Before this comic confuses you too much, here’s an explanation. Some might say I’m a bit too diligent when it comes to Pokemon breeding, whereas I prefer to just say that I “got that shit on lockdown.”
That’s what that means, right? To be very skilled at something is to have that shit on lockdown, yes? I digress…
I’m in the process of making an all Normal-type Pokemon lineup. It’s pretty fun, considering how diverse normal-types really are. I mean, here lies before you the second largest type in the game (trumped in numbers only by water-types, the slippery scourges), and they can tell ghost-types to go eff themselves while using an insanely large margin of moves from other types. That’s pretty rad, if you ask me.
However, I am one of those breeding elitists who practically runs the Pokemon equivalent of puppy mills by putting one Pokemon out to “stud” and father child after child until I find the one with the right nature.
What happens to the ones that aren’t the correct nature? Well… if you know anything about what happens to sub-par Spartan babies, you’ll get the idea. They… well, let’s just say they’re “sent to live on a farm upstate.” The same farm your childhood hamster and goldfish visited.
I mean, here I am breeding Porygon after Porygon trying to find a Modest one. I kid you not, I have an entire box of Porygons I will most likely never use! Ever! My 13-year old self would be shitting them drawers if he had that. I would’ve been running a goddamn Pokemon cartel! Should you find me at a convention at some point and you want one, by all means, take one!