I don't own my life. It belongs to a group of aliens who wish to conduct cultural experiments using modern day humans as a control group.

"Mommy," said an upset child, "a pink thing stole my happy meal."

His Mother blew a sigh. "Have you been eating Mommy's 'special' brownies?"

The child looked down in shame. "A little..."

The Mother shook her head and then picked him up. "Looks like it's nap time for you soon."

Her little son was too captivated by his hands to pay attention. "Whoa! Dude! I have five fingers! And I can talk! Whoa!"

As they left we can see that Kirby was beneath their table, holding a happy meal box. He inhaled the happy meal and headed back to his table.

Reclining in his seat, Mr. Tiyamato was browsing through a magazine. The front of it said "Rich Tyrants Monthly." He set that aside when he saw the pink puff.

"I see you had a fruitful hour." He said wirily.

Kirby scoffed at him. "It was the kid's fault for not keeping an eye on his food."

Tiyamato nodded sagely. "Indeed, I have stolen pay checks from many characters while they weren't looking."

Kirby starred in astonishment. "You did wha-."

"Your new assignment," chipped in Mr. Tiyamato, "will be somewhat familiar to you." He slapped on a hat, that detailed Pikachu's head, upon Kirby's head.

"You will take over the duties of this nauseatingly cute creature."

Kirby shrugged his shoulders. "I stand around and look cute. How hard can that be?"

Mr. Tiyamato gave a slight shrug. "We shall see."

He snapped his fingers and Kirby disappeared from sight. He sat back and resume reading his magazine.

The darkness was quite unsettling. The enclosure of the poke ball had a claustrophobic effect upon Kirby. He wondered if taller pokemon had to settle their heads near their ass. Did they go to the washroom? But there was no washroom. He felt hungry. But there was no kitchen. He began to hyperventilate, than realized that there didn't seem to be a vent to draw in oxygen. Slowly he found himself clawing at the walls of the pokeball.

"LETMEOUTLETMEOUTLETMEOUT!!!!!!"

Meanwhile, a Pokemon trainer and breeder were walking on a beaten path. The taller one noticed something peculiar.

Brock gave his friend a nudge. "Hey Ash, maybe you should let Kirby-chu out."

Ash looked somewhat pissed at the suggestion. "I'm not letting my Pokemon out because he's my best friend."

Brock scratched his head. "Tha...that doesn't make any sense. Look at your pokeball! It's about to burst!"

That was an understatement. The damn ball looked like an imminent nuclear explosion.

Ash just gave a goofy grin. "That just means that he's so happy."

Ash brought the violently, quivering ball to his face.

"Yezzz u r, Yezz, u-"

The ball sundered apart and fragments became embedded into Ash's skull. Brock witnessed it all from behind a boulder.

"Ash," he shouted, "are you ok?"

Ash just waved off his concerned. "I'm fine. No real harm done. My skull's pretty thick."

He dropped the smoking pokeball onto the ground and started picking the fragments out of his head.

"It certainly is thick," mused Brock. "Thick and empty."

As he completed picking frag out of his head, Ashnoticed a missing familiar presence. "Gasp!" He....gasped. "Where's Kirby-chu?"

Kirby blinked a couple more times, before rising into a sitting position. He took a deep long breath and exhaled.

He heard a voice. "Kirby-chu!"

Kirby spun around. A peculiar human with an absurdly spiky hair and squiggles beneath his eyes was pointing at him.

"Who the hell are you!?" He said.

What ash is hearing is: "Kirby, Kirby, Kirby-chu."

Ash instantly picked him up and started squeezing. Hard.

Ash started sobbing uncontrollably. "I was so worried!"

Kirby started turning red. "Can't... breathe."

Kirby started slapping Ash's head in desperation. He only succeeds in nearly breaking his hands, which was quite a feat considering hehas no bones. He starts to black out.

Brock grew quite worried. "Ash! I think you're hugging him-"

Ash turned his head. "Not hard enough? You're right! He needs an extra squeeze!"

Drawing from the depths of his subconscious, Ash summoned every last ounce of strength he had and drew his arms closer in his embrace of love. Kirby's eyes bulged out before he passed out.

Ash held the limp Kirby at arms length. "AWWW!!! He's asleep. HES SOOOO TIRED!!"

Brock shrugged. "Whatever, lets find a Pokemon center. I haven't molested a Nurse Joy or an Officer Jenny in two days."

Ash plopped Kirby on his head. "Well, we better hurry!"

He stuck out his hand with his forefinger pointed outward in a dramatic pose. The background started flashing in a complicated colour-light scheme giving Brock an epileptic attack.

"To the Pokemon centre!"

Brock was witnessing all from the ground. "NARF!" He would say.

The intrepid duo headed onward to a Pokemon centre, with Ash dragging Brock. Behind them Misty was dragging her Psyduck on a leather leash.

Misty's temper was flaring as usually. "Common Psyduck, why don't you walk faster!?"

Unbeknownst to Misty, the handicap that Psyduck suffered from was a case of being dead. All those massive headaches finally killed him. Ash and Brock, believing they killed Psyduck, hired a taxidermist to stuff the pokemon and affixed the feet with wheels.

From orbit we could see Misty's veins popping out. "You are just impossible you stupid Pokemon!"

Psyduck, of course, said nothing.

Misty shook her fist at her unusually silent Pokemon. "Don't you dare talk back me or I'll slap you so hard it'll actually prevent your headaches! Then where will you end up huh!? That's right, a useless Pokemon!"

Psyduck said nothing, again.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Don't cry Psyduck. Maybe I'm expecting too much from you. Forgive me?"

Psyduck, surprise, said nothing.

Misty's eyes got...well...misty. "Oh thank you Psyduck!"

Misty gives the dead pokemon a bear hug, which dislodged one of its eyeballs.

"Oops," she giggled, "squeezed too hard there. Here you go."

She bent down to pick up the eyeball and reinserted the eye back into the empty socket.

Misty stood up with her hands on her waist, admiring her work. "Good as new!"

She grabbed his leash and started after Ash and the comatose Brock.

Behind them was none other than the nefarious team Rocket.

"I'm so tired of this," whined James, "can't we just kill them?"

"I know," consented Jesse, "We had so many chances to take a gun and shoot them and take Kirby-chu! Why do we always become incompetent around them?"

"Beats me," said a stumped Meowth. "Every time I want to slice those brats heads off, I become dumber than a pile of rocks."

"Yeah," chimed in James, "it's as if some outside force is controlling us, somehow. Making them thevictor every time we face off, and making us look, and think, like buffoons."

Jesse scoffed at his theory. "You idiot, no one controls our destiny, for we are TEAM ROCKET!"

James nodded aggressively. "You're right, Jesse, we are indeed TEAM ROCKET! We are in control of everything!"

Meowth pointed towards the three distancing Pokemon trainers. "Common! Let's go eviscerate those brats and get Kirby-chu!"

Jesse and James roared their agreement.

In unison they took a step. In unison, three bolts of lightning struck them, knocking them out. It began to rain heavily which, remarkably, washed away the carbon scorching. Then the sun came out, flaring at an unusually intensity, and dried out the ground, their clothing, and fur. When they awoke, James slammed his fist into his palm.

"Meowth, Jesse," he slurred, "I just concocted the most devious scheme which involves a giant, frail and expensive contraption and includes no killing!"

"Splendid," said a somewhat dazed Jesse, "why don't you grace us with your idea."

Meowth was busy playing chess with a bunch of rocks.

"Arrgh," he said before kicking the chessboard away. "Best two out a three, Rock!"

The rock, of course, said nothing.