Cockfights in a can...

Oh, the traffic that headline is going to bring up--I have no sense. 

Was joking yesterday that not every idea I have is a good idea. Sometimes that spaghetti doesn't stick. It ain't done yet. So, forgive my curmudgeonly nature when the idea of pet battles doesn't seem like a good idea. No, wait. Not phrased right: doesn't seem like something I am going to enjoy. The whole Pokemon thing, and some creature that pops out of a plastic bubble was part of my vernacular for years. I saw all the movies, I hurt for Ash and his doting mother, and that mysterious professor. I can still sing like Jigglypuff on demand, and do a helluva Pickachu imitation. So don't think I'm trying to step on childhood memories.

What it comes down to is I hate to duel: it's not the losing that has bothered me, but the winning. I feel like I ripped wings off a butterfly the few times I've won. They are terrible, terrible moments. The vision, the premonition is clear: Zep and Mrs. Whitworth (her feline familiar) are blithely walking around Elwynn Forest one afternoon, when a young rogue challenges her to a pet battle. Mrs. Whitworth scratches eyes, claws, and mangles, there's parts and blood strewn everywhere, then she straightens her hat, and rides away on her broom. Zep's left with a crying rogue (he's only 8 or 9) and a dead World Destroyer. All kidding aside, I hate winning, because someone has to be a loser when it's mano a mano, or Winterspring cub v. Alliance balloon.

So, I'll just donate funds to D.E.H.T.A, and hope they don't go too far with their extremist animal rights policies. They start tossing buckets of blood or red paint on my Cape of Stranglethorn then I'm cutting off funding.