LJ Idol Week 11 {Eye for an Eye}, in which there is no high road in Kanto
I owe a major shout-out to majesticarky on this one, whose Pokemon post from Week 9 and subsequent goofball comment thread dragged this particular screwball war story to the surface of my brain.
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I was that annoying little 13-year-old kid who'd hang out in arcades by the Mortal Kombat machine waiting for people to come along and meet their downfall at my hands.
I was also a girl who hung out in arcades by the Mortal Kombat machine waiting for people to come along and meet their downfall at my hands, and for some reason that I couldn't comprehend at the time, this seemed to bug people more than the fact that I was an annoying little kid hanging out by the Mortal Kombat machine looking for digital trouble. It was the same condescending looks, the same rolling eyes, the same conversation, time after time: Yes I know how to play! No, I'm not looking for the My Little Pony pinball machine! Yes, I'm sure! No, I'm not here with my brother, I'm not here with my boyfriend, I'm here with quarters in my pocket and bloodlust in my heart and I will fucking FLATTEN you, so let's fucking go! And nine times out of ten, I did.
Being the lone chica in a boys' club never bothered me in and of itself, because I always thought of myself as a gender-neutral "kid" growing up rather than a "girl", so it was fairly common for me to do "boy stuff" and not even realize I was the only girl in the room\class\playgroup\etc until someone else pointed it out. Hey, other kids were doing it, and it looked like fun, so why not? Besides, who the fuck has time to drool over Hollywood hunks and dreamily sigh at dumbass romantic comedies when there are perfectly good action flicks to watch, belching contests to win, and violent cartoons to re-enact on the playground? Not me, dammit! So when it came to video games, I gave as good as I got, and anytime anyone broke out the "but you're a girl!" card, it didn't inspire me to suddenly give up my hobbies, re-think my life, and abandon my gender-norm-busting ways. Oh, it inspired me all right, but only to dish out an extra special serving of beatdown.
The games changed over the years, but I certainly didn't.
Skip ahead to my college days where I'm at a Pokemon tournament (the Gameboy game, thank you very much, not that total scam-ass card game where people were paying hundreds of dollars for pieces of paper), and as usual, I'm one of a very small number of girls on the scene.
Now let me back up here for a moment. The first generation of Pokemon games (aka Gen1 or RBY) were both astoundingly glitchy and runaway popular, and in an era before gamefaqs.com and widespread online social networking, this was a recipe for one major thing: fake-ass cheat codes galore. Now, fake-ass cheat codes ran rampant for just about all popular video games ever since popular videogames became a thing, but the glitchy nature of Pokemon combined with its overwhelming popularity made it a veritable breeding ground for that sort of shenanigans. Unsubstantiated rumors spread like wildfire, and since there were quite a few legit glitch exploits in the game, a certain amount of credibility was automatically granted to any wack-ass "glitch" or "cheat" that anyone cared to dream up, spread, and propagate. (Hey, did you hear you could unlock a super secret Pokemon if you throw your Gameboy in the microwave and dance the funky chicken while sticking a fork in a light socket and singing Hail to the Chief through your nose? It's TRUE, my cousin's neighbor's sister's dog tried it, and it REALLY WORKED!)
So I'm at this tournament about 30 minutes before start time and here comes this one fuck-o, real class act, who gives me THE most condescending look I've been given since...well...probably since the last tournament I was at. He looked directly at the Gameboy in my hand, well-loved and covered in Pokemon stickers, then asked if I was here to support my boyfriend. Fuck-o had a couple of buddies with him (why they were putting up a pretense of being cool was beyond me - you're an adult at a fucking Pokemon tournament. You're a nerd, own that shit!), and both of them seemed quite amused by this burgeoning conversation. Already locked into Srs Bzns Competitive Mode myself, I was in no mood for this sort of crap and just wanted them to fuck off so I could get back to prepping for the tourney, so I was just like "Mmm, no." Then Fuck-o apologized for assuming I was here with my boyfriend and acknowledged that it was a stupid assumption to make...because obviously no one would want to date me in the first place. He was blatantly baiting me, and I knew this, but the high road just isn't a very scenic route, and I'm the adventurous type. So I took that bait, and I yanked as hard as I could (and was probably the only girl he could ever say did that for him!)
"Okay, dumbass, you're right. I'm all alone, and the Polly Pocket trading club was full, so I came here instead. Wanna pre-game?" In other words, I challenged him to a pre-tournament match. The look on his face told me he thought I was going to be an easy kill.
Now let's go back to the glitches and cheat codes for a sec. One of the most prolific and infamous ones was known as "Missingno" (short for the error message "Missing Number"). Missingno was a legit glitch, and it was basically what happened when the game knew it was supposed to send out a Pokemon for you to fight, but there was an error when the game tried to figure out WHICH Pokemon, so it sent out a glitched up non-existent Pokemon with no designated number.
{Screenshot of in-game Missingno encounter}
The Missingno glitch had the effect of giving you a bunch of extra items, so it was common for people to intentionally trigger the glitch in-game. HOWEVER, there were also a metric fuckton of BS rumors going around about the dangers of encountering the Missingno glitch - it would delete your game, blow up your Gameboy, email porn to your grandma, etc. In reality, the only ill effect it had was harmlessly fucking up your graphics a bit in certain parts of the game, but a TON of people thought that triggering the glitch would subsequently trigger Armageddon.
{Screenshot of Pokedex info screen from a Missingno-related glitch}
{Screenshot above, photoshopped for accuracy}
The most fun part of the Missingno rumor was that you could actually catch the thing (true), use it in a battle against a human opponent when you link your Gameboy up to theirs (also true), and that anyone who did so was 1) insane (possibly true) and 2) going to crash your game (load of shit. They might have been TRYING, but they wouldn't accomplish anything other than possibly freaking you out).
Three guesses what I did here.
Now, I'd never actually caught Missingno, since there was no real advantage to doing so. Therefore, I didn't have a Missingno on hand. However, I could re-name my Pokemon at will, and wouldn't ya know, my Mewtwo was in the market for a shiny new name!
I linked my Gameboy up with Fuck-o's, and to say his reaction was priceless when the message appeared on his screen saying his opponent had sent out Missingno... well, that would be the understatement of the year. He yanked the link cable out of his Gameboy like the damn thing was a lit fuse ready to detonate his game, nearly dropped his Gameboy in the process, then started hollering at the top of his lungs that I had a Missingno and I was trying to cheat, crash his game, worship Satan, slaughter kittens, drink their blood, sell infants on eBay, and lord knows what else. Naturally, a few of the dudes in charge of the tournament came dashing over, ready to kick me out and read me the riot act (when I say nearly everyone believed the Missingno rumors, I mean NEARLY EVERYONE), at which point I was just like "I don't have a Missingno, I was just messing with this guy because he was talking smack."
I cheerfully handed my Gameboy over to the tournament honchos, screen displaying my perfectly normal, non-glitched Mewtwo named Missingno. The honcho dudes started cracking the hell up, left, and meandered over to a few other honchos on the other side of the room. An animated discussion took place which involved the first two honchos gesturing toward me and Fuck-O, and then all the honchos cracking up together. Ohhh, I was validated and vindicated. Fuck-O was pissed. Fuck-O's sidekicks were trying not to show their own amusement (and failing utterly at it), which pissed Fuck-O off even more. "She got you, man," one of them said to him under his breath as Fuck-O and sidekicks stalked off to get in place for the tournament.
And as it so happened, I got him AGAIN. I battled him in the tournament, and he fucking SUCKED. I took down his entire team (all three of his active Pokemon) with a single Pokemon. By this time, I think he'd learned better than to say anything, so he just glared daggers at me and made a cranky exit to the sidelines.
A few rounds later, I was up against the "She got you, man" sidekick. I beat him too, but he was a pretty good player and put up a respectable fight. We talked strategy for a few minutes before the next round, and then I spotted Fuck-O, who'd now been relegated to spectator status, standing a small distance behind his buddy's shoulder. "Practice on that guy," I said rather loudly, gesturing to Fuck-O. "He's an easy kill."
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My lone-assassin Pokemon, along with a dweeb-to-English translation, just for posterity's sake:
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I was that annoying little 13-year-old kid who'd hang out in arcades by the Mortal Kombat machine waiting for people to come along and meet their downfall at my hands.
I was also a girl who hung out in arcades by the Mortal Kombat machine waiting for people to come along and meet their downfall at my hands, and for some reason that I couldn't comprehend at the time, this seemed to bug people more than the fact that I was an annoying little kid hanging out by the Mortal Kombat machine looking for digital trouble. It was the same condescending looks, the same rolling eyes, the same conversation, time after time: Yes I know how to play! No, I'm not looking for the My Little Pony pinball machine! Yes, I'm sure! No, I'm not here with my brother, I'm not here with my boyfriend, I'm here with quarters in my pocket and bloodlust in my heart and I will fucking FLATTEN you, so let's fucking go! And nine times out of ten, I did.
Being the lone chica in a boys' club never bothered me in and of itself, because I always thought of myself as a gender-neutral "kid" growing up rather than a "girl", so it was fairly common for me to do "boy stuff" and not even realize I was the only girl in the room\class\playgroup\etc until someone else pointed it out. Hey, other kids were doing it, and it looked like fun, so why not? Besides, who the fuck has time to drool over Hollywood hunks and dreamily sigh at dumbass romantic comedies when there are perfectly good action flicks to watch, belching contests to win, and violent cartoons to re-enact on the playground? Not me, dammit! So when it came to video games, I gave as good as I got, and anytime anyone broke out the "but you're a girl!" card, it didn't inspire me to suddenly give up my hobbies, re-think my life, and abandon my gender-norm-busting ways. Oh, it inspired me all right, but only to dish out an extra special serving of beatdown.
The games changed over the years, but I certainly didn't.
Skip ahead to my college days where I'm at a Pokemon tournament (the Gameboy game, thank you very much, not that total scam-ass card game where people were paying hundreds of dollars for pieces of paper), and as usual, I'm one of a very small number of girls on the scene.
Now let me back up here for a moment. The first generation of Pokemon games (aka Gen1 or RBY) were both astoundingly glitchy and runaway popular, and in an era before gamefaqs.com and widespread online social networking, this was a recipe for one major thing: fake-ass cheat codes galore. Now, fake-ass cheat codes ran rampant for just about all popular video games ever since popular videogames became a thing, but the glitchy nature of Pokemon combined with its overwhelming popularity made it a veritable breeding ground for that sort of shenanigans. Unsubstantiated rumors spread like wildfire, and since there were quite a few legit glitch exploits in the game, a certain amount of credibility was automatically granted to any wack-ass "glitch" or "cheat" that anyone cared to dream up, spread, and propagate. (Hey, did you hear you could unlock a super secret Pokemon if you throw your Gameboy in the microwave and dance the funky chicken while sticking a fork in a light socket and singing Hail to the Chief through your nose? It's TRUE, my cousin's neighbor's sister's dog tried it, and it REALLY WORKED!)
So I'm at this tournament about 30 minutes before start time and here comes this one fuck-o, real class act, who gives me THE most condescending look I've been given since...well...probably since the last tournament I was at. He looked directly at the Gameboy in my hand, well-loved and covered in Pokemon stickers, then asked if I was here to support my boyfriend. Fuck-o had a couple of buddies with him (why they were putting up a pretense of being cool was beyond me - you're an adult at a fucking Pokemon tournament. You're a nerd, own that shit!), and both of them seemed quite amused by this burgeoning conversation. Already locked into Srs Bzns Competitive Mode myself, I was in no mood for this sort of crap and just wanted them to fuck off so I could get back to prepping for the tourney, so I was just like "Mmm, no." Then Fuck-o apologized for assuming I was here with my boyfriend and acknowledged that it was a stupid assumption to make...because obviously no one would want to date me in the first place. He was blatantly baiting me, and I knew this, but the high road just isn't a very scenic route, and I'm the adventurous type. So I took that bait, and I yanked as hard as I could (and was probably the only girl he could ever say did that for him!)
"Okay, dumbass, you're right. I'm all alone, and the Polly Pocket trading club was full, so I came here instead. Wanna pre-game?" In other words, I challenged him to a pre-tournament match. The look on his face told me he thought I was going to be an easy kill.
Now let's go back to the glitches and cheat codes for a sec. One of the most prolific and infamous ones was known as "Missingno" (short for the error message "Missing Number"). Missingno was a legit glitch, and it was basically what happened when the game knew it was supposed to send out a Pokemon for you to fight, but there was an error when the game tried to figure out WHICH Pokemon, so it sent out a glitched up non-existent Pokemon with no designated number.
{Screenshot of in-game Missingno encounter}
The Missingno glitch had the effect of giving you a bunch of extra items, so it was common for people to intentionally trigger the glitch in-game. HOWEVER, there were also a metric fuckton of BS rumors going around about the dangers of encountering the Missingno glitch - it would delete your game, blow up your Gameboy, email porn to your grandma, etc. In reality, the only ill effect it had was harmlessly fucking up your graphics a bit in certain parts of the game, but a TON of people thought that triggering the glitch would subsequently trigger Armageddon.
{Screenshot of Pokedex info screen from a Missingno-related glitch}
{Screenshot above, photoshopped for accuracy}
The most fun part of the Missingno rumor was that you could actually catch the thing (true), use it in a battle against a human opponent when you link your Gameboy up to theirs (also true), and that anyone who did so was 1) insane (possibly true) and 2) going to crash your game (load of shit. They might have been TRYING, but they wouldn't accomplish anything other than possibly freaking you out).
Three guesses what I did here.
Now, I'd never actually caught Missingno, since there was no real advantage to doing so. Therefore, I didn't have a Missingno on hand. However, I could re-name my Pokemon at will, and wouldn't ya know, my Mewtwo was in the market for a shiny new name!
I linked my Gameboy up with Fuck-o's, and to say his reaction was priceless when the message appeared on his screen saying his opponent had sent out Missingno... well, that would be the understatement of the year. He yanked the link cable out of his Gameboy like the damn thing was a lit fuse ready to detonate his game, nearly dropped his Gameboy in the process, then started hollering at the top of his lungs that I had a Missingno and I was trying to cheat, crash his game, worship Satan, slaughter kittens, drink their blood, sell infants on eBay, and lord knows what else. Naturally, a few of the dudes in charge of the tournament came dashing over, ready to kick me out and read me the riot act (when I say nearly everyone believed the Missingno rumors, I mean NEARLY EVERYONE), at which point I was just like "I don't have a Missingno, I was just messing with this guy because he was talking smack."
I cheerfully handed my Gameboy over to the tournament honchos, screen displaying my perfectly normal, non-glitched Mewtwo named Missingno. The honcho dudes started cracking the hell up, left, and meandered over to a few other honchos on the other side of the room. An animated discussion took place which involved the first two honchos gesturing toward me and Fuck-O, and then all the honchos cracking up together. Ohhh, I was validated and vindicated. Fuck-O was pissed. Fuck-O's sidekicks were trying not to show their own amusement (and failing utterly at it), which pissed Fuck-O off even more. "She got you, man," one of them said to him under his breath as Fuck-O and sidekicks stalked off to get in place for the tournament.
And as it so happened, I got him AGAIN. I battled him in the tournament, and he fucking SUCKED. I took down his entire team (all three of his active Pokemon) with a single Pokemon. By this time, I think he'd learned better than to say anything, so he just glared daggers at me and made a cranky exit to the sidelines.
A few rounds later, I was up against the "She got you, man" sidekick. I beat him too, but he was a pretty good player and put up a respectable fight. We talked strategy for a few minutes before the next round, and then I spotted Fuck-O, who'd now been relegated to spectator status, standing a small distance behind his buddy's shoulder. "Practice on that guy," I said rather loudly, gesturing to Fuck-O. "He's an easy kill."
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My lone-assassin Pokemon, along with a dweeb-to-English translation, just for posterity's sake: