It happens every single time. I boot up a Pokémon game for my triennial let's-try-to-do-something-other-than-power-level-Magikarp-for-twenty-five-hours-before-quitting-again routine. I play the first several tense minutes where your mom tells you to get the hell out so she can watch her stories. I mosey over to Professor Oak/Elm/Xavier to learn the horrors of Pokémon cruelty that would make Barnum and Bailey blush. Then I run into my rival. That little shit. I don't know why he's my rival; all I know is that we hate each other, and the next two hundred hours it'll take to get from the opening screen to the final gym will be spent chasing and battling him.
If the designers were smart, they'd give him a name worthy of hate, like Chad or Skylar or Ajit Pai. But alas, they instead chose the Dark path, the path that allows me to name my rival. And me, being the 30-going-on-12 adult that I am, do the responsible adult thing each and every time.
via destructoid http://ift.tt/2BzzQiv