Category Archives: The Pocket Monster Diaries
The story of Trainer Winston’s quest to become a Pokemon Master, mostly against his better judgement.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m grateful for the Pokémon 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 PokéLife 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.
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.
(Author’s Note: This is sort of a…Let’s Play, writeup…thing? For Pokémon Leaf Green. I’ll be playing through the game using Nuzlocke rules, which are:
1. If a Pokémon faints, it must be released as soon as possible (basically fainting = death)
2. You may only catch the first Pokémon you encounter in a given area. If it faints/escapes, too bad.
I’ll be playing through the game with these restrictions, then posting the screenshots and writeup here. So, enjoy! (Maybe?))
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.
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