Pikachu. I hate Pikachu.

Pikachu. I hate Pikachu.

That’s it. That’s the post. No, seriously, I need to get this out before my head explodes like a Voltorb.
What even IS that thing? It’s a smug, squeaky voiced, over merchandised RODENT that has the audacity to just EXIST in my peripheral vision at all times. Every time I see that stupid little lightning-bolt tail, I feel my blood pressure spike like a Raichu that just licked a power outlet.
Do you know what Pikachu represents? THE DECLINE OF CIVILIZATION. I’m not joking.
Who killed Saturday morning cartoons? Pikachu. Who absolutely tanked the global economy in 2008? Pikachu. Why does my toaster only burn one side of the bread while leaving the other as pale as my soul-crushing despair? PIKACHU.

And that VOICE. That high-pitched, nails-on-a-chalkboard “Pika Pika!” is not cute. It’s a sonic war crime. Every time it screeches, a newborn baby in a hospital somewhere just gives up on crying because it knows it can’t possibly compete with that level of pure, unadulterated irritation. The Geneva Convention is suspiciously silent on this, and I KNOW its stubby little electric fingers are all over that paperwork.

THE MERCH. OH MY GOD, THE MERCHANDISING. It’s on everything. EVERYTHING. Pencil cases, backpacks, limited edition corn chips, and AIRPLANES. You are telling me I am supposed to feel safe entrusting my fragile, fleshy body to a metal tube thousands of feet in the air, WHILE THE NOSE OF THE JET IS PAINTED WITH THE GRINNING FACE OF MY MORTAL ENEMY? No. If that plane goes down, it’s not “pilot error.” It’s not “mechanical failure.” It’s Pikachu’s yellow little curse made manifest.
Think I’m crazy? Think about it.

You stub your toe in the dark? Pikachu left the Lego there. You feel that inexplicable sense of dread at 3:47 AM?Pikachu is squatting in the corner of your psyche, sparking quietly, feeding on your misery. Your spouse left you and took the good TV?Pikachu whispered in their ear. You ever wonder why it always rains on your damn picnic?Two words: ELECTRIC. RODENT.

If I ever meet that thing in a tall grass, I swear on everything holy and unholy, I will not just catch it. I will invent a new type of Poké Ball designed solely to erase it from the space-time continuum. We need to send it back to whatever hell dimension spawned it.

We will never know peace until that yellow menace is gone.