Likely Normal

There’s something beautifully absurd about watching a ten-year-old command a fire-breathing dragon to fight a psychic cat while an entire stadium cheers them on. Pokémon battles are essentially high-stakes pet fights with better special effects and significantly worse labor laws. These creatures could easily reduce entire cities to rubble, yet they politely wait their turn to attack like they’re in some kind of elemental DMV line. The whole system runs on a bizarre logic where a well-placed water balloon can defeat a creature made of literal lava, but that same water attack somehow becomes useless against a houseplant with attitude (looking at you, Cacturne).

Trainers operate with the moral flexibility of a mob boss, casually reviving fainted Pokémon like they’re not dabbling in light necromancy. The battles themselves are a masterclass in questionable decisions—why use a balanced team when you can just overlevel your starter and brute-force your way through the Elite Four? Meanwhile, the Pokémon seem to have accepted their bizarre fate; Pikachu could clearly electrocute everything within a five-mile radius, but obediently holds back because some kid in a hat hasn’t given the command yet.

The aftermath is perhaps the most surreal part—after what should be traumatic, life-altering battles for these creatures, everyone just… moves on. There’s no PTSD counseling for the Charizard who just got dunked on by a water gun, no workers’ compensation for the Machamp that threw out its back carrying your entire team. Just a quick trip to the Pokémon Center and suddenly everyone’s ready to do it all again tomorrow.

At their core, Pokémon battles are a perfect metaphor for life: sometimes you’re the Alakazam outsmarting your opponent, sometimes you’re the Magikarp flopping helplessly on the ground, but either way, you’ve got to get up and keep fighting—if only because your trainer saved right before this battle and there’s no way you’re losing to your rival again. Gotta endure ’em all!