NEVER give more than two – except once!” “Well Hamasaki, let’s face facts; we have seventeen hours of looking at a screen, bored out of our skulls to get through.” “Boredom is what we have to do in this job,” commented Agatha. “You must be prepared for that!” Emily had had quite enough of this. “Let’s just get down to looking at this evidence. Then I can use my objective criteria to end the debate of how good it is once and for all.” “Don’t you be so sure that you know what’s right!” exclaimed John. “I agree John,” replied Jack. “We may not know what we want to see, but at least we are open-minded about these things.” “Yes, we do need to be open-minded about these things – give everything a chance,” added Sophia. “Even if it’s acrobatic – we should give it a chance,” said Cindy. “Mind you, I’ve not heard much about the speed of this, so I don’t promise I’ll like it!” “Just leave it there on your way out,” concluded Primo. Rachel did just that. Somehow, she didn’t feel to sure this would go down well – but then again, she wasn’t sure it would be catastrophic either. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Rachel’s jealousy had not subsided. She needed to restore her self-esteem. There was no respect of the kind we have seen so far in which she stood a chance against Misty. But what she had heard was that, although he wasn’t quite as good as Misty, Ash was a big eater and always had been, and in fact Misty had lost eating contests to him for several months as she fattened up, until eventually she won and never looked back. Since then she had more than paid back Ash for those crippling defeats! She had ceased when it was about an eye for three eyes, and so now she no longer put Ash through the humiliation of a vain ‘competition’ that was as easy to predict the outcome of as any bookkeepers’ bets on Hamasaki’s decisions. It turned out that, when Ash had finally been defeated the first time round, it was because, unlike Misty, he couldn’t finish that third seventy-two ounce steak. Now if there were any things that Rachel knew, they were that seventy-two ounces was four and a half pounds, that three times four and a half is thirteen and a half, that thirteen and a half is less than sixteen, and that finishing a sixteen-pound steak – quite easily – was her party trick. She might just stand a chance against Ash, who was a pretty good opponent, and whom had only ever buckled in the opposition of Misty. She could go up with the greats if she beat him! She had to give it a try! “Ash, I challenge you a steak-eating duel – whoever finishes five seventy-two ounce steaks first wins!” That was twenty-two and a half pounds. She had never gone that far, but she found sixteen easy, so surely this much was possible. … *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** The eating contest was set for Friday at one o’clock. It would take place at a local, very cheap all-you-can-eat buffet, so the winner could still get full afterwards. The purpose of this is not particularly evident, and it certainly was not known at the time, but I’m sure the true reason was actually a financial one – there was no cheaper way of getting forty-five pounds of steak. After all, the Maximus challenge could not be shared between two people. The problem with this contest was that there were not enough rules, and there was nothing to sort out what actually happened in the end. Let us look at that from both competitors’ perspectives, as well as the crowd’s view. But the crowd’s view can wait. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Rachel got through the first steak several minutes ahead of Ash, by which time she was making good progress on the second steak. Ash was not improving, and it seemed that the gap was widening. But at least Ash’s pace wasn’t slipping either. By the time Rachel finished the first two steaks, a thought had occurred to her: can I keep this up? The tortoise and hare story came to mind; maybe her choice to be speedy was a bad idea. It didn’t look like Ash had ever been going as fast as was physically possible, as she would have noticed at least a small struggle by now. By the time she was through ten pounds – her mathematics was inadequate to realise that was how much, but I can tell you it as a fact, with my AS-Level and all that – she received a message from her stomach that suggested maybe she had been going a wee bit too quick at the start. She had slowed down a tiny bit, although in a way that only she could notice (and even her only with all her nervousness), by the time she reached the end of the third steak. This became more pronounced in the fourth steak, but Rachel struggled on, still not quite behind. But she fell behind when Ash started his fifth. By this time, however, Rachel’s digestion was catching up, a gaping hole in her stomach was vacant, and she was soon able to speed up, thus going faster than Ash, and begin to catch up. But could she catch up enough to finish this last steak first? (Hope you understood that.) *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Ash had already decided before he started to avoid rushing – a bit slower but still pretty quick and steady wins the race, even if it is harder to remember than the less accurate Tortoise and Hare moral. The crowd looked shocked that he was behind for so long, but Ash, with all his experience, and wisdom in this one category (the sole example of wisdom in him!) knew better than they did. Early on in the third steak – ten pounds to be precise (he had eagle-eye vision with steak) – he saw a look on Rachel’s face. Only the best trained person in this area – such as a skilled participator like himself – could even notice it, let alone interpret it. But he interpreted it and did so well. That meant her stomach was warning that this speed was anaerobic (that’s a better description than the informal one Ash would have churned out, which was that this couldn’t last much longer). Rachel was finally slowing down as the third steak drew to an end for her, when Ash was only a pound or two behind. He could tell her speed was dropping instantly, because of a look on a face that said – oh no, stomach was right! Soon she was finally going slower than him (and he could tell that because he could mentally calculate, given that the anxiety on her face had inverse proportion to her speed, that she was at a speed that minus his gave a negative result at last), which meant he pulled ahead eventually. He was starting his fifth when this finally happened. But within a few minutes, a look on her face told him a gap was vacant. She sped up with a high acceleration, and although she was still slower for a while, she had no trouble in building up to his speed and beyond, which she showed on her face with a nefarious grin – perhaps she was going to make up completely for the lost time. Even Ash’s face had an interpretable look on it now, and it wasn’t anything like Rachel’s current one! … *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** The crowd included Misty, Brock, Poliwhirl, Pikachu, Togepi, and many other people from the town, though no news reporters, since this wasn’t worthy of it. They were all on Ash’s side. They were concerned by his failure to keep up with Rachel, until the time came for that to change, and then they were finally getting back at Rachel. But it didn’t last as long as was hoped. When Rachel finally started to speed up again, it was still okay until a look on Ash’s face – one of terror – gave them a shocking injection of horror, when they realised that Rachel was finally going fast enough to catch up. Emotions were high everywhere. Only time would tell what would be the end result. Who would finish first? Well… *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Neither finished the fifth and final steak – fish. They both were defeated by the same amount at the same moment. Neither could still eat, and all the stats were tied, so they would have to either settle for a tie or have a rematch. Rachel was willing to go for a rematch, but not to tie. So what do you think was decided upon? A who-can-eat-the-most contest, that’s what, and as the person whose idea the first on was, Rachel chose all the details. For this Rachel played her trumps card. There was one food that she was so sure she could never be beaten in by anyone, not even Misty, that she was willing to bet something as serious as this on her ability to beat Ash with it. And that food was what she asked for. “I challenge you to a quantity-based contest of eating … ice cream.” *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** “Misty, what’s your secret to eating ice cream so well?” “Uh … I can do that with everything.” “But ice cream was the one you could do with first, and I know ice cream could never fill you, not if there was a thousand gallons of it!” “I suppose not.” “Then help me!!!” “Ash, the only way for you to improve is the way we improved with Poliwhirl.” “There isn’t time.” “Then I can’t help Ash …” *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** When the re-match came along, Rachel looked as confident as anyone ever had. A smile as sinister as the left hand – only people who speak Latin will get that – broke up the monotonousness of her complexion, as did two identically ecstatic eyes, and what could have been long, flowing hair, but wasn’t – Rachel did not need any of the traits of “beauty”. She was here to win an EATING contest, after all. Ash did not look so healthy. A minor chord of some sort, or even a huge group of these disconsolate triumvirates, served as the only music that could aptly link to his _expression-bearing face. His mouth was a sad, sad curve, as even a mathematician would call it, a parabola with the y-axis as line of symmetry (in this case a line running down the forehead through the nose between the eyes) – a quadratic so to speak – with a negative coefficient of its highest order term. This negative mouth screamed out to the heavens all the pains of hearts that have ever been. When someone said ‘If it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t love’, he should have mentioned that non-romantic things could hurt too – and this was solid proof. Rachel and Ash both sat down at the table. Ash was no worse with ice cream than anything else, but as for ANYONE else – well, that was another matter. Rachel obviously had a trick up her sleeve. With a heavy heart, the loyal fan of Ash that was the referee – Brock – stepped forward and said: “Begin!” Sundae after sundae poured down their throats, and when he finished twenty of them, Ash’s confidence began to grow – he could still eat for his country, even if not at an Olympic standard. Well, maybe a bronze after Misty and Rachel. His heart was at last approaching a picokelvin in temperature – it was warming to his esteem. After that, the first course was over. On came the next sundaes – twenty again, but bigger, a different flavour, and at last with some toppings. Ash had come all this way, he couldn’t back out now. All the while he had kept pace beside her exactly. Each round progressed with the same number of sundaes as before, but each score had different flavour, more toppings and greater size, and this was noticeable after the fourth round finally ended. Ash had still kept pace exactly all the way through, and was suspecting that he may have a chance, when the new sundaes sailed into view. The others had each been only marginally heftier than the last batch, but he realised with all his mind’s and heart’s revulsion that that was not the case here. Each was as high as any could have seen before. These were definitely not snacks. Brock read what it said on the card. “Round five: Sudden death. Competitors will eat these sundaes, each of which is an entire gallon, and if one finishes before the other, the person who has not finished must do so in five minutes, or be disqualified. This process will continue until disqualification occurs.” Ash’s heart sank. It must have been made of lead. Had he had any good scientific knowledge, he might have thought: I WISH THAT MY HEART WAS ON MERCURY INSTEAD OF WATER, BECAUSE LEAD FLOATS ON THAT. But of course, he didn’t. Instead he just thought: BUGGER! The first five gallon-sundaes went fine, Ash still finishing bang on time. Both of them were in fact feeling fuller, though neither showed it in any way, certainly not linguistically, and they didn’t slow down either. Ash began falling behind only after the first fifteen, at first by only a few seconds, but by the end of the thirtieth it was minutes, and the thirty-ninth he just couldn’t get down as fast as he had hoped. He never managed to rectify the problem; five minutes passed after Rachel had finished, Ash still wasn’t, and so the contest was – as was showing off for Ash. “I win!” yelled Rachel, very pleased with her self indeed. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Ash was depressed. Misty didn’t like seeing in his eyes a feel of hurt, of failure. There was only one thing she could do … *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** “Rachel!” yelled Misty the next day, angry that she had upset Ash so much. “You will have an eating contest with me right now!” “Well Misty, you’d better like ice cream.” “Sure do – it was the only food that couldn’t give me satiety, even before I met Ash and started eating a lot.” “Really?” “What’s the matter? Worried your trumps card isn’t high enough?” Misty had Rachel right where she wanted her. She was well ahead all the way through, eating several times faster than Rachel, and not getting fuller at all. When they came to the fifth round, Misty ate so fast that Rachel was knocked out straight away – couldn’t have avoided that to save her life. “I want a rematch by amount!” She still lost that when it happened the next day; unlike Misty, she couldn’t manage more than sixty-six gallons. By the time she gave up – which took ages, because she didn’t want to admit it – Misty had managed three hundred and seventeen. Rachel was disgraced. Ash was pleased. The tables had turned! *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Poliwhirl’s results came back not long after Rachel’s crushing defeat. Fortunately, Poliwhirl had done slightly better than her. Okay I lie; slightly is an understatement. Rachel’s achievement would be the equivalent of Poliwhirl doing so badly that Prima’s vote was the most generous – which would only be possible if it meant damn awful results! So as you can eJabedin, the Maximus feat was better than the embarrassing achievement of Rachel. Rachel held out the envelope rather shakily, and it was in a similarly shaky manner that she struggled to open the envelope. She was too nervous, and Misty was no more successful. Even Ash couldn’t manage it. Only Brock was detached enough from the events concerning Poliwhirl to have steady hands that could open that envelope. “These are the results for each judge.” They seemed to have put those judges in an unusual order. “Hamasaki: 10 out of 10.” No surprise there. “Agatha: 10 out of 10.” The voice of wisdom was on their side – but some judges are not that clever. “Emily: 10 out of 10.” Just what had been predicted – something that was impossible with most judges. “Primo: 10 out of 10.” That was a good sign – he must have been as impressed as by the Snorlax eating. Well, Poliwhirl had consumed perhaps more than his body weight! “Sophia: 10 out of 10.” That was another good sign. Her flexibility made that meaningful. “Jimmy: 10 out of 10.” Jimmy had ascended beyond his desire for speed. There was a faint tremor in the air. “Jack: 10 out of 10.” What that meant – nobody knew; except for one thing! It was an extra 10 points. “Cindy: 10 out of 10.” That was as meaningful as from Sophia. “John: 10 out of 10.” That was a s meaningful as Jack. Perfect so far. But the worst was yet to come! *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** Now it was time for Prima. That may have been the German word for prime, but she never saw things that way. Not so far. … Poliwhirl already had ninety, the highest ever score, and since Prima could only give a positive score, Poliwhirl would break the record, not just tie. But by how far would he? They all knew that a low score – as surely Prima would give – would forever crush Poliwhirl’s spirit. This was the worst moment. “Sophia …” Fear paralysed all gathered, even Brock. Only Brock’s eyes and mouth still worked. “ Of 10 it is …” This was it. The final moment – this was the end to it all. “Ten!” Maybe it was just the beginning. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** The verdict was an international celebration. The first ever perfect score from PECS had finally been achieved, as had an improvement on the previous record score from Prima of over three-fold. This was an impressive result. There was nothing more that could be said on that matter. Primo had got what he needed to retire, and so had Prima – she had been a judge as long as her brother, and had long wanted to see something that impressed her. They both wanted to retire, and now all that they needed were successors. But Misty was not willing to step in to the boots. However, Rachel was, and she did very well as a judge. She took over Prima’s role, because Prima felt a degree of apology needed to be given to her. Primo selected someone that had been ready to fill the position for some time – Hamasaki’s son, Jacob. (I know you don’t believe that name, but what the heck!) *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** THE END *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ****** *** *** ***
NB: The name Polycharacters is a very clever pun on Poliwhirl and the suffix poly- meaning mans (from the Greek word of the same meaning polus). It is a clever way of saying that there are lot of characters of the nature that are admired on this site, and even many types of them – some not even human beings. Pokémon is the most respected anime on this site – it is the only one that ever makes any appearance, be it as text or image, on the homepage (with the exception of in some cases a single female character on the PAWG banner at the top); only pokémon-related stories are to be found on this site; while many anime shows each have one gallery section to themselves, and others have to make appearances as stocking fillers in another section, the same is said of individual pokémon characters; the gallery sections for pokémon are about half of all there are, and make up the whole of the left-hand side of the main gallery page; it is the most updated of all the animes; and of course, pokémon features in the name of the site (PAWG) separately from the general anime class – not to mention the fact that the site and its owner are both named after the principal female character in pokémon. This is a tribute, therefore, to the characters in pokémon that make it what it is – namely pokémon – but which are completely ignored on this site, which gives unparalleled attention to that one anime when compared to the rest – or so all this information suggests. So isn’t it blindingly obvious that it is our moral duty to include the pokémon themselves in the action? I’m Jos Gibbons. Good night. |