Pokemon Confessions

Tell a story about your shameful actions in Pokemon collecting, trading, playing, or gaming. The community will determine whether you should be forgiven or sent straight to the heart of Wela Volcano.

@stagecoach :eyes:


My friend needed a powerful pokemon to beat Pokemon Silver, so I traded him a level 100 Butterfree raised on Missingno rare candies for one of his only legendaries because it was the worst, least valuable thing in my PC boxes.


:eyes: :sweat_drops:

Uh, I uh, well. You see—

:door: :running_man:


I remember as a kid while playing on the Gameboy games there was a cheat you could do while at any Pokemon center involving restarting your Gameboy as your were saving which Pokemon you carried with you (for battles, catching wild Pokemon, etc.) and when the game started up again, you now had a cloned version of the given Pokemon you were saving. After many sad defeats at the Elite Four, I simply used a cloned Level 100 Dragonite I had and brought a whole army of them with me to the final gyms. Hard to beat a lineup of fully developed Dragonites :laughing: BUT, it’s even more shameful than that, because that Dragonite wasn’t even really mine to begin with! It’s actually one I obtained from a friend, who is also the same friend that showed me that cheat. So I guess the moral of this story is pick your friends wisely…and trade for all their strong Pokemon before you sever ties.

Please be gentle, I was a child :grimacing:


When I was really young and playing ruby I would abuse the pokemon daycare. There was a spot near the sand area that you could continually walk by just pressing down the up button. Before bed, I would put pokemon in the daycare and tape something down to the up button so it would stay down. I’d wake up to an overleveled pokemon with terrible moves that needed to be fixed at the move tutor.




This is the tamest story I can think of that’s still suitably salacious for a confession thread.

I lived next door to two brothers with whom I had a dubious friendship. I was the kid they called on when there was nobody else in the neighborhood to play with, or when they and other kids needed one more person to round out a game. Sometimes we’d see each other several times a week and sometimes we’d go several weeks without speaking. There were definitely times where being “frenemies” would have been an apt descriptor of our relationship.

I was jealous of the brothers because they had twice as much of everything I loved. I was an only child and while I did not have to share with anyone else I also had half as much stuff as they did. Their house was full of two of everything, more of everything, and the way this manifested with Pokémon cards was they had a shared binder collection they built at twice the speed as any normal kid. As someone who gained Pokémon at a slower rate than even “normal kids”, I envied them very much. The variety of cards they had and the scope of their collection was on my mind every time I interacted with them.

The mundane sequence of events that led to the climax of this story are not worth detailing. We made some trades. I was unhappy with the result. I wanted my cards back and they wouldn’t oblige. I was determined to get them back no matter what it took.

The neighbor boys were athletes, and also Catholic kids, so they were often out of the house for sports or church with both of their parents. I knew where their spare key was hidden — in the shed in the yard where all their sports equipment was stashed — and I decided to let myself into the house when I knew it was empty. One Sunday, midday, I got the courage to do it. There were no cars in the driveway. I knew they went to church on Sundays. I didn’t know when church ended or when they were usually home. But my little kid brand of impulsivity told me it was time to strike.

I hopped the fence from my backyard into their backyard and grabbed the spare key. They only had one exterior door — the front at the top of the driveway. They did have a formal front door facing the street but it was obstructed in the home and not in use. I turned the driveway door knob just to see what would happen and the door opened on its own. No key required.

I had been in their house lots of times. Their house was also the same exact layout as my family home next door. Unlike my house, they had a finished basement they played in and kept most of their stuff strewn about it. I went down the hall, down the cellar stairs, and rounded into their rec room where all their Pokémon stuff was usually out. There it was on an air hockey table — the brothers’ binder.

At first I was just looking for my cards I’d traded them. I thought I’d just take them back. But as I flipped through the pages I had the thought that I might get busted if I only took cards they knew were mine from before. I started plucking cards hastily out of the binder pages and formed a whole pilfered stack.

Before I knew it I had stolen most of their holos from the binder pages. I was wearing nylon pants with big baggy pockets, so I cut the deck in half and put each stack in my pants. I started back up the stairs and my heart dropped like an anvil when I heard the front door open. I froze.

I immediately started concocting different lies and excuses. I could say I was looking for the brothers and didn’t realize nobody was home because the door had been open. But then when the boys saw all their cards missing they’d know it was me. I thought about putting the cards back and then allowing myself to be found on the same excuse, but I really wanted these cards. I stood there in silence, hiding in the basement, listening to the noise upstairs in the kitchen.

I didn’t hear the brothers, which was good, because if the brothers had just gotten home they’d have probably come right downstairs to play in the rec room. I didn’t hear anyone talking, so whoever it was must be alone. As I was trying to come up with a plan, I heard the door shudder again. Were they just closing it behind them, I wondered? But then I heard car doors outside. They were leaving! Still quietly, I rushed up the stairs into the hallway, closed the cellar door behind me, then sensed the impending presence of an incoming parent. They were coming back, I could hear their foot steps on the stairs outside.

I rushed into the bedroom in the middle of the main hallway. In my house, this was my room. In their house, it was their shared bedroom. Even with bunk beds this room was packed with furniture and stuff so that there was basically standing room only down a center travel aisle. There wasn’t anywhere to hide except to close the door partially and hope nobody came in. As the front door opened and closed again I heard the distinct sound of rustling plastic — they were bringing in groceries.

I stood motionless and breathless in the boys’ room and heard the parent, who I presumed to be the mother, opening and closing cabinets, the fridge, and crumpling up plastic bags as she emptied them. The only way out was the door she was going in and out of. There was no way from where I was out that door without being seen. The sinking feeling of being caught gripped me again. I was so screwed. My parents were going to kill me.

My eyes widened as the mother walked down the hallway with just the partially closed hollow door between us. She passed the room I was in and opened the cellar door I’d just closed moments before.

They had a basement freezer. Holy shit. I heard her descend the stairs and I had my chance, my only chance, to get out that front door unseen. I flew down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the front door in a flash. I’m sure I made a ton of noise, but I was gone. I was out.

I thought for sure there’d be a knock at our door in a matter of minutes, and when that time passed I thought it was only a matter of hours, and when I went to sleep and woke up the next morning I was sure justice would rain down on me that day. But it didn’t. It never did. I never told them. They never even mentioned the missing cards in front of me. I think they were busy enough with their other interests and packed schedules they may not have even noticed right away.

I held on to the house key for years because it made me feel badass and cool. I bragged to a couple of friends who didn’t know the brothers (they went to Catholic school, after all) about what I did and they didn’t believe me. Even when I showed them the house key I kept they said it was just some random key. It’s probably best nobody ever believed me.

A year or so later when many kids started outgrowing Pokémon, and the brothers themselves had begun outgrowing me, one of them said they weren’t in to Pokémon anymore. They’d moved on to games with guns and skateboards and had succumbed to the movement to reject Pokémon as lame. As I became accustomed to doing, I asked that brother if I could have his Pokémon cards. After a pause where the two brothers seemed to beam conversation between them without saying a word, they replied mutually they were going to keep their cards. They explained there was a lot of cool stuff in there, so they were going to keep them. I wondered if they ever even knew.


I stole a friends shining magikarp in 7th grade. Was very out of character for me and I’m still not sure what compelled me to do it. I still have it…


I stole my friend’s tangela in 5th grade because my family couldn’t afford pokemon cards. To this day, I owe him 5 cents.


Some of y’all are going straight to Wela Volcano :eyes: :fire:


Ive never stolen a pokemon card but i have had steals :wink:

Straight to Wela Volcano for that awful dad joke :fire:


Seeing those other posts it just popped into my head i couldnt resist

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I’ve never considered it shameful, but some would. I used to hack all my PkMn games, through Gen 5. I NEVER however, shared or used hacked mon with unwitting people. Normally, I’d beat the game, and then hack-in some great mons that I’d rather have beaten it with. or beat it a second time with the hacks. Gen 5 broke me. I didn’t like the games… sorry. I could not stand the slog, so I barely played it without hacked mon before I put in mewtwo and rayquaza to clean house and get it over with…

However, learning about injecting code, memory manipulation, and hex has all helped me in my career, so, NO Regrets!


When I got my first cards, they were Japanese gym decks (no rarity symbols). All the kids got them, and one kid who knew more, cheated a couple of us out of rare cards, because he said they were not rare…

So, we jacked a few of his. He was careless with his cards, shoving them in his bag and leaving them lying around… In fact, he didn’t even notice they were gone! Just figured he’d lost them! And to this day, I still think I have given that base gyarados a far better home than it’d have had.


Sometimes I think about how the card would have ended up like had I not taken it. It was sleeved and top loaded right after I took it compared to how my friend was storing it in the front of their clear binder at school (maybe thats why I stole it in the first place, thinking my friend was gonna lose or ruin it :man_shrugging:). Although unlike your story, my friend was not a jerk in anyway and did not deserve her card getting stolen :pensive:

The first collection I bought either back in 2015 or 2016 was an ultra pro binder with a ton of EX full arts, complete base-rocket, and a few shinings and ex’s all NM.
The Kijiji listing had it for $300 but i talked them down to $250 or so. After meeting the owner and seeing the collection (it was better than I imagined), I offered $200 :sweat_smile:

They asked for $250, as I had originally agreed, just to help them pay for rent but I said no :grimacing::grimacing::grimacing::grimacing:

They sold it to me and I’m pretty sure I sold a Shining Raichu and one other card for $250 later that month . :grimacing:


I’ve never stolen a pokemon item before but I have had one stolen from me. It was an Alakazam figure, I used to take them to school and one day it was just gone.

A few weeks later, one of my best friends turn up on my doorstep accompanied by her guardian, sobbing her eyes out, being instructed to give me the thing back and apologize. Turns out, she had gone on a thieving spree, they were going on this big tour across the municipality to return a whole heap of stuff, most of it much more valuable than my figure. :joy:

I remember I was a bit surprised, a bit angry. Mostly, I didn’t give a shit. This girl had a fucking brutal life and after a few weeks we were friends again like it never happened. No Wela Volcano for her. :rofl:


Convinced someone at school to trade me their Pikachu from Pokémon Yellow. Later that day when at home, their parents knocked on the door and explained to my parents what happened, and how upset their child was. I was made to trade it back.


@stagecoach we want more! We want more!

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