Eastur Egg: Snowz own Mount Silverz: Difference between revisions
Eastur Egg: Snowz own Mount Silverz (view source)
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Yo, so, mah brutha n' I, we faped to Pokémon evry dai. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Around here a shitload of lil playas done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well shiiiit, it hit dat shiznit up perfectly fo' us, too - every last muthafuckin time a freshly smoked up gen came up one of our asses would git one version, one of our asses would git tha other, n' since our momma was horny bout ta spoil us, we both gots tha 3rd one. This is goin ta sound, at first, like a funky-ass bittersweet rap bout two siblings whoz ass grow up wit a cold-ass lil couple game dat eventually take dem down two different
Da muthafuckin years rolled by, we kept collecting. Gameboys gots old; we stuck em up our azz. Cartridges finally gave out, we picked up freshly smoked up rom hakz. Put ya cok up mai but if ya feel dis! But we started down two straight-up different roadz before Ruby, Sapphire, n' Emerald came out. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See, round then mah brutha gots a GameShark. Our thugged-out asses had heard all tha hacks n' cheats you could do wit them, even if we was kind of late ta tha party, n' they sounded liek a orgy azz time, dawg.
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Our first guinea pig cartridge was mah brother's old azz fuk Blue version. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Us playas just dicked round wit it a lil bit, not a god damn thang major. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. But whatever our phat asses did fucked tha cartridge up fo' realz. I mean, shit startd flyin evrwher man! After just a cold-ass lil couple code entries, it blew up and came straight-up n' became unplayable. Naturally we was upset at first; mah brutha mourned tha loss of his crazy-ass minutez of work, n' I was sympathetic. I holla'd at him, "It's all gravy, we can steal new onez adn blew dat up two. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stupid shark was a waste of scrilla."
But here our paths finally differed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! After seein tha mess it had turned Blue version into, I had become opposed ta tha scam of jackin off or cheatin any of mah games. (What can I say, biatch? I'm a cold-ass lil chick. I feel vibe fo' tha lil pixel-critters.) At least wit dat GameShark. But mah brutha had taken his wild lil' freakadelic game's destruction as a underground challenge or suttin' - I don't be thinkin he eva played a game afta dat which wasn't jacked off somehow. Yeah, we played a shiznit ton of Pokémon, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But fo' our asses there straight-up wasn't much else ta do; our slick asses live way up in tha ghetto without nuff other kids, n' tha farmers didn't want our asses on they
Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald arrived, n' afta playin all up in dem once we was both up in agreement dat they was definitely lackin up in comparison ta tha last gen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. We both tried another real play-through, n' though we managed ta finish, it left our asses both yearnin fo' some phat old-fashioned nostalgia, wehn we jaked each otherz coks off. Where was our oldschool Gold, Silver, n' Crystal cartridges though, biatch? It took our asses probably a month ta dig through all teh shit up or azzez, but we hitz shit kapital: My fuckin oldschool purple Gameboy Color still worked, his bangin red one could no longer hold batteries up in place.
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"That thang will bust a cap up in yo' gamez azz, you know, fuk faze." I yeld at hiz azz.
Dude never had was horny bout me preachin ta his ass bout 'abusin pixels.' I shut mah grill afta dat yo, but it had put his ass off from playin wit mah dirty ass. I guess dat shiznit was just one time too nuff or something; I oughta know ta keep mah thoughts ta mah dirty ass, straight-
Dat shiznit was a cold-ass lil couple minutes later dat it happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was up on tha porch, fapin to some pokemawn 34 when i neded a levl 1,000 fukasaur. I figurd mia ghey azz brotha had one, cause he haks adn haz 69 levl 9001 dachshunds.
Now, tha thang is dat I'd dropped tha last 24 minutes at a gangbangin' playa's place. I had literally come home, dumped mah bag up in mah room, n' crept up tha fuck into tha sun wit mah GBA ta play. I had no clue what tha fuck he'd been up to. For all I knew da thug was done wit tha game n' onto a freshly smoked up
Yo, a shitload of tha cartridges had been mangled, like they'd been jacked at wit suttin' sharp. Even his oldschool Blue version, long ago dead n' too sentimenstrual ta throw away, was lyin wit tha plastic cut ragged, with shitz al over itz sowi azz. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was a lil trippin like a muthafucka. This had ta have happened dis morning, otherwise our momma would have peeped n' they wouldn't be lyin on tha carpet liek a cuck. Tuckin mah GBA tha fuck into mah pocket, I crept over ta his bangin room n' found tha door unlocked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Somehow dat was even mo' mezed up, motha fuka.
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"Is you aiiight?" I asked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I remember tha chills dat ran all up in mah dirty ass yo. Dude was mah lil brutha n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Seein his ass like dis was horrifying.
"Dat shiznit was awful," I remember his ass rasping, n' tha way his voice rattled made mah knees weak. "Oh god. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Brown everywhere, n' then
I remember hustlin over n' huggin his muthafuckin ass fo' realz. And I remember, his fuckin limp arm fell tha fuck n' brushed tha Gameboy up in mah pocket, n' his sudden scream, right up in mah vagina, makin me jump n' bite mah tongue by accident yo. Dude ripped tha handheld from mah pocket n' hurled it all up in tha far wall. I cried up all up in tha dent tha plastic system made there, hustlin over ta collect dat shit. Da screen had gone dark, n' though I feared da most thugged-out shitty when I flicked tha switch it powered up normally. I waited there up in tha corner, tryin ta pretend tha GBA mattered enough not ta go n' run fo' our momma.
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Da Pokémon theme started up, n' da perved-out muthafucka screamed again, pickin up tha dilda n' shit. This time I screamed, too, n' ran from tha room wit mah GBA clutched ta mah chest like a shild, cuck.
Dude ended up in tha psyche ward of tha hospitizzle fo' two days. When we went ta git on over ta him, I left mah GBA at home. No one could figure up what tha fuck had set off his strange, manic behavior. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. There was some rap dat I didn't KNOW all up in tha time bout some kind of shit azz diseaze he may or may not have had yo, but even though momma n' I had collected n' brought up in all tha cut-up cartridges ta be looked at (moms'idea, not mine), no one had even thought ta tie it back ta tha
I hadn't holla'd a word bout what tha fuck had happened when dat schmoooove muthafucka had accidentally touched mah Gameboy, or tha blind, white terror dat schmoooove muthafucka had been thrown tha fuck into when tha noize had started. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. On mah last visit ta tha hospitizzle before school on tha second day, I was left ridin' solo up in tha room wit his ass while momma had some private rap wit tha doctor bout precautions ta take should dis happen again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I sat up in a cold-ass lil chair next ta tha bed where da thug was starin all up in tha ceiling. But then suddenly da perved-out muthafucka sat up, makin me flinch.
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"Hey," tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at me, "Angie. Go up in mah room when you git home."
I didn't KNOW what tha fuck he meant, n' then I remembered tha thangs our crazy asses hadn't packed up n' brought
"Git rid of em. I don't eva wanna fuck wit dem eva again."
His voice was so weary n'
"Promise you'll git rid of em."
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"Okay, fak buddi. I promise."
I was carted off ta school late, n' all up in tha whole dizzle I only had mah promise ta his ass up in mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I didn't know it all up in tha time yo, but dis would be tha last time dat I could eva play tha big-sista role n' help his ass out. I just had ta git home n' git rid of dat
I gots home n' went right tha fuck into his bangin room, bent on uncoverin whatever horror was waitin fo' mah dirty ass. Momma had since vacuumed tha room, n' tha cartridge n' GameShark was no longer visible. I gots down n' crawled half under tha bed, feelin timid but holdin onto tha promise I made as mah badge of courage. Under tha bed there was enough dust ta make me cough, enough cum stained Legos n' various other toys dat I couldn't set mah elbow down without it landin on something. But I finally saw both objects, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. They'd been shoved ta tha corner, on top of a notebook dat looked too freshly smoked up ta done been down here long. Unthinking, I grabbed tha corner of tha paper n' dragged every last muthafuckin thang up wit me, still wheezin from tha dust. (Allergies n' all, ya fukin judgmental prik.)
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"Easta Egg: Snow on Mt. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Silver, biatch"
I remembered what tha fuck dat schmoooove muthafucka had holla'd when I'd found
I picked every last muthafuckin thang up n' brought it ta mah room, threw half of itz in teh toilet, n' laid it up on tha carpet up in front of me wit mah own GBA next ta dat shit. For a long-ass time I just stared down at it, fapin real hard, n' tha longer I looked, tha mo' maniacal Lugia's grill became on tha
I had tha see that sexz tape.
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I slid Gold outta mah GBA n' stuck Silver up in in its place. Well shiiiit, it took me almost 15 minutes ta compose mah dirty ass n' turn it on.
It started up normally, with teh shit adn organz flyin evrywher. I left tha sound on low, too afraid of what tha fuck I might hear ta keep it up tha full way, n' too curious ta turn it tha whole way off. Da title screen was normal, like a muthafucka. Lugia again yo, but somehow ghey despite mah common sense spittin some lyrics ta me dat shiznit was exactly tha same picture as every last muthafuckin other time I had started up tha game yo. How tha fuck wack could dis be, biatch? I axed mah dirty ass yo. His notes holla'd Eastside egg. Didn't dat mean dat that was codin already up in tha game, biatch? Da menu came
His character was fuk faze, wit a mostly filled meth labz
Finally, a straight-up dim sort of map came onto tha
Da map had brightened up just a smidgeon when I closed outta tha start menu fo'sho. Git tha fuck outta mah grill wit dat bullshit, snow was somehow fallin straight-up heavily; pixels danced across tha screen so fast dat shiznit was hard ta peep tha lil sprite dat was mah brother's character n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Somethang was off bout him, like a muthafucka. When I checked tha shiznit, dat shiznit was tha same ol' dirty as tha Pokémon sprites; tha flavas was dull. In fact, now dat I thought bout it, he almost looked frostbitten.
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"I can't turn back now, can i fuk faze?"
That
"I can't fap up in this biatch!" obviously referrin ta tha snow.
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This last one busted a gangbangin' frigid feelin all up in mah ass. There was no way down tha mountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I had ta climb. Turnin tha lil sprite around, I moved his ass forward.
No resistizzle at all, though mah struttin speed was oddly slow, liek I wuz a kripple on crak. What was truly weird was tha lack of shitz, of biatchez, of anythang at all but dat white snow, which still blew across tha screen n' juiced it up almost impossible ta peep fo' realz. As I moved further "up" tha mountain, his struttin speed became slower, n' slower n' shit. Da static curtain of pixels grew thicker, so dat I could barely make up tha featurez of tha
"I'm cold, getz me a fire, cuck."
By now even I was gettin goosebumps yo. His struttin speed had become painfully slow, as if somehow da thug was bein impeded. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Up tha lil
Mo' text on tha screen.
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"It's too late," it holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Thiz wuz a shiti azz easta egg.
There wasn't much else I could
"Pidgeot has died."
I checked
Da sprite was mangled; piecez of it was missing. What was left was splotched wit a sickish blue-grey color, n' its eye was a solid black pit. I flipped down ta Meganium- same deal, a leg missing, a cold-ass lil chunk of its neck, most of its head, save dat pitch-black, dead eye.
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In tha straight-up center of tha map was suttin' stickin outta tha snow. Well shiiiit, it looked like a Pokébizzle. Kick dat shit! Okay, maybe all dis creepy shiznit lead up ta some climactic, final battle rockin whatever was up in THERE. If I picked it up, maybe Red would come outta hiding. I strutted over n' examined it, n' there was a funky-ass burst of static noise from mah game dat made me jump.
What rocked up on tha screen was a funky-ass battle animation, mah trainer sprite appearing, his skin tinged
Dat shiznit was Celebi.
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"Celebi used Perish Song, cuck."
A screech came outta mah GBA, n' I almost dropped it as tha screen went white fo' realz. A part of me was relieved, thankin dat mah final Pokémon had been KO'd n' I would be transported ta a Pokémon
I checked mah trainer card n' felt sick. Da sprite was just as mauled as tha Pokémon had been; a leg gone fo' realz. A single eye remaining, pitch-black n' so, so fucked up looking, tears welled up all up in tha
I quickly moved back ta tha map yo. His sprite there mimicked tha horror it had become on tha trainer card; pieces was missing, every last muthafuckin thang was discolored. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I started tryin ta strutt, n' at first I received a message.
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There was a exit there, marked only by a white outline. I had no other chizzle but ta go all up in dat shit.
It opened tha fuck into a cold-ass lil chamber dat was also solid
"Fuk you"
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Teh shitti azz battle started.
Red's sprite had none of tha deformitizzles dat marred mah own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da flavas was tha same blues n' greys yo, but da thug was intact yo. Dude just
"Venusaur used struggle!"
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"AZZ"
His next Pokémon was Blastoise, even mo' mangled than Venusaur had been. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well shiiiit, it too struggled n' died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! After each round there was dat ominous "FUK" from they trainer n' shit. Every sprite was mo' damaged than tha last; his Espeon was barely distinguishable as a Pokémon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I realized somewhere da thug was bustin dem up all outta order, which saved one Pokémon fo'
Pikachu came out, n' dat shiznit was grotesque. It, too, was discolored like dat shiznit was frostbitten. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was missin a ear, half its body n' tail, its head was mostly intact but its eyes was much larger than they should have been, n' glared up all up in mah grill like pitch-black windows tha fuck into
"Pikachu used Pain Split."
"Pikachu has took a dirt nap hommie! Typhlosion has died!"
It cut back ta tha image of Red's
I finally understood what tha fuck happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They was dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They was dead, n' dis sub-level of tha mountain was tha hell they now existed in.
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Then there was lil' wayne.
It took me a long-ass few moments yo, but I eventually stood up. I took tha GameShark. I took tha notebook. I took dat fuckin possessed game. I picked dem all up n' carried dem ta tha garbage can our crazy asses had already set up fo' mornin pickup, all up in tha end of our long, windin
Its ghey azz grill greeted mah crazy ass wit a ear twitch n' a funky-ass big, pixelated smile fo' realz. A pleasant, aiiight smile. I turned mah game off, n' dropped tha next minute bustin up like a biatch on tha floor.
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