Pokemon terror

  "The horror . . ."

Marlon Brando, Apocalypse Now

If there is any way you can avoid seeing Pokemon, The First Movie, do it.

A friend of mine who used to do some trapping along local creeks once told me that muskrats, snared by the paw, sometimes chew off their own limb to escape. Imagine the grisly sight of children in movie line-ups gripping the severed hands of their parents.

If you haven't heard of the Pokemon phenomena, then you're probably in a vegetative state and don't care much about anything other than collecting bird's nests for hats. Otherwise, you know those cute little Pokemon characters are Japan's revenge on the west for the Auto Pact.

As if karaoke wasn't enough.

In fact, the whole craze has become such a national parental disaster, Gordon Lightfoot plans to write a song.

"Does anyone know, where the love of God goes, when the Pokemon drive us all squirrelly."

I don't know why I volunteered to take my son to see the movie. Parents will do about anything to make their children happy. There's no clear reason for this. I've yet to hear my son say "Hey Dad, lets go. I've got some box seats at a Leafs game." (Although, choosing between a Leafs game or the Pokemon movie is a toss up.)

But love-engendered masochism prevailed and I eventually found myself standing in a movie line loosening the wrist band on my shirt sleeve. But we had reserved our tickets, so before I had a chance to spread ketchup and relish on my arm, we were seated in a darkened room packed with noisy kids and terrified parents.

I knew it was going to be bad. I just didn't know how bad.

I should note here that my son and I were accompanied by a friend and her son, my wife being wise enough to have made a previous engagement (What a co-incidence, eh). My companion in terror is one of the brightest people I know, but I suddenly had misgivings about her sanity when she started describing the different characters we could expect to see in the film. She knew them all. She knew their names, their sounds, their powers. I could only imagine the horror her son had put her through to become tainted with so much Poke-lore

I clenched my eyes shut when the film started, but quickly received a sharp elbow nudge. "If I have to watch it, you do too," she snarled.

I don't remember much after that. I started to understand what Pikachu, a sort of electrified rat, was saying, and suddenly developed something of a memory block.

"Pika, Pika." said the rat.

"Pika, Pika, Pika," I said.

After that, I can only remember driving home, muttering "Got to get them all", and trying to calm a nasty twitch under my left eye.

It's probably best that I don't remember.

I still wake up in a sweat after dreaming that I asked Misty out for a date.

Help me. Please. Help me.