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  1. #1
    Registered User ToastyBiggins's Avatar
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    Default The Pocket Monster Diaries

    This is sort of a hybrid fanfic/Let's Play I started for Pokemon Leaf Green. I'm playing through the game using Nuzlocke rules and writing up the results in a (hopefully) humorous fashion as the diary of a reluctant Pokemon trainer.

    You can also read it on my WordPress site here if you wish.

    Rated TEEN for: CUSS WORDS and some POKEVIOLENCE.

    I plan to do the entire game this way, so if anyone at all enjoys this I'll post any new updates here. Hope you like it!

    Dear PokéDiary,

    My name is Winston. I'm ten years old, and Pocket Monsters have made my life a living hell. I'm writing this down partly to take my mind off of the fact that I currently have a bloodthirsty animal inside the tiny ball attached to my belt, and partly so that on the off chance that someone finds my mutilated corpse in a ditch next to Route 22 (where I was finally pecked to death by Spearows), at least one person would know who to hold responsible for my untimely demise.

    What a load of Tauros shit

    Ultimately, the blame can be laid at the feet of two people: my mother, and Oak. I'm fairly certain that Oak was the brains of this plot - but only because I don't think my mother could come up with a plan to tie her own shoelaces by herself. No really, she's 33 years old and still wears velcro (I am pretty sure that I'm adopted). And as for "Professor" Oak, I'm starting to suspect that the diploma in his lab was made using WordArt and a laser jet printer. He's been here since I was born, but I overheard two of his aides talking while I was pulling weeds in the flower bed underneath the laboratory window for 50 cents an hour, and one of them said that he moved to Pallet Town after he got expelled from veterinary school.

    People refer to him as a lot of stuff, but usually it's when he's not around to hear

    Another time he had to hide in my closet for like two hours while these intense looking guys in suits sliced open all the chair cushions in his office with box cutters and had a bunch of Growlithes sniff around his lab, and he told me to just play video games like normal and if they came in and asked me where he was to say that I hadn't seen him all day, and he kept telling me to stop glancing over at the closet but I was super nervous that they were going to bust through my door any second because I heard them yelling at his aides to put their hands on the hood of the van and the Growlithe kept barking and my hands were all sweaty and they kept slipping off the buttons and making me lose to King Hippo in Punch Out!! Worst birthday ever.

    Anyway, this morning I come downstairs and see my mom at the table with this expectant look on her face. I immediately know something's wrong because normally she'd already be watching reruns of The Goldeen Girls. I ask her what's up and she hustles me out the door to Oak's place, saying he wants to see me about something. At this point I'm like, "Yeah, whatever," because I want to get this over with and it's pretty hard to avoid someone all day when your town has six people living in it (including you).

    I've lived here my entire life and I have no idea what your name is. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

    So there's three Pokéballs on the table in Oak's lab and I know I'm in deep shit. They're not just sitting there either, they've got little pillows under them, each one is perfectly equidistant from the others, and they all have a big lamp that looks like it was stolen from a dentist shining on them. I mean this guy must have spent at least an hour arranging these things (actually he probably made his aides do it. I'm not sure how he gets so many undergrads to work in his lab, but it appears to be option D after "Silph Co intern", "Pokémart stockboy" and "professional lawnmower"). And Oak is just standing behind this table beaming. And I just know he's gonna make me pick one.

    Now, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't say I hate Pokémon. Some of them are pretty darned cute, I'll admit. It's more like I'm terrified of them. Because one minute they're looking up at you with their big baby Seel eyes, so innocent, so trusting, and they next minute they shoot a Motherfucking-Hyper-Laser out of their mouth and kill you. Or they pulp the contents of your ribcage with a Beefy-Murder-Fist. Or they lop your arms off with their Merciless-Death-Talons, or some other crazy shit because the truth is that every last creature on this planet wants you dead for no reason. Really.

    Don't believe me? You want facts? Alright smart guy, how about this: A Magmar's body temperature is 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit. A Heracross can throw an object up to 100 times its own bodyweight. Starmie MIGHT BE FROM SPACE. Nobody even fuckin' knows! One time, after my mom went to bed, I snuck out of my room to watch the news, the kind where they tell you to have your children leave the room because "what you are about to see...may disturb you". I'm kneeling there on the carpet, a foot in front off the glowing TV in the darkened living room with the volume on two pips from the left. Apparently some construction company over in Vermillion tried to retire one of their Machamps when it started getting old, and it went berserk. They brought in the guy who had trained the Machamp since it was an egg, and he starts talking to it real low, slowly walking closer with his hands way out to his sides. The Machamp stopped thrashing for a minute and you could tell the guy thought he had made a breakthrough. It's staring at this guy and breathing real heavy, and even on the crappy hand-held camcorder you could see the smile form on this guy's face as he gets within striking distance -- and then the Machamp punches his head off. Thuk. That's the sound it made. One of those four meaty arms just flicked out, very casually, and his head popped clean off, bounced once, and that was it. The man's standing there, a head shorter, arms out like he's still expecting a hug, and after what felt like an hour he crumpled to his knees, a woman screamed, and that's when I hastily flipped back to the cooking channel (so my mom wouldn't know what I had been watching) where I saw a split second of a fat man making poffins before I mashed the power button and ran all the way upstairs to hide under my covers. I didn't sleep until morning.

    My point is, no predator exists, has ever existed, or could ever exist, that can account for the evolution of these walking death machines. It completely defies natural selection. That's why they could only have been created for one purpose: to wipe us out.

    These orbs contain only death

    So obviously the prospect of owning one of these things does not fill me with glee. But I also know there's no way I'm going to get out of this lab without one. To make matters worse, Oak's halfwit "grandson" shows up. I don't know if he even has a real name, but everyone just calls him "G'yorp", because that's the only noise he ever seems to make. I have no idea where Oak found this kid, but he smells like a Grimer in the middle of July and he doesn't look too far off either. Oak refers to him as his "grandson" but it's obvious that they aren't actually related and I can only assume that he keeps G'yorp around so he can claim him as a dependent or use him for unethical experiments or something. I don't really like to think about it.

    oh no

    So, after making a practiced speech about how we're finally ready to go out into the world and be Pokémon trainers, he offers us a choice. Lucky me, I get to go first.

    Now, I find myself faced with a moral dilemma. I've never wanted to own one of these monsters myself. But, imagining the havoc that G'yorp -- untamed, ungovernable, unhousebroken G'yorp -- would potentially be able to work with one of these potent creatures, I felt a strange sense of obligation to take up a living weapon that would be able to match his, move for move. But which to choose?

    Gah! No! Nonono! It looks cute now, yes, but I've seen these things evolve before. On TV. I can already envision those little claws sprouting into huge talons, that little ember building into a roaring inferno. And what happens if we end up battling in the dessicated grasslands? Or if there's a climactic showdown in a petroleum refinery? Or we need to square off in some kind of ill-conceived oily rag emporium? I can't be responsible for that kind of property damage, my allowance is only 15 PokéDollars!

    Ugh. Just look at this thing. Leering as it squats there, evilly. Face only a Kangaskhan could love. And there's something not quite right about that bulb on its back, either. What sinister fruit will it bear in the fullness of time? A sickly, poisonous bloom? A baleful, man-eating shrub? Or perhaps a tiny tree COVERED IN FEET?!? Perhaps it is best not to know.

    Ah! Here we go! This little guy looks friendly. I don't see any spikes or claws, and his body has a pleasing, round shape to it. And as far as supernatural PokéPowers go, water isn't so bad, now that I think about it. I mean, I'll dry off eventually.

    And now, it comes to the naming. This is important, as I'm a firm believer in nurture over nature. I need to pick something warm, unassuming. Something that says, "Hello. I am your friend. I am not here to punch your head off. Beat your Hyperbeams into plowshares, and your Earthquakes into pruning hooks, for you shall not learn war anymore. We shall live out our days in peace."

    G'yorp, who has been burbling with anticipation while I deliberated, snatches up the Bulba-Creep, cracks the Poké Ball open with the aid of his teeth, and discards it on the ground. He will never use it again. The ball coughs up his squat little monster and they begin to dance around each other in a frenzied display of mutual recognition, hooting and g'yorping in primal joy. The aides wisely retreat behind bookshelves and under tables. They are used to the antics of G'yorp, but are not sure what to make of his diminutive partner in crime. They have chosen to wait out the storm. To me, it seems that G'yorp and his charge are not trainer and Pokémon, but brother and brother: equals, inheritors of a savage bond forged in blood under the fickle waxing moon. It's all very touching in a noble savage sort of way until without warning the little Runt-Beast (the Pokémon, I mean) comes barreling at my kneecaps. I instinctively hold the ball up between me and my assailant, and time seems to slow down as I gingerly, remorsefully, with the care afforded to the trigger of an atomic bomb, depress the white button on the ball's equator.

    Sort of. Who can presume to say what G'yorp would or would not like to do?

    Like a spring-loaded turtle-bullet my new companion leaped into action, hitting his opponent before he hit the ground and sending Derp-asaur's stubby green feet skidding, spinning across the laboratory floor. He-heh. Loser. If it is possible for a turtle to look smug, believe me, dear reader, that is what you would have witnessed had you been there at this moment. I found myself impressed by the zeal, the sheer life on display from this little fellow, who had just a moment previous been contained in a ball. Inspired by his example, I decided to take firm command. "Mr Suds!" I said, trying out the name in my mouth, "You should...uh, hit...hit him-" I struggled to make myself heard over the clanging sound of Mr. Suds repeatedly slamming Bulbasaur's head into a radiator. I was forced to admit to myself that my guidance was perhaps not totally necessary to this battle.

    Oh the violence!

    With his Mulch-Soldier soundly beaten and bleeding from the tiny holes on the sides of his skull that I assumed were ears, G'yorp scooped up the unconscious creature and ran out the door wailing. I have to admit I felt pretty bad for the guy, uncouth though he might be. I eyed Mr. Suds warily. He had performed well in his first fight, perhaps a bit two well. Former gang member maybe?

    Life in the barrio changes people, esé.

    Well, he could keep his secrets, for now. He got back in the Poké Ball easily enough. However, Oak reminded me that G'yorp was now on the loose with a potentially dangerous Pokémon in his possession. Oh yeah.

    There goes trouble

    "He's hurt, confused, and possibly hungry." For a minute Oak almost sounded like an actual grandfather. "Also, that Bulbasaur is extremely rare. We cannot allow any harm to come to it." Phew. That was a close one. So, this was it. This was Oak's plan, I suppose. Make me feel responsible for his idiot grandson as a way to get me to embark on some kind of quixotic PokéJourney. My mom was no help at all in the matter. In fact, by the time I got back to my house she had already converted my room into a Sewing Nook.


    See this? This is what I have to deal with EVERY DAY. Maybe leaving won't be so bad.

    And so, with some brusque words of encouragement, I found myself unceremoniously booted out of the nest. Just me and Mr. Suds. Face to face with Route 1. That big wide world out there, chock full of Pokémon thirsting for my blood.

    Ooooooh God.

    Here we go.

    Into the tall grass...

    Phew...alright....made it through safely.

    Okay...that wasn't terrible. I made it through. No Pokemon! Perhaps, this journey will not be so bad after all.

    Okay...here comes the next part. Heeeere we go...

    ...I shall be a peaceful warrior, with the improvement of the mind as my goal, and I shall shun the path of conflict, not deigning to engage-

    And then a bird tried to murder me.


    Last edited by ToastyBiggins; 5th April 2011 at 07:28 PM. Reason: I should have read the rules before I posted, durrrr

  2. #2
    I feel so much spring... Cabaret's Avatar
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    Default Re: The Pocket Monster Diaries

    By far the funniest fic I have read, if you would call it that. I think this is a good change from the usual fics I read, as I love humorous fics over dark ones, but tend to never find the type of humor I enjoy.

    This alternate writing form that you have developed, sort of, is very funny upon captioning the pictures you present so humbly from the game. This is a fic I will make sure to follow, because this is just roll on the floor laughter, in a sometimes demented sort of way.

  3. #3
    Reader and Writer Legacy's Avatar
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    I agree with Caberet. Very funny stuff! XD I will be following this!

  4. #4
    Registered User ToastyBiggins's Avatar
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    Default Re: The Pocket Monster Diaries

    Wow, thanks for the compliments! I'm really glad you liked the first part. I'm working on the second right now, but I also have finals to do...blegh. Fortunately, they'll be done tomorrow and I can finish day 2. I'll post it here as soon as it's done.

  5. #5
    Reader and Writer Legacy's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by ToastyBiggins View Post
    Wow, thanks for the compliments! I'm really glad you liked the first part. I'm working on the second right now, but I also have finals to do...blegh. Fortunately, they'll be done tomorrow and I can finish day 2. I'll post it here as soon as it's done.
    Haha, awesome! The Workshop needs more fics with humor like this!

  6. #6
    Registered User ToastyBiggins's Avatar
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    Default Re: The Pocket Monster Diaries

    Sorry for the long delay, but here's the second part. I've already started on the third part, so it shouldn't be nearly as long between updates as last time.

    Once again, this story contains STRONG POKE-CUSSWORDS

    (Wordpress version)

    Dear PokéDiary,

    I had seen the occasional pay-per-view Pokémon battle on TV, and now I had even been in a participant -- sort of -- in one that still had Oak's lab assistants scrubbing chlorophyll off of the filing cabinets. I had already started to reconcile this experience with my own beliefs. I took no joy in the brutal pummeling that Mr. Suds had dished out, however, it also wasn't as bad as I had feared. But know this, gentle reader: I had not seen the true face of PokéViolence until that bloody slog through the alley of death known only as Route One.

    Squirtle, Red in Tooth and Claw

    Any illusions I had of controlling Mr. Suds were quickly dispersed as I saw him plow through the Pidgey who had, until very recently, been blocking our path in what I had thought was a menacing fashion. Now it was a twitching heap of feathers on the ground, squawking and flapping one wing uselessly up and down while the other hung limp at its side. I began to wonder if maybe my imagination had run away with me. Could this plain-looking little bird really have meant me any harm?

    It was around this time that I noticed the pack of Rattata beginning to circle in the tall grass around me, and also the tail of Mr. Suds disappearing into the tall grass in front of me. I decided to heed the old adage "It's better to be safe than gnawed to death" and followed in the swath of destruction created by my tiny turtle-tank.

    Violence only makes him stronger!

    The little guy was blitzing through the grass at quite a pace; I actually had to jog just to keep up with him. Monster after monster kept popping out of the grass to challenge him, but they rarely lasted for more than one blow. I was still slightly annoyed/concerned that he seemed to be ignoring my orders (or more precisely, not bothering to wait until I gave any), but I have to say that his performance was impressive. He didn't weigh much, but he was fast as hell and he knew how to use his momentum effectively. Frequently I saw him sidestep a predictable bite attack from a Rattata and slam into it with a vicious shoulder check, usually sending a few newly liberated fangs twirling through the air in the process. Traditionally, it's said that Squirtles use their shells to defend themselves from predators, but make no mistake: what Mr. Suds wore on his back was a weapon. Once, when a particularly bold Rattata pounced at him from ambush, he barely dodged the lunge by jumping straight into the air before flipping over and withdrawing into his carapace, landing on him shell first with a crunch and a pathetic sounding squeak.

    It's hard to catch up with a rampaging Squirtle
    when you keep tripping over unconscious (hopefully?) Rattata

    Finally, it seemed like we were nearing the end of Route 1. Following the sounds of carnage, I rounded a corner and saw Mr. Suds squaring off against another Pidgey. This one looked a bit bigger than the others, though, and while most Pidgeys I had seen could only lift themselves a few feet off of the ground with a sort of ungainly flutter, this one was maneuvering through the air, if not gracefully, then at least competently.

    I hesitate to use the term "Alpha Pidgey" here because, one, if you've ever seen a Pidgey you'd know that they cannot be described as majestic or imposing in any way, and I don't want to give the impression that this particular Pidgey was anything but slightly more intimidating than usual. And two, I have no idea how the social hierarchy of a group of Pidgeys is structured, or even if they have one. I'm not some kind of Pidgey behavioral specialist, maybe they choose their leader by arm wrestling or playing Jenga or something. But then I remembered that the single most comprehensive database of Pokémon information in the world consists of a jumble of incoherent sentence fragments that sound like an eight-year-old musing about how Pokémon can run faster than bullet trains and have hooves harder than diamonds and no, my dad is WAY stronger than your dad he can lift up A ICE CREAM TRUCK, yuh-huh I saw it! So you know what?

    Fuck it. Alpha Pidgey.

    The Alpha Pidgey was making a series of dive-bomb attacks at Mr. Suds, who was managing to dodge so far, but the Pidgey was quick and Mr. Suds couldn't land a counter-hit. I could tell that the scrappy little Squirtle was getting worn out; he was panting slightly and his movements weren't as fast as before. For the first time, I felt like I actually had to do something as a trainer. But it was scary. I mean, right now it could hardly be said that Mr. Suds was my Pokémon. Let's look at the facts: sure, he chilled out in my Pokéball between brawls, and I gave him a nickname (which he had yet to answer to), but it wasn't really my fault. He was forced on me by a delusional old fraud who probably had some kind of criminal intent.

    What I'm trying to say is, I had all sorts of plausible deniability for whatever this little bastard decided to do. If he lost right now, it wouldn't really be my loss, it would be his. But as I watched the two monsters fighting, I realized that this was in their nature. I couldn't really fault this Pidgey or Mr. Suds for doing what they were born to do. No matter what I did, one of them was going to get hurt, and it might as well be the one that didn't belong to me. Mr. Suds might be a monster, but he was my monster.

    Well, sort of, probably, maybe. Knock on wood?

    "Mr. Suds...um, Squirtles know how to use Bubble, right? Yeah, maybe...try Bubble...if it's convenient, I mean, you're the one battling, I guess..."

    No reaction. Did he just glance at me? Could be my imagination. Either way, he kept ducking and weaving around the Pidgey. No Bubble. Alright, we do this again.

    "Hey...you should do...a Bubble attack!"

    He definitely noticed this time. He turned his head towards me and shot me a look.

    Bubble? Seriously?

    The Pidgey's beak slammed into the back of his head, knocking Mr. Suds onto the ground. He pushed himself up slowly, now sporting a nasty looking gash starting at the base of his skull, and slicing diagonally up towards the top of his dome-like cranium.

    I started running towards him. "Mr. Suds! Are you okay?" He looked up at me. He looked mad. He looked really mad. But as I saw the Alpha Pidgey swooping in for the kill behind him, I realized that it didn't make a bit of difference: I was madder.


    Seriously, how does this attack even hurt stuff? If I had to guess,
    I would probably say it's powered by equal parts hatred and pure force of will.

    Rarely, gentle reader, rarely have I ever seen bubbles utilized in such an angry fashion. Mr. Suds spun around, opened his mouth, and shot a rapid fire burst of bubbles that popped with a noise like gunshots against the Pidgey's left side. It tumbled in the air, but kept its forward momentum as it sped towards my Pokémon. Mr. Suds jumped up, snatched the wingtip of the spinning bird, and swung it in a wide arc that ended against the solid trunk of a nearby oak tree. Ouch.

    Alpha Pidgey: 0
    Diminutive Turtley Engine-of-Pain: 1

    "Um...good job, Mr. Suds. Why don't you take a break for a little while?" I attempted to hold out his Pokéball in a conciliatory manner. He was eyeing a group of smaller Pidgeys that were approaching through the grass towards the fallen Alpha Pidgey, now that the commotion had ended. These birds looked like real small fry, but Mr. Suds was pretty roughed up and I didn't want to take any chances. So I used a technique I had gleaned from one of my mom's (very, very gently used) books on parenting, a time-tested combination effective on both intractable children and bloody-minded Pocket Monsters: flattery and deceit. "Come on Mr. Suds, I know you could demolish these douchebags, but honestly? They're probably not even worth the PP it would take to KO them. Why don't you hop in the Pokéball and we'll find you a more worthy opponent."

    Mr. Suds looked around, as if checking for stronger foes, and then slowly, casually, making it crystal clear that this was all his idea, shuffled towards the Pokéball. He looked up at me with what I imagined was a skeptical expression on his little blue cue ball face (All right, I'll play your game for now, Dorkulon Five, but you better find some heads for me to bust real quick) and jumped inside.

    And that's when I friggin' booked it to the next Pokémon center.

    Man, I...*huff, puff* I really really hope
    they can't *huff, puff* ...see out of these things

    Last edited by ToastyBiggins; 23rd April 2011 at 07:30 PM.

  7. #7
    Registered User ToastyBiggins's Avatar
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    Default Re: The Pocket Monster Diaries

    Hey! I'm not dead. Here's Part 3.

    (Wordpress Version)

    Dear PokeDiary,

    Don't get me wrong: I'm grateful for the Pokemon Centers. The people who work there are polite, competent, and efficient -- you never have to wait for more than a few minutes -- and, of course, it's all completely free. It's a miracle of public health care, really. To top it all off, the staff are unfailingly cheerful. But I can't quite shake the feeling that sometimes they're just a little bit too cheerful. The nurses are always so perky and chirpy, and yet they see some pretty nasty stuff every day. How do they do it? Maybe I'm just being paranoid. I had recently been through a pretty stressful experience, after all. But as I sat on the plush waiting room chair, reading an issue of PokeLife that was published before I had the ability to form coherent sentences, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had entrusted Mr. Suds to the care of a facility staffed entirely by identical robots.

    It's really unnerving to hear someone say this while you catch a glimpse of a three-legged Nidorino being wheeled by on a gurney.

    The smiling nurse handed my solitary Pokeball over the counter. "Thank you for using the Pokemon center. We hope to see you again soon!" I took it apprehensively. At any moment I expected Mr. Suds to pop out and wallop me for tricking him. Well, it didn't matter if he was angry at me. I did it for his own good, after all. A few moments passed without incident, and I thought I heard a noise like a low growling. Looking around the waiting room, I noticed only the rustling of an old man's newspaper and the tapping of a girl texting on her glittery pink PokeGear. I realized that the noise was coming from the ball I held in my hand. I slowly put it up to my ear.

    Gentle snores came from within.

    Ha! So, maybe Mr. Suds wasn't as tough as he pretended. I was relieved, at any rate. Now that he was unconscious and not trying to drag me as quickly as possible into the next fight, I would have a chance to look around town a little bit. This was the first time I had been outside of Pallet town since I was old enough to remember, and I was curious to see what it was like here.

    The first thing I saw when I looked around was this guy standing motionless in a clearing and staring into space.
    I wanted to go ask him what he was doing, but this tree was in the way.
    Oh well, I'm sure he's just waiting for somone to meet him or something.

    Unfortunately, Viridian City wasn't that much bigger than Pallet, so there wasn't a great deal in the way of sightseeing. The first thing that caught my eye was what appeared to be some kind of school. All of the kids in Pallet Town were homeschooled, which in my case meant mostly that if I wanted to find out anything I had to look it up on the internet. So I decided to take a peek inside. What I found was...well, a little depressing.

    What the- do they teach these kids about ANYTHING but Pokemon? No math? Science? Literature? Philosophy? Rhetoric?
    How do they even survive in the adult world?

    On the other hand, the people here were pretty friendly. None of the houses were locked, so could just wander nonchalantly into people's homes and strike up a conversation whenever I felt like it. Sadly, most of the citizens of Viridian City didn't have much to make conversation about.


    Actually, that Pokemon School is starting to make more sense all the time.

    At the northern end of town, I saw an elderly man sprawled out in the road. I ran over to see if he needed assistance, but as soon as I got within about ten feet of him the overpowering stench of cheap liquor hit me like a physical force. He was being tended to by a woman, presumably his wife, who diligently made sure that he was not trod on by any passers by. Her dedication was touching, in a way. I could already tell that this was the sort of city that just...spewed charm. Spewed it all over the pavement.

    So...this is like a regular thing for you two, then?

    Last stop was the Pokemart. I didn't have very much money, other than my allowance, but I figured that while I was here I might as well do a little window shopping. I was looking over their selection of Potions when I thought I heard something from the guy behind the counter.

    "Psst....hey! Hey kid! Over here!"

    He was beckoning to me and whispering in a tone of voice normally reserved for betrenchcoated individuals in after school specials. I began to experience a terrible certainty in the pit of my stomach, even as I shuffled over to the counter.


    This better not turn out to be some kind of drug deal


    I am gonna kill that old man.

    The pimply-faced guy behind the counter handed me a small satchel. "Here, take this to the Professor. And be quick about it."

    "What-" I peeked inside the bag "Are these...Rare Candies? You're not allowed to-" The clerk suddenly reached across the counter clamped his gross, sweaty hand over my mouth. It smelled like sour cream and Burn Heal. Yech.

    "Shut the fuck up, you little punk! Damn, I was hoping Oak would send somebody trustworthy...alright, listen, you take the shit to Oak right away," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the security camera mounted high up on the wall, "and I won't have to show Officer Jenny the closed-circuit footage of the sad, desperate delinquent who came in here trying to sell me illegal substances."


    "Better get going. Somebody could walk in any minute and see you holding those."

    Shit, shit, shit! I panicked to myself as I scurried out of the store, hastily shoving the bag under my jacket. I had no idea if that guy was bluffing or not. It seemed pretty dumb on his end to involve the cops, but I really, really didn't want to risk it. It wasn't very far from here to Pallet town, so...in theory, it would be safest to just deliver the package. I walked briskly, but casually, back towards Route 1, surreptitiously cradling the package out of sight as sweat poured unobtrusively down my brow. As soon as I was out of the city I nonchalantly broke into a dead run.

    Even though I was in a hurry, I stopped to check on that guy on my way out of town.

    Yup...still there.

    Then I remembered that Professor Oak was using me as a drug mule.

    I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna KILL him...

    I slammed open the door to the lab, stalked over to Professor Oak's desk, and threw the bag down in front of him, spilling Rare Candies all over the imitation mahogany surface. He looked up at me with an infuriatingly pleasant expression.

    "Ah! Winston! You're back."

    "I hate you."

    "Oh, come on, now. I just wanted you to run a little errand for me."

    "You made me do crime! I could go to juvie for this!"

    I looked around to see if anyone else was even hearing this, but all of Oak's assistants seemed to have become suddenly, passionately interested in various papers, books, and mundane objects. One young man was staring intently at a painting of a Dratini as if it could reveal to him the ineffable mysteries of the universe.

    "Listen, Winston, I appreciate the risk you've taken for me, I really do-"

    "Unwillingly, I might add!"

    "-but these, ah, materials, are absolutely necessary for my research on Pokemon growth, and I require someone I trust to bring them to me." He put on his best look of sincere fatherly expectation. It's like middle-aged man version of puppy dog eyes. "Are you someone I can trust, Winston?"

    "When Officer Jenny asks me to name names down at the station, I swear to God yours is the first one out of my mouth."

    "Oh. Well, er...here, I have something I was planning to give you anyway. This might change your mind."

    Just then, the door slammed open, causing the aides to wince reflexively and a lot of delicate looking glass instruments to wobble.



    "G'yorp G'yorp!"

    "Bulba Bulba!"

    The return of the Blunder Twins. Awesome. In all the excitement, with the illegal drug trafficking and what have you, I had nearly forgotten that finding him was my original purpose in leaving town. I can't say I was exactly glad to see him again, but at least my brief Pokemon excursion was at an end. I wondered what had compelled him come back to the lab. Maybe the location of his hometown was imprinted on his animal consciousness. He was like a worker bee returning to the hive, or a salmon journeying to the stream of its origin in order to spawn. Upon reflection, I sincerely hoped that it was more like the first one.

    "G'yorp G'yorp G'yorp G'yo-"

    "Grandson! You're just in time." Oak cut in mercifully. "I was about to give Winston here his Pokedex. I was worried he would get a head start on you!"

    "Head start?"


    Oak smiled broadly as he held out two red objects the size and shape of pocket notebooks.

    It's dangerous to go alone. Take these (but do not expect them to protect you from that danger in any way)!

    "Why, yes. Today is the first day of your journey to complete the Pokedex and become the Pokemon champion. Isn't it exciting?"

    "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second. Why would I want to do any of those things?"

    Oak puffed out his chest and raised his forefinger to the sky in his patented "I Am a Scientist" pose.

    "Well, the quest for knowledge is a never-ending one! Pokemon are our friends, companions, and playmates, but there is still much we do not know about them, and there's only so much an old man cooped up in a lab can do. It's up to eager young men like you and G'yorp here to go out into the field and collect new data!"

    I could tell he was going for a kind of a "moment" here, but the gravitas of the scenario was thoroughly spoiled when G'yorp started trying to gnaw on my elbow

    "So, other than you being too lazy to do your job, and exploiting naive little kids for free labor, what could possibly make me agree to this arrangement?"

    "While scientific advancement is an admirable goal, I don't expect you to embark on this journey solely for altruistic reasons, oh no. After all, I too was a young man once. I remember the thrill of testing my Pokemon in battle against other trainers. Yes, my fine young fellows, not only will you benefit my research by journeying far and wide, but you will meet new Pokemon, you will become stronger, you will challenge powerful gym leaders and defeat them -- and each day you will come one step closer to being the undisputed Pokemon champion."

    "Cool. Great. Well, good luck becoming the Pokemon champion then, G'yorp-" I thought about trying to shake his hand, but at the moment he had it shoved in his mouth up to the wrist, so I settled for a friendly wave. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my house. Sandshrew and Son is on in like half an hour." I turned to leave.

    "Winston, wait! This is your chance to see the world! Do you really want to stay here forever?"

    I looked at my Pokeball. Mr. Suds was still in there. I realized that I didn't really want to give him up. But I also knew that he couldn't just live in my backyard like some kind of pet. And I wouldn't mind having an excuse to ditch this wretched town for good.


    Wait, Winston,

    ...I heard what was probably the smartest part of me say.

    This is what he wants! You're letting him manipulate you! Remember! Remember the Pidgies! They wanted to tear you into teeny pieces and feast on your squishiest parts!

    I certainly had a point there. And those were some of the tamest and weakest Pokemon I was likely to encounter on my journey.

    And what about the other trainers, huh? If you try to become the champion, people will challenge you everywhere you go, never letting you have a moment's peace. And if you want to be the champion, you'll need to face the gym leaders! Do you need me to tell you how hideously strong their Pokemon are?

    That was also true. If I chose to become a trainer, I would be looking forward to a life of constant battle, whether I wanted it or not.

    "I don't know, old man. I've heard about these gym leaders. People say they're on a whole different level from ordinary trainers. I don't want to fight someone like that! You're probably just hoping I'll get killed so I can't rat on you, huh?"

    "Nonsense, Winston! The gym leaders are strong, sure, but they're not all they're cracked up to be. Maintaining a fearsome reputation is part of the job, you know! Why, I heard that G'yorp here has already defeated the gym leader at Pewter City! What was his name again, ah, Stan the Stone, or, uh, or Craig the Crag, or-"

    At the mention of the gym leaders, G'yorp produced a small satchel from somewhere on his person. It was crudely made from leaves and woven grass, and as he opened it I saw that it contained various trinkets: some shiny stones, shards of broken glass, a rusty bolt, a scrap of tin foil, a seashell (probably from a tiny Shellder), and something that looked disturbingly like a finger bone, the origins of which I tried very, very hard not to speculate upon. From this pouch he withdrew a small, circular object that I recognized as the Boulder Badge of the Pewter City gym. He began waving wildly in the air and hooting in jubilation.

    "Ah, so it's true! Good work, my boy! I'm very proud of you! Now, you're one step closer to being admitted into the Pokemon Lea-"

    G'yorp threw the badge into the air, caught it in his mouth, and swallowed it with gusto.

    "Ahh....um, yes, well, good job, anyway."

    I was shocked. The badge looked legit, and anyway, how could G'yorp possibly have made or obtained even a rudimentary counterfeit? The only alternative was that the simpleton had actually beaten a gym leader. Could I believe that this traipsing simian, this...this...bonobo, and his single, solitary Pokemon, had really bested an entire gym? I had never cared about Pokemon battles before, but for some reason, after watching Mr. Suds have so much trouble with a single wild Pidgey, the thought of G'yorp and his Derpasaur ploughing through trainer after trainer with ease made my blood boil.




    This part of me was new. I didn't remember hearing from him before.

    Hey faggot!

    Excuse me?

    Yeah I said hey FAGGOT

    Listen, pal, I do not tolerate discrimination on the basis of race, gender, religious belief, or sexual orien-


    WHAT IS IT, you bigoted creep?

    Are you seriously gonna let monkey boy here show you up like that? Grow a fucking spine!

    Oak looked at me expectantly. "I was worried about you getting a head start, Winston, but now it looks like G'yorp has gone and gotten the jump on you! It's not to late, though." He held out the Pokedex towards me. "Well? What do you say?"

    Come on...


    Do it.


    Do it faggot.


    Do it faggot!



    Remember the Pidgies!


    Well, I had really put my foot in it now.

    If I was going to be a Pokemon trainer, I was going to need to catch some more Pokemon. My taste for Pidgies blunted somewhat after our previous encounters, I decided to see what I could find beyond Viridian City.

    Passed this guy again. I feel like we're old friends now.

    Fortunately, the path that was obstructed by the drunken old man before was now clear. Unfortunately, he refused to let me go by unless I heard him out, insisting that he needed to "learn me something."

    "Now watch carefully, son!" he said as a rather sickly looking Weedle crawled out of a nearby bush. "You throw the ball like this..." He tossed the Pokeball with a grunt of effort, and it traveled a few, pathetic feet before landing softly in the dirt just shy of the Weedle. "And if you're lucky, you'll cetch yerself a Pokey-man!"

    Teach me your ways, oh booze-guzzling one

    The Weedle slowly inched its way over to the ball, nudged the button with its nose, and was "captured." I got the impression that it had been through this routine a thousand times before.

    With a muttered thanks to my geriatric benefactor, I turned back the way I had come. Perhaps I didn't want to go this way after all. Instead, I decided to head west, onto Route 22. Perhaps one of Mr. Suds' future teammates was waiting for me there? I let him out of his spheroid.

    "Rise and shine, Mr. Suds! We've got work to do!"

    He popped out in a flash of red light, yawning and stretching after his long nap. He looked around for someone to fight.

    "Not just yet, Mr. Suds. We're recruiting. Keep your eyes peeled for attackers, but don't go all-out right away." I'm sure he wasn't thrilled with those orders, but he seemed to offer no objections, either, so I took it as a good sign.

    We proceeded down Route 22, which lowered into a wide gorge bordered on both sides by rocky slopes. Tall grass sprang up around our ankles as we cautiously walked deeper into the gorge, wary of any possible ambushes.

    Suddenly, a rustling sound came from a clump of tall grass to our left. I stopped dead in my tracks, but Mr. Suds stalked over to it, ready either to attack or to withdraw into his shell. When he came within ten feet or so, a small, white, furry shape popped out, screeching wildly.

    Whoa! Howdy-do, there, Signior Pig-a-nose!

    The creature continued to make loud noises and fling tufts of grass into the air in what was clearly some kind of threat display. He made no move to attack, however.

    "Alright...sit tight Mr. Suds...I'm just going to slowly...throw...the Pokeball..." I began to reach towards my belt for one of the complimentary Pokeballs Professor Oak had given me. I don't know if Mr. Suds wanted to get a hit in before he lost his chance, or if he thought the Mankey was about to attack, or whatever, but I saw him charge quickly towards the little ape-beast. "No! Stop!"

    I threw the Pokeball as hard as I could, and luckily, I was on target, reaching the Mankey a second before Mr. Suds did and nailing him right on his little pig nose. He was sucked inside the orb almost instantly, leaving Mr. Suds to faceplant in the grass where the Mankey had been just a moment ago. He fixed me with a glare that I was already starting to get used to.

    "Hey. I told you to wait."

    Meanwhile, the Pokeball wobbled...wobbled again...I held my breath...


    Yes! I strode triumphantly over to the ball to claim my new Pokemon. I looked at it a moment, then released the beast back onto the grass.

    "So...you belong to me now, huh? Is this like...a right away thing?" The Mankey still lookeld really mad, but I was starting to think that maybe that's just how their faces are arranged. He wasn't running away, but he wasn't coming closer either. He was just staring at me intensely.

    "Um, alright, this could be worse. Let's try this: for your first command, come over here, and...shake." I held out my hand towards him. This should be pretty easy. Mankeys can shake, right? I mean, they have little...hand...paw things. Well, I was about to find out.

    The Mankey started to move closer, slowly. I left my hand where it was. It came closer...closer...I could almost touch it now. Slowly, it reached out its hand...paw...thing, towards mine, and-

    Punched me right in the groin.

    As I was curled up on the ground, cradling my abused testicles, I heard a high pitched, snorting, hooting noise. I thought maybe he had started to attack Mr. Suds, when I saw my Squirtle reach out its little blue hand and hit the open palm of the Mankey's hand-paw-thing.

    A high-five.

    The Mankey just punched me in the junk, then high-fived my Squirtle. So, he was technically under my control. But he was also a total dick. Fantastic. Also, that's when I realized what the high pitched hooting noise was: laughter.

    Laugh it up, fuzzball.

  8. #8
    Registered User ToastyBiggins's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2011

    Default Re: The Pocket Monster Diaries

    Dear PokeDiary,

    I know I shouldn't be complaining, but after the ordeal involved in capturing Chuckles, the Caterpie was almost a dissapointment. I honestly felt bad for the little guy, with his big, shiny eyes staring up at me. But, I knew that serious trainers needed a lot of variety on their team. And after getting walloped in the ol' ultra balls by a fighting type, I thought that a bug sounded about my speed. Plus, I could barely walk to the Pokemart without tripping over at least four of the damn things.

    It didn't really "appear" per se, more like it "failed to leave the vicinity in a timely manner"

    The one that caught my eye was lounging around in the tall grass, and I crept towards it with Pokeball in hand. Before I could make a move, though, Mr. Suds disobeyed a direct order and came charging out of the underbrush to tackle the crap out of his future teammate. Fortunately, the Caterpie managed to survive the initial blow. Unfortunately, he retaliated by spewing a sticky white gloop all over my Squirtle. Eeecch.

    I...I don't know if I want to catch this thing anymore.

    Since that seemed to be his only method of defending himself, and it wasn't doing anything to Mr. Suds but pissing him off, I decided to strike while my Pokemon was trying to disentangle himself from the strands. His attack, while reckless, had weakened the Caterpie enough that it went inside the ball with no fuss. Mr. Suds spent a good twenty minutes washing Caterpie spew off of his shell, but I had no sympathy. If you decide to attack helpless bugs without my say so, I can't be held responsible if you get sprayed in the face with unidentified bio-fluids. That's the policy on my team.

    Feel free to read as much into this name as you wish

    Discourteous discharges aside, BugJuice was now officially a member of my team, along with Chuckles. And while firsthand experience with Pokemon battles had not exactly stoked my enthusiasm for the barbaric practice, I'll admit that I was a little excited to see what my two newest acquisitions were capable of (if only to keep Chuckles preoccupied with punching things that were not my scrotum). And so, after a quick stop at the Pokemon Center, it was back to my old stomping grounds: Route 1.

    Chuckles went out first. He looked like a natural fighter, so I hoped that I would only have to point him in the direction of some hapless victim and watch the magic happen. I was not disappointed.

    Hello? Anyone in there want to come out and meet my new Mankey? Come on, don't be shy! He doesn't bi-wait actually I can NOT make that promise

    As I watched my Mankey tear into the first pack of Rattata we came across in the tall grass, I was struck by how differently he and Mr. Suds approached the business of violence. While they both had an undeniable zest for combat, Chuckles displayed an almost disturbing disregard for his personal safety. Time and time again, against each unfortunate Pokemon that chose to attack us, he would leap into harm's way, risking the most severe injuries if it meant a chance to cause greater damage. It was awe inspiring, but also a little worrying. After only two or three bouts with the local fauna, Chuckles was in pretty bad shape. There were savage bite marks up and down his arms, and a large purple bruise over one eye where a Pidgey had repeatedly battered him with its wing as he held it down to the ground and socked it in the belly until it stopped moving.

    I've come to the conclusion that those other options are there for cosmetic purposes only.

    "Good work, Chuckles! I think you've earned a break." To my surprise, Chuckles allowed himself to be returned to his Pokeball without complaint. Among fighting types, a "complaint" is often registered in the form of a karate chop to the vital organ of your choice, so I was understandably relieved. In fact, despite his injuries, Chuckles looked much more mellowed out after he got the opportunity to put his fighting skills to the test. Perhaps all he needed was a chance to blow off some steam.

    Next, I summoned BugJuice from his Pokeball. He sat in the grass placidly and stared up at me. It occurred to me that since my first two Pokemon had been Mr. Suds and Chuckles, the need to actively encourage a Pokemon to fight was an entirely new challenge. I decided it would be best to put on an air of enthusiasm. "Um, alright...let's go find you an opponent." Because BugJuice's only method of locomotion seemed to be "excruciatingly slow crawl", I decided it would be faster to just carry him to the fight.

    I set out once again along Route One, this time with a Caterpie in my arms. "Alright, don't sweat it. We just gotta start small. If we could find a..." On our left, a flock of Pidgeys, congregating menacingly in some shrubbery. "Eh, no. Keep walkin'." On our right, a pack of Rattata taking turns gnawing on something that may or may not have once been alive. "Just, uh...don't...make eye contact. Eyes front."

    Finally, we happened across a rather elderly looking Rattata, laying in the grass all by itself. This guy looked more like BugJuice's speed. He had patchy, matted fur, his ears were notched, and his fangs were chipped and worn. Surely he wouldn't prove too tough, even for my docile insectoid companion. I set BugJuice on the ground in front of his grody looking foe. "All right," I said, taking a step back from the field of play. "Have at him."

    BugJuice stringshotted him in the face. The Rattata looked mildly annoyed.

    Then it bit him open like an overripe banana.

    Oh no.

    As I ran towards my downed Pokemon, the Rattata looked up from his victim and tried to circle behind me for another attack. I tossed Chuckles' Pokeball over my shoulder and muttered "Go." He knew what to do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly advancing towards the now rather worried looking Rattata. I stepped forward and crouched down to check the damage. It was pretty bad.

    "Hey...hey, I didn't know you for very long but, uh...you're gonna be okay, and we're gonna get you to the...oh, fuck, oh, geez....damnit."

    Damn straight that shit is super effective

    The Rattata hurtled through the air over my head. It bounced once with a terrified squeak, then rolled into the bushes and stopped moving.

    Caterpies don't really have guts, exactly. The stuff that was slowly oozing out of BugJuice's abdomen was more like a sort of greenish-black paste containing no discernible organs. The gash opened by the Rattata's teeth covered ran nearly the entire length of his little, motionless body. The large, reflective eyes always had a kind of glassy quality to them, but now it was clear that they were staring at nothing in particular.

    It occurred to me that if BugJuice had never met me, he might be munching happily on a leaf somewhere without a care in the world. I certainly couldn't imagine him picking fights with other Pokemon for no reason. Which is basically what I was doing, now that I thought about it. Shit. I was the worst trainer in the world.

    Now that the "fight" (I employ the term loosely here) was over with, Chuckles walked over to see what I was looking at. He stared at me, and then the Caterpie corpse, as if he couldn't really understand what had happened. I pointed at a soft patch of earth under a nearby tree. "Dig."

    He hopped over to the indicated spot and began to dig enthusiastically with his hand-mitt-things. Soon there was a decent-sized depression, and he looked up at me for approval. "Good enough," I said, and picked up the dripping carcass. I don't think Chuckles realized what had happened until I started to cover the body up with dirt. As I was patting the last of the earth down with my hand, I heard a soft keening sound over my shoulder, interrupted by sniffles and the occasional honk. I turned around to see Chuckles with his face buried in his little mitt-paws. He must have been a lot younger than I thought, if this kind of thing was still new to him. He must have been terrified when I came at him with that Pokeball. No wonder his first reaction was to whack me in the nuts.

    I reached out and patted his head. "Shh...it's okay. It's okay! I won't let that happen to you."

    I've never felt like a bigger liar.


    BugJuice...we knew him for such a short time. Too short, perhaps, to say what he was really like, but it was clear from beginning that he had a gentle heart. He never once tried to harm another Pokemon, even when the other Pokemon made fun of him and called him a leaf-eating nancy boy.


    No, he just shot sticky gunk at them, gunk that looks like organic silly-string and takes many hours of work and multiple bottles of Goo Gone to wash off. That usually shut them up right quick.

    ...light the coooorneers of my miiiind...

    Some cold-hearted, narrow-minded trainers might look at a Pokemon like BugJuice and say, "What was he good for?"

    ...misty, water-colored meeeeemoriiieees...

    And to those trainers I respond with this quote from the Book of Arceus: "Consider the Sunflora of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say to you, that even Ho-oh in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

    ...of the waaay we weeeeere...

    We'll never forget you, little guy.


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