Dex Entry
A no-nonsense Pokemon with an affinity for Guns, Grit, and Gravelers.
Hey guys,
This is a run that's really near and dear to my life and views about the world. I know they say that self-insert characters are a little childish but, you know what, life's too short. This is basically my idea of what my role would be in a pokemon adventure. Hope you all enjoy and, maybe learn something.
Here's my rules
This is a run that's really near and dear to my life and views about the world. I know they say that self-insert characters are a little childish but, you know what, life's too short. This is basically my idea of what my role would be in a pokemon adventure. Hope you all enjoy and, maybe learn something.
Here's my rules
- Only one pokemon per route
-Only fighting, ground, and rock type pokemon or those that can evolve into one of those types
-Pokemon that faint are weak, and dead to me, so I'll release them
-Only fighting, ground, and rock type pokemon or those that can evolve into one of those types
-Pokemon that faint are weak, and dead to me, so I'll release them
Diesel Musk was the most manly 12 year old boy you ever did see. His biceps showed the manly bulge that only hours in the woods splitting logs can create. His wardrobe consisted primarily of camo and hunter's orange, and he sported a full beard. Doctor's called it early puberty, but Diesel knew it was the blessings of Arceus for a life of clean livin', and not being a libtard like all the rest of the people in Twinleaf Town. As Diesel was cleaning the third of his twelve rifles—something he did daily to build character and prevent the destructive buildup of rust on his fine pieces of death machinery—he thought about the one thing he wanted to do with his life: overthrow the pansies who ran the League with a team of real 'mon. Not the ridiculous water spouts and mind tricks that other, less manly trainers liked to use, but through strength that can only be won from a life of hard living, like he led.
Besides taking down the liberal pansies that called themselves League champions, Diesel's truer passion was a life devoted to Arceus. A life he chose after coming to meet the Priest at the local Missouri Synod church of Arceus, Father Grit Whiskey. Father Whiskey was a big man. Some might even call him good-sized. His muscles rippled across his back as if the spirit of the Almighty was flowing through him. The congregation was small, as Father Whiskey's sermons tend to turn away the weak and liberal. But he told the truth that no one else had the massive testiculations to say. Like how PokeBalls were unnatural tools of Giratina, designed to lead people away from the path of righteousness. The only way to catch Mon, according to Father Whiskey, was to wrestle it to the ground yourself and put it in a headlock until it submits. Diesel took a no-ball pledge with the good Father when he was just a wee lad with barely any stubble, and he didn't intend to break it any time soon.
Diesel put away his rifle collection with a smile. He made a kissing noise as he closed the door to the safe, tenderly wishing them a good night and reassuring them that he would see them all again in twenty-four hours. The guns didn't respond.
Diesel headed outside to continue with his chores. There was always wood to be chopped. Father Whiskey had told him about the evils of fossil fuels. The “official” story was that it came from dead leaves millions of years ago, but that's ridiculous. Arceus only created the world 250 years ago. Most likely it was another liberal plot to take our guns, they are crafty.
Diesel looked in awe at the family Mah-chop. Oh, he was a beautiful creature. Each line of his muscular frame made Diesel quiver with pride. “Now that's a damn Pokemon if I ever seen one,” he said, almost without meaning to. He watched as the Mah-chop lifted his mighty hand and brought down a blow on yet another log, cleaving it in two. One day, Diesel would split logs like Mah-chop, but his attempts so far had only left his hand broken and in intense pain. Nonetheless, Diesel tried once a week. One day, he would be strong enough.
“Hey, Diesel!” Chris said.
Chris was an ultra-lib pansy that lived down the street from Diesel. His gun collection was less than a fifth the size of Diesel's, and he believed in crazy socialist ideas like giving his 'mon a life of luxury inside a ball, training water types, and going to the doctor. Diesel once had a broken a leg, but rather than go to the hospital like a weakling, he fashioned a sling out of grass, dirt, and sweat and ate oran berries while he jogged five miles to make the bones heal. Sure, his leg looks a little crooked now, but better crooked than coddled!
“You, ah, need any help with that wood? I brought an axe” Chris said, waiting for Diesel to finish his internal monologue.
“I'm fine, Chris. I'll break this log like a real man soon, just you wait.” Diesel brought his hand down hard against the ironwood log again. He heard a slight crunch that indicated he'd probably broken another bone.
“That's great Diesel,” Chris chimed. “I'm rooting for you! Hey, I wonder if you want to come down to the lab with me? Professor Rowan has a few Pokemon he's giving away to kids that want to compete in the League! I know how you're always talking about being a League champ, this might be a great way to get started!”
Diesel gritted his teeth, if ever there was a model of scum and villainy, it would be Chris. But, Diesel was low on funds, and his attempts to wrestle the wild Pokemon in his area had not gone precisely to plan. His last encounter with a Bidoof had left him with one less earlobe, and the Bidoof with a story of victory that will reverberate throughout the ages. While a coddled ball-mon wasn't exactly in the plan, it might be a necessary evil. It could weaken the manly Pokemon to the point that he could get them in a dominating headlock.
After a moment of agonizing deliberation and wailing towards the heavens for Arceus to forgive him, Diesel lowered his gaze upon the villain Chris “I will go, but only because I have no other choice. But be warned! I am not a man-boy to be taken lightly, Chris.” The name nearly burned his tongue to repeat.
“Uh… sounds good then, Diesel, see you down there.” Chris peddled away on his evil mechanical horse. The sound of it reminded Diesel of the burning fires of Giratina's pit. Diesel packed a few necessities, in case this scientist's blasphemous Pokemon handout wound up as a villainous trap.
Besides taking down the liberal pansies that called themselves League champions, Diesel's truer passion was a life devoted to Arceus. A life he chose after coming to meet the Priest at the local Missouri Synod church of Arceus, Father Grit Whiskey. Father Whiskey was a big man. Some might even call him good-sized. His muscles rippled across his back as if the spirit of the Almighty was flowing through him. The congregation was small, as Father Whiskey's sermons tend to turn away the weak and liberal. But he told the truth that no one else had the massive testiculations to say. Like how PokeBalls were unnatural tools of Giratina, designed to lead people away from the path of righteousness. The only way to catch Mon, according to Father Whiskey, was to wrestle it to the ground yourself and put it in a headlock until it submits. Diesel took a no-ball pledge with the good Father when he was just a wee lad with barely any stubble, and he didn't intend to break it any time soon.
Diesel put away his rifle collection with a smile. He made a kissing noise as he closed the door to the safe, tenderly wishing them a good night and reassuring them that he would see them all again in twenty-four hours. The guns didn't respond.
Diesel headed outside to continue with his chores. There was always wood to be chopped. Father Whiskey had told him about the evils of fossil fuels. The “official” story was that it came from dead leaves millions of years ago, but that's ridiculous. Arceus only created the world 250 years ago. Most likely it was another liberal plot to take our guns, they are crafty.
Diesel looked in awe at the family Mah-chop. Oh, he was a beautiful creature. Each line of his muscular frame made Diesel quiver with pride. “Now that's a damn Pokemon if I ever seen one,” he said, almost without meaning to. He watched as the Mah-chop lifted his mighty hand and brought down a blow on yet another log, cleaving it in two. One day, Diesel would split logs like Mah-chop, but his attempts so far had only left his hand broken and in intense pain. Nonetheless, Diesel tried once a week. One day, he would be strong enough.
“Hey, Diesel!” Chris said.
Chris was an ultra-lib pansy that lived down the street from Diesel. His gun collection was less than a fifth the size of Diesel's, and he believed in crazy socialist ideas like giving his 'mon a life of luxury inside a ball, training water types, and going to the doctor. Diesel once had a broken a leg, but rather than go to the hospital like a weakling, he fashioned a sling out of grass, dirt, and sweat and ate oran berries while he jogged five miles to make the bones heal. Sure, his leg looks a little crooked now, but better crooked than coddled!
“You, ah, need any help with that wood? I brought an axe” Chris said, waiting for Diesel to finish his internal monologue.
“I'm fine, Chris. I'll break this log like a real man soon, just you wait.” Diesel brought his hand down hard against the ironwood log again. He heard a slight crunch that indicated he'd probably broken another bone.
“That's great Diesel,” Chris chimed. “I'm rooting for you! Hey, I wonder if you want to come down to the lab with me? Professor Rowan has a few Pokemon he's giving away to kids that want to compete in the League! I know how you're always talking about being a League champ, this might be a great way to get started!”
Diesel gritted his teeth, if ever there was a model of scum and villainy, it would be Chris. But, Diesel was low on funds, and his attempts to wrestle the wild Pokemon in his area had not gone precisely to plan. His last encounter with a Bidoof had left him with one less earlobe, and the Bidoof with a story of victory that will reverberate throughout the ages. While a coddled ball-mon wasn't exactly in the plan, it might be a necessary evil. It could weaken the manly Pokemon to the point that he could get them in a dominating headlock.
After a moment of agonizing deliberation and wailing towards the heavens for Arceus to forgive him, Diesel lowered his gaze upon the villain Chris “I will go, but only because I have no other choice. But be warned! I am not a man-boy to be taken lightly, Chris.” The name nearly burned his tongue to repeat.
“Uh… sounds good then, Diesel, see you down there.” Chris peddled away on his evil mechanical horse. The sound of it reminded Diesel of the burning fires of Giratina's pit. Diesel packed a few necessities, in case this scientist's blasphemous Pokemon handout wound up as a villainous trap.
Hey future Musketeers,
Well, this is the first chapter of what will be a pretty epic and manly pokemon adventure. I wrote this as a way to get a lot of what I've been feeling about teh direction of this franchise, and the world, off my chest. Hit me up with any comments, except the liberals, you keep that s**t to yourself.
-Diesel
Well, this is the first chapter of what will be a pretty epic and manly pokemon adventure. I wrote this as a way to get a lot of what I've been feeling about teh direction of this franchise, and the world, off my chest. Hit me up with any comments, except the liberals, you keep that s**t to yourself.
-Diesel
