Mea Culpa de Poke’mon

Alas, this week I must give a mea culpa of sorts. I have brought shame upon myself and my family. I must beg forgiveness at the altar of all that is animated without bulging eyes, without interjection or extemporaneous marks surrounding a character’s melon, and spiked hair. I throw myself on the mercy of a kangaroo court, that may wear tights, but does not feel the need to explain every plot point as if the viewer has sustained significant head trauma. May I be strung from Spiderman’s web and burned to ember by the gaze of a Kryptonian. I do not deny deserving this metaphoric fate any more than one can deny the thrill of finding a first volume in their uncle’s attic. No, evisceration from adamantium claws may be what I deserve on this dark night, but my resolve is as unstoppable as Juggernaut, as is my guilt.

But the truth shall set me free. I beg forgiveness from the Fantastic Four, Avengers, X-Men, and the Justice League and more for what I am about to confess. Howard the Duck, on the other hand, can bite it. Dude is creepy, weird, and completely unrealistic. And I don’t care what Archie and Veronica think. It’s Doctor Fate I’ve let down, not Jughead.

But, once again, I digress. It is time I come clean with the horror. I watched, and enjoyed, Pokémon. There. I’ve said it. Perhaps I should flog myself with a stuffed Barney in repentance. Or I could go see if Pikachu finds the thunderstone or if Ash’s Oshawott learns to open his eyes under water.