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You've been granted the chance at a second life in the magical land of Kanto. Pokemon are real. Criminal organizations that abuse Pokemon are prevalent and pose a tangible threat to innocent civilians the world over. Your dad left your mom for some asian bitch several years back and hasn't shown his face in Pallet Town since, but he inspired you to follow your dreams instead of settling for whatever mundane life you were destined to lead. You are now ten years old, full of spunk, a spring in your step, with an insatiable hunger for adventure permeating your entire being. You are just about to head out and obtain your very first Pokemon from some old lecherous professor with Alzheimer's who conveniently lives just down the road. With your Running Shoes triple-knotted just to be safe, and extra underwear packed away in your Bag in preparation for the inevitably lengthy journey ahead, you briskly bolt out the door completely ignoring your pathetic cuckqueen of a mother's attempts at bidding you a proper farewell. Your latent athletic ability has you knocking at the professor's door within merely 30 seconds of leaving your own domicile. You are soon greeted by a friendly, yet thoroughly disheveled old codger donning a long white lab coat. He looks down at you with a sickening smirk plastered across his ugly mug and asks you the same goddamn question he has for the past decade:
>Are you a boy? Or are you a girl?
Well, veepee?
