Il faut cultiver notre jardin
Swear words. References to sex.
Touch My Tail, Dude!
Hey! Hey you! Yeah, you, in the green shirt!
Touch my tail, dude!
'No thanks?' Why not?
…come on, you don’t really believe in that ‘thousand-year curse’ thing do you? Well, you should! Because it’s totally true! One hundred percent correct-a-mundo, my bro-slice. A single touch of one of these babies and you’re cursed for the big one-G! So step right up and give ‘em a good ‘ol yank-
...hey, hey, where you going, man? Get back here! See, getting cursed is the whole point, my dude! Duh!
...it isn’t obvious? Do I have to spell it out for you? For a species who named yourselves ‘wise’ twice in Latin, you’re not very smart. Look, it’s simple. You know you’re gonna die one day, right? One day realllllll soon now. I can tell. You smell like leftover meat casserole that you can’t remember when you put it in the fridge, and you’re like, ‘aw man, I should’ve put a label on this’, but then you eat it anyways, because you’re the sort of person who makes bad choices like that, which is why you’re about to bite it, you know dude? Like, if you were the kind of guy who’s gonna see a hundred candles on his cake one day, you wouldn’t have just let a rando fox corner you against a rock wall and start babbling about how he smells like meat-
Whoa, whoa, put away the mace, bro! I’m not making a threat! Just stating the facts, man! My point is, you need help, dude. Without that, I’d say you’ve got like, sixty, seventy years left, tops. Trust me, my nose knows it’s talking about. Yeah, that may seem like a lot now. And I bet fruit flies think baby joltik are ‘really big’. See, here’s the deal: it’s called a thousand-year curse, bro. Not a ‘thousand years or until you have a heart attack or get shot or whatever, whichever comes first’ curse.
Touch my tail, and you’ll live for a thousand years.
What, you don’t believe me? Ever heard of someone called ‘AZ’ before? Kinda tall, flowing white hair, three-thousand years old? Yeah, he didn’t get to that age ‘cause of some made-up ‘ultimate weapon’. That’s crap. No, every thousand years, he just touched a ninetales tail again. That’s right, it works more than once.
Or maybe you’re familiar with this ‘Ash Ketchum’ guy? Yep, he’s a tail-toucher too. That’s why he still looks like a kid despite having been on his Pokemon journey for like a dozen years now. And you know that those two Team Rocket agents who always follow him around also got in on some of that sweet fluffy action. What, you’ve never wondered how come they’re not dead yet despite getting blown up or electrocuted every other day?
Ah, you’re getting curious now, bro! I like that! To answer your question, I’d say ‘inability to get over the death of some stupid plant fairy’ – like seriously, it’s been three-thousand years, move on already - ‘having the maturity of a ten-year-old for eternity’, and ‘getting blown up or electrocuted every other day’, respectively. So, yeah, although we’re not talking I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream level shit here, they’re still, ya know, curses. It sucks having to deal with them, I’m not gonna lie.
…but they’re still better than rotting away and dying after just a few decades, man! Come on! Like, aging itself is basically a dozen curses in itself, especially for you humans! The Curse Of The Enlarged Prostate Gland. The Curse Of The Receding Hairline. The Curse Of Your Goddamn Hip Breaking After Falling Just Three Fucking Feet Dear Christ Why Does My Body Suck So Much.
If it’s so great, why isn’t everyone living to a thousand, you ask? See, here’s the deal – us ninetales can get tail-touch curses too, even if the tails we’re touching are our own! And the most common curse for us to get is – yeah, you guessed it – The Curse Of No One Wanting To Touch Your Tails.
… no, I’m not implying that’s why you don’t want to touch mine! See, I’m smart. I’m friends with a magnemite, and every day he rubs his metallic body all over me and my nine little beauties back there. Then the static makes ‘em repel each other, so I’ve never touched any of my tails my whole evolved life, not even once. That means I’m not cursed, and so you’re totally capable of getting over your bizarre aversion and grabbing yourself a big fluffy serving of thousand-year-long life.
So what are you waiting for? It just takes a few seconds, bro. Really. And you’ve got a whole nine options to chose from! Like, take your freaking pick, man! Here, let me tell you what their names are: From left to right, there’s Mr. Flufferson, The Poofy One, Trixie Longshanks, Ol’ Red Tip, Action Hero, Lulamoon-
- wha – what the – NO, THIS ISN’T SOME FETISH THING! I’m trying to save your life, man! What, you seriously think I get some sort of sick sexual pleasure from letting your grimy ape hands yank at my rear-extensions?
Didn’t it ever occur to you that I’m risking my own life to give you this amazing opportunity? Since I’ve never touched any of my own tails, there’s no guarantee I’ll live a thousand years! I could just randomly die of an asteroid strike or stray hyper-beam at any minute! I’m basically tail-Jesus over here, taking on all of your immortality-rejecting-sins to let you live into the next millenium, and all you can think of is, ‘oh-no, here comes the pervo-fox, better run!’
Maybe I shouldn’t let you touch my tail.
...no, wait, I didn’t really mean that! Wait, stop, I’m begging you, bro! Come back! Everyone else might be too stupid to accept my offer, but that doesn’t have to be you, man! Think of what you’re throwing away!
Please, just do it! You have to! You have to!
Just do it!
Touch my tail, dude!