I collected the cards, the movies, the pillow cases, etc. If it was Pokemon, I wanted it. I remember the excitement I felt the night I opened that deck of cards. Flipping through them pulling the ones I already had, and there it was. A shiny reflection and I just knew I had finally found it.
My holographic Charizard was in this pack. I immediately put it in my little book and celebrated. I'd been looking for it forever and I finally I had it. Life could not get much better for a ten year old. But then the unthinkable happened... I was going through my binder of cards one day and realized it was missing... My prized possesion wasn't where it belonged! To say I had a meltdown is a bit of an understatement, I went full on nuclear.
WHO THE FUCK TOUCHED MY CARDS? Answer: Enter five year old brother. You know what that bastard did? Do you? He traded it. For a beat up Japanese holographic Blastoise and five dollars. I could have killed him, if mom hadn't pulled me off of him first I would have. I was furious. I didn't talk to him for a week. And you know what? Out of everything in the world, (even missing 100% on my spelling test) to this day nothing gets my blood boiling like thinking about the loss of my Charizard. Thirteen years later and I'm still extremely bitter about it and give my brother shit about it whenever I can.
Moral of the story: Don't fuck with my Pokemon.