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Pokemon taught me a lot as a child. It taught me that violence is an acceptable solution to almost any problem I will ever have. It taught me that the only real way to get ahead in life is to beat up other people and take their money. It taught me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with training animals to maim and kill each other for my own amusement. But most of all, it taught me that every person I will ever meet is criminally insane and will speak to me like backwards lines from a d**k and Jane novel before trying to kill me. I knew that the time had finally come for me to embark on this great quest once again to rediscover these important lessons of my past. Plus, I was really bored.
"So, what in the name of all that's good and minty is a Pokemon?" you ask. At least, it's what you might ask if you had the slightest bit of interest in knowing and didn't already. Well, to answer your hypothetical question, Pokemon can take on many different forms: some are animals, some are plants, and some are objects that should be inanimate, but for some reason aren't. Still others are things probably best left unidentified for the sake of your own sanity. What they all have in common, however, is that every last one of them wants to murder you.
The vast world of Pokemon is largely different from our own, a fact which I would have beaten thoroughly into my head throughout the course of my journey. The most important thing to remember is that what we tend to keep for use as pets and for food, the people in this game develop highly unhealthy obsessions with and train to fight one another for fun and profit. It's more or less what the real world would be like if it were run by crazy cat ladies and people who run cockfights. And if that doesn't sound like an awesome idea for a game, there just might be hope for you yet.
And so I turn on my Game Boy, start up a new game, and skip past the condescending introduction that mostly just explains what all of the buttons on my Game Boy do and how everyone and everything I meet during my "glorious journey" will try to attack me. And I cannot even begin to emphasize just how correct the last part of that statement is. I'd get into less fights wearing a Klan uniform to an NAACP meeting than I would playing Pokemon for twenty minutes. This game may have a laundry list of faults that reads more like a rap sheet, but at least it's honest.
Shortly thereafter, a creepy guy in a lab coat calling himself Professor Oak starts muttering some nonsense about Pokemon (that happens a lot in this game) and then gets right down to business by asking me about my p***s status. The question is a yes/no deal only, as there's no "maybe" or "tranny" answer among the two choices. The manual suggests that you play the game as a character with the same gender as yourself for maximum enjoy. That is Communist bullshit. I elected to play as a girl because my mommy didn't love me enough when I was a child.
After convincing Professor Oak that I'm a 10 year-old girl named Lisa, he has a "senior moment" in which he finds himself unable to remember the name of his grandson, whom he identifies as my "rival". And since he doesn't have his Alzheimer's cheat sheet handy, he asks me to just go ahead and give the little b*****d a new name. Now, I know from experience that "rival" is just a nice way of saying "irritating, pompous douchebag", so I name him Shitwad because there aren't enough spaces for me to name him Douchebag. Professor Oak sees nothing wrong with this, and his rambling lecture continues.
More crap about the glorious journey that I'm about to undertake follows. Oak fails to say anything even remotely helpful during his entire speech, which he eventually concludes by using his magic laser death ray to transform my well-drawn portrait of a 10 year-old girl into a much smaller, less-detailed character sprite that video game artists working for slave wages can actually animate. And here I thought that I would get to terrorize and destroy villages as a 500-foot tall, fire-breathing loli. Now that would make a damn good video game.
The game starts me out in my bedroom sitting in front of a TV with an old-school 8-bit Nintendo plugged into it. It's comforting to know in this world of indescribable madness that at least I have great taste in video games. I try for a couple of minutes to make my character's life as boring as my own by insisting that she sit and play for eight hours straight, but my 10 year-old girl seems to have ADD and can only manage a couple of seconds before she gets distracted by some string. And then she tells me that we need to get the hell out of her bedroom.
Ignoring her request for me to leave, I proceed to rummage around her room in search of anything that might catch my interest. The bookshelf is a complete strikeout here, mainly because all anti-Pokemon literature in the land has been seized and burned by whatever this insane world's version of Nazis might be. How in the hell am I supposed to learn about that special time in my life when a girl becomes a woman if every Goddamn book in existence is about Pokemon training? It's like the assholes who programmed this game want me to be ignorant.
One thing that I would quickly learn is that there isn't much in this game that doesn't have Pokemon plastered all over it like stink on s**t. I wouldn't be surprised if my 10 year-old girl was wearing Pokemon panties. But, since this game was made in Japan, I also wouldn't be surprised if I saw them at some point. Hell, I'd be downright amazed if they didn't somehow end up for sale in a vending machine somewhere in downtown Tokyo, but that's the Japanese for you.
Next to the bookshelf is a dresser, which I try to examine further. Because who knows when an extra pair of Pokemon panties might come in handy? I respond to myself only by acknowledging that the object I'm staring at is, in fact, a dresser, and that it has great stuff-holding capacities. Great job, me. Am I going to spend the entire game talking to myself as if I were a complete idiot incapable of identifying even the most common of objects? (Yes, I am.)
In the corner of the bedroom is a computer that demonstrates just how advanced the technology in this world is. Apparently the b*****d spawn of a PC and an Everlock safe, my bitchin' desktop is capable of storing physical objects inside of itself in the form of raw data. All I have to do is hop onto any computer in the world, cram whatever I don't feel like lugging around into the USB port, and it gets sent straight back to my hard drive here at home. However, due to the fact that there is absolutely no limit to what my 10 year-old girl can carry, this feature is worthless.
I withdraw a "potion" that's currently stashed on my hard drive, which seems like a rather novel place to be hiding drugs. I then check my email, which, much to my dismay, is devoid of any correspondence. And no amount of shotgunning the check mail button results in anything except for spam messages asking me if I want longer and fuller pe1nS, and words simply cannot express how my 10 year-old girl doesn't need one of those. What she needs is some friends, since she's obviously an isolated loser that nobody even cares enough about to send me something that isn't about ousted Nigerian royalty or prescription meds at discount prices. I ran crying out of my bedroom.
On the way downstairs, I see a posted notice on the wall that says if I am confused to press "L" or "R" for help. Seeing an official notice posted in my bedroom seemed strange enough, but its cryptic advice mystified me to no end. I eventually concluded that it somehow concerned my 10 year-old girl's budding sexuality, and simply wanted to let me know that my parents will always hate me regardless of the choices I make in life. So, why not have a little fun, then?
I see my mother in the living room downstairs and attempt to confide in her about my feelings of loneliness and growing attraction to other girls. With a reassuring hug and a smile, she completely ignores everything I tell her and responds only by saying that she knows that all girls dream of travelling one day because she saw it on the TV. So, in addition to being an insensitive c**t, she's also a stupid b***h who believes everything she sees on television. You know, people like her are the only reason that Nancy Grace still has a job telling paranoid housewives that their children will be brutally raped and murdered if they even think of setting foot into the outside world. Naturally, Mom is none too happy to send me on my way.
Sitting on the other side of the room is the evil television that so effectively controls my unnamed mother's mind. According to my character, it's presently displaying an image of a girl with pigtails walking down a brick road, which may or may not be yellow in color. She doesn't immediately recognize it as The Wizard Of Oz, which could be either because of copyright issues or because this is the insane Pokemon world's version of Die Hard. Either way, I again tell myself that it's time to leave and continue trying to shove me out the door.
Before leaving home forever, I stop by the kitchen to acquire some provisions. I comment that it smells like somebody's been cooking, which seems like an odd thing to say given that "somebody" is very obviously my mother because she's a woman and women belong in the kitchen. Despite my statement proclaiming the yumminess of the prepared edibles, however, my staunch refusal to eat any of it paints a much different picture. It looks like I can add "shitty cook" to Mom's growing list of shortcomings. It's no wonder Dad left her worthless a**.
I leave my house and walk around town, speaking with the local denizens. They all tell me very helpful things, such as "technology is incredible!" and "signs are useful, aren't they?" The girl who talks about signs and their inherent usefulness is standing confusedly in front of one that reads, "Trainer Tips: press start to open the menu". And although this did seem like the most logical thing to do after pressing L and R for help, I wasn't about to let my 10 year-old girl start playing with her start button in public. This is a family game, dammit.
Another sign identifies the village that I'm currently in as "Pallet Town", as well as opening up my eyes when I see it. It then goes on to say, "shades of your journey await". This is a precursor to many, many bad puns throughout the game, as well as possibly a drug reference. Moreover, it's the first written notice I've encountered that doesn't instruct me to press imaginary buttons to make nonsensical things happen. Further exploration reveals that the entire village consists of two houses and Professor Oak's lab. The mailbox beside the house next door to mine says that it belongs to Shitwad - rather than to, say, any responsible adult who also resides there. Though, as this game was rapidly teaching me, there is no such thing as a responsible adult in a world where children are routinely sent out to journey the world alone because the TV says it's ok. In retrospect, this is probably why the mailbox in front of my own house has received the same treatment.
I head right on into Shitwad's house, not bothering with any of that tiresome "knocking" bullshit. Politely waiting to be invited into someone's home is for chumps and commies. Inside, I meet Shitwad's sister, Daisy, who mistakenly assumes that I'm looking for her brother and tells me that he's out at Professor Oak's lab. My mother had mentioned something earlier about Professor Oak looking for me, but I really wasn't interested in finding him, either. Hey, Daisy, maybe you and me can get together to press L and R and play with my start button so I can see your menu, you sexy thing. Signs are useful! Following a number of activities that can't be printed here, Daisy and I cuddle up together to watch some TV. I note that there's a Pokemon on TV, and it looks like it's having fun. And either the same thing just happens to be on every channel, or the PNN (Pokemon News Network) has firmly established a monopolistic deathgrip on the world's airwaves, effectively banning all media that doesn't somehow concern the little bastards. I immediately thought back to the non-Pokemon related movie that my mother was watching before I left. No doubt a team of jack-booted thugs had already been dispatched to deal with her for viewing unapproved material, and it was only a matter of time before she was hunted down and "cleansed". Oh, well. Sucks to be her. On Daisy's advice, I head south from her house when I leave to get to Professor Oak's lab. The place is full of minions and lackeys who practically worship the ground that the professor walks on, and they also apparently live there seeing as how the only two houses in town belong to me and Shitwad. There's also a bunch of complex equipment in the back that looks like the beginnings of a doomsday device, and three balls are laid out in a row on a table. I don't know what kind of sick, twisted s**t Professor Oak does here, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.
Also, instead of diplomas or whatever certifications one must have in order to be qualified to teach Pokemon nonsensery, the wall is covered with more of those posted notices like the one from my house. One repeats the earlier advice of telling me to press start to open the menu, while another informs me that the menu has a "save" command and suggests that I use it regularly. So, what, I'm Catholic now? Look, when I said I wanted a sexy schoolgirl to nail, this really isn't what I had in mind.
Since Professor Oak doesn't appear to be around, I decide to put my 1337 hax0r skills to the test on his computer to see what juicy, scandalous details I can dig up on him. His email account proves to be surprisingly easy for me to access, what with it already being pulled up and logged in. A message in his inbox states, "the ultimate trainers of the Pokemon League are ready to take on all challengers at Indigo Plateau!" and ends with the Pokemon League begging Professor Oak to come on up and visit them. It must be nice to be so loved, not that I would have any idea what that's like.
Shitwad, who was also there, had been watching me the entire time. He didn't seem horribly concerned about me going through his grandfather's personal email, and appeared more interested in making snide, dismissive remarks towards me. He also told me that his grandfather wasn't there, a statement which probably made Captain Obvious beam with pride. I turned to leave before his observations started turning towards the anatomical differences between us.
Fed up with this nonsense, I made a beeline for the town's exit. I had almost reached the tall grass at the city limits when Professor Oak shows up out of nowhere and grabs me by the arm. Before I have a chance to yell "rape!", I'm being dragged back to his lab, where he says that he's going to procure me some "protection". At least he's enough of a gentleman to use a condom, I guess.
Alas, Oak's true intentions are revealed upon our return to his lab, where he points to his balls and urges me to touch them. I was reluctant at first to comply, to which he informed me that his balls had wonderful Pokemon inside of them. And here, most other creeps just offer me free candy from out of the back of a van with all the windows covered in duct tape. He assured me that it was only a "starter" Pokemon and that "the first one was free". If only to shut him up, I gave in to his offer, thus starting my 10 year-old girl down a dark path of addiction and chaos that could only end in tragedy.
Shitwad, who was still here from earlier, witnessed this entire exchange. Professor Oak had seemed confused to see him when we first got back to the lab until he remembered aloud that he had asked Shitwad to come. I suppose it's a step up from not even remembering the kid's name, but it still didn't seem very promising - nor did it bode well for things to come. Shitwad now voiced some jealousy over his grandfather's insistence that I receive one of his balls. Professor Oak's reply was a stern, "Be patient, Shitwad. You can have one, too!" This also did not bode well for things to come. I was made to choose from three different Pokemon: an overgrown Chia Pet, an incontinent turtle, and a flaming lizard. This wasn't so much of a decision as it was a stunned amazement that anyone in their right minds would choose anything other than the fire-breathing lizard. I suppose that if I were a relatively normal 10 year-old girl with a non-traumatizing childhood, then I might go for the turtle. But then I remembered that a man in a lab coat was trying to molest me, so I went with the lizard. Professor Oak called the little pyromaniac "Charmander". I named him Motorbreth.
Shitwad then goes in for sloppy seconds with his grandpappy's balls and selects the turtle as his surrogate guardian, leaving Professor Oak with only one ball. He remarks that his Pokemon looks a lot tougher than mine, which is a pretty stupid thing to say to a girl who hates you and is holding something that she can use to set your insolent a** on fire. Having had my fill of both this slimy family reunion and Professor Oak's naughty bits, I turn to get the living hell out of Dodge. But yet again, I wouldn't find myself making it very far.
As I try to leave, Shitwad follows in his grandfather's footsteps by trying to grab me. And while Shitwad is at least also a 10 year-old, attempted rape is generally frowned upon by most non-Muslim societies regardless of how disgusting the age gap is. What followed was a scene that will go on to repeat itself many, many times throughout the course of the game: Shitwad approaches me despite the numerous restraining orders telling him not to, acts boisterous and arrogant while attempting to get physical with me, I kick his a**, he continues to act boisterous and arrogant as if I had not just beaten him like the dead horse he is, and then he leaves. And as much as I enjoy beating the crap out of him, believe me when I say that the absolute best part is when he leaves.
Professor Oak, sensing that this is my first time doing anything like this, tries to give me some pointers on kicking Shitwad's a**. Among several other painfully obvious statements, he tells me that the key to any battle is to inflict damage on my opponent - advice that should really have been given to Shitwad instead of to me. His dumb a** was the one who sat there and told his turtle to growl at me while Motorbreth mauled it. I'm also told repeatedly after the scuffle that the only way to make my Pokemon stronger is to make it fight. And again, the only person who stood to actually gain anything from this wisdom was the guy who hadn't already figured that out.
Following Shitwad's a**-kicking by me is a monetary reward for doing so. It would appear that, as opposed to making any sort of an honest living for myself, my primary source of income in the world of Pokemon is going to be whatever I can steal from any idiot who tries to pick a fight with me and then loses horribly. The game refers to it as "prize money", which draws a closer parallel to gambling than any responsible children's game ever should. I prefer the term "blood money", mainly because that's probably what it's covered in by the time it ever gets taken from anybody. I leave the lab and head back towards the northern edge of town, where I run into "signs are useful!" girl again. She proudly displays her basic grasp of literacy by showing me how she copied down what the sign had told her onto a sheet of paper. That's... just special. Hey, why don't you go show it to Professor Oak? I'm sure he'd love to cornhole yo... I mean, put it up on his fridge.
More than ready to leave this whole damn mess behind me, I take off and head north from Pallet Town along Route 1. This decision was reached primarily because I wanted the ******** away from that creepy b*****d, Professor Oak, and also because there was no other direction I could go to leave my backwater hamlet unless I felt like swimming out to sea. Even if my 10 year-old girl were actually capable of swimming in the first place (video game characters are notoriously hydrophobic), I had my doubts as to whether or not my flaming lizard was water-resistant. So, north I went.
Compared to what had happened to me back at Professor Oak's lab, my journey north was a fairly uneventful one. I happily accepted a beverage from a stranger along the way who introduced himself as an employee of the Poke' Mart in nearby Viridian City. The Poke' Mart, he explained, was part of a convenient chain of stores that sells all sorts of items. And by "all sorts of items", he meant "all sorts of Pokemon crap". He claimed that the drink he gave me, which was identical to the potion I had taken out of my computer earlier, possessed health-restoring properties of some sort. He also assured me that it was 100% Rohypnol-free, which seemed like a nice bonus.
Angry pigeons and rabid mice assaulted me as I traveled, but all were easily dispatched by Motorbreth. As per the advice given to me earlier about making my Pokemon fight to make it stronger, the effects of this violence on his skills were nearly immediate. After a mere two battles, he discovered that he much preferred burning things over scratching them. Everything that opposed me beyond that point was promptly set ablaze by my new pet in a fit of pyromaniacal rage. I knew then that this would be the start of a beautiful friendship.
Exploding V a g i n a · Tue Aug 11, 2009 @ 04:58am · 1 Comments |
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