Ah... Mossdeep city. Home of STEVEN, and the sole hope for god-fearing and right-doing Hoennians to join the Space Race and beat those filthy Unovians to the moon, or so I hear.

That sounds ridiculously fetishist.

Who the fudge collects rocks, man? Gems, yeah. Rocks, no.

This is me, mid-stride. You can thank a twitchy picture-taking-finger for that one.


Oh, that retarded town in the middle of the goddamn ocean? Yeah.


Last I heard, wallace was still a gym leader...

Ah yes, our nation's glorious space agency.

Hmph, probably had a message like "PS3 has no games" or "Final Fantasy started at 7".

Well, they did until not long ago.

*cough*

Harden the fudge up, mate. Sheesh.

I don't think there's any excuse to not go and see our glorious space programme in action.


Oh look, it's this asshole again. Wanker.


You mean you've been in the game for this long and you've never been to see them?
What a lazy sack of spoon.

Something wrong, how? A malevolent presence under the town? Dark cankers eating at the hearts of the villagers? Is a world-destroying orb held here?

Heard about that.

What. An. Asshole.

He's like the opposite of me; he doesn't stick his nose where it doesn't belong, whereas I stick my nose wherever I damn well please and fudge the police.


That's a tautological statement, right there.

I didn't say anything.

Since you're offering, yeah. Why not?


Now I have two super rods; one for plumbing the depths of the ocean itself, and the other for plumbing the depths of a birth canal, heyooooooo


I am too tired to add the signwriter to my chocolatelist. Besides, I'm not a Dwarf, I don't hold grudges that hard. (Whereas dwarves have a fudgeing stone book to record even the smallest of sleights by others, and go out to seek recompensation even centuries later.)

That number seems made up, asshole.

A terrorist threat! Those filthy Unovan scum!


What the hell do Unovans want with rocket fuel?


Ah, so Team Magma are in the employ of Unova! Ah ha!



What on earth do wee even want to keep the rocket fuel for? It's not like... oh, right, the rockets. Yeah, carry on.

I feel so safe, knowing that this dildo is keeping an eye on things.

Hmph.

I'll just come out and say it; this rocket looks like a giant cock.


Time to work out at the GYM

One of these days, I will find the signwriters for Hoenn, and beat seven kinds of spoon out of them; it will be an education, because personally, I only know about four.

Augh. Surrounded by asswipes.

Yeah, because the wimpy fighting-type-user sitting on the beach having a fudgeing whinge wasn't a huge clue, eh?

Translation: They'll do bullchocolate moves, in tandem

anus?

Alright...

A cunning rotating trap!?

Teleporters. Once again, a strange urge to shoot cyberdemons is upon me.


Disaster!
Once again, a wabuffet has laid waste to my pokemon. Careful use of Destiny Bond and it's natural Shadow Tag mean that death is unavoidable. Baller outsped Mr. Fish and ate the poison, as it were.
Rest in peace, Baller.

And so I arrive at the gym leaders... but being one pokemon short, as well as being generally ill-equipped to deal with them, I'll have to come back later.


Time to place currency on Dude Nukem.


The fudge is Selfdestruct doing there?

Better. While I'm at it, I might as well upskill Staples.


Alright, I'll leave it there for tonight. I'll finish the update tomorrow night.