Gotta Catch-22 ‘Em All

I’ve never told anyone this, but I’m a victim of child abuse. When mother lets me walk to the drug store, I never fail to meet a handful of nine or ten-year-olds, ready and willing to offer comments on my appearance. At times, moldy bits of bread and balled-up fast food wrappers are hurled in my direction.

“Oi, mate! Why you wearing a DRESS?”
“Look! A she-male! Is it going on a date?”
“Go, Bruce Jenner, go!”

I escape the young cretins the same way each time––by running for my life. Eventually I find the safe haven of a Chili’s or an Applebee’s and catch my breath. If it’s a good day, I won’t have any runs in my hose or broken heels. If it’s a bad day, I call 911 and have them drop me at the house.

The popularity of Pokemon Go has worsened my situation. I’ve never seen so many children on the streets, at all hours of the day and night. Asking them if they talk to their mothers with that mouth simply makes it worse.

The catch? If we do not play this game, the corporate overlords will be displeased and destroy us like God destroyed the Sodomites, but if we play the game, God will turn us into real-life Pokemon.

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