The Pine Valley Chronicles, Chapter Forty-Two

Welcome to the Pine Valley Chronicles, an ongoing neighbourhood story in The Sims 2!
Warning: this journal may contain uncensored nudity, violence, profanity and sexual themes.

Click Here for Previous Entries!

Fucking HUGE ENORMOUS update this time around. Hope you’ve got some energy drinks handy, because you all get to suffer from my unwillingness to prune pics.

Last time in the Pine Valley Chronicles…

And I wonder if you’ll ever completely forgive me for it.

Lora: So there was this alien, okay?
Randy: No.

Lora: And she lost a fight, right?
Randy: Didn’t happen.

Lora: And it was with another alien!
Randy: Total bullshit.

Meanwhile, back in Watchmen…

Bradley: I am prepared.

Good timing, because I think you’ll find you can cure that nasty skin condition you’ve got with a potion from your Aspiration Rewards.

Bradley: We may be about to die. Kiss me one last time, Lora, and let’s make the moment last.
Randy: I thought I was the likeable goof who gets the girl, snrrrk.
Bradley: Wrong genre. You’re thinking teen comedy. This is a horror film; you’re the plucky comic relief who dies last.
Randy: At least I get to be plucky.

It’s amazing how long you can go when you don’t need to breathe.

Bradley: Well, here goes nothing…
Randy: I’m not cool with that. Say “Here goes something that is guaranteed to work” or “Here goes a 100% effective cure.” Saying “Here goes nothing” and then drinking a potion to rearrange your bodily molecules doesn’t work for me.
Bradley: Here goes hopefully getting the fuck away from each other!
Randy: I’ll drink to that, snrrk.

Lora: I feel like a million bucks!

Bradley: I feel like a new man!

Randy: I FEEL LIKE MY BRAIN IS ON FIRE

Lora: WHY?! WHY?! WHY GOD WHY?! WHY MUST THE GOOD DIE SO YOUNG?!
Bradley: He wasn’t that great, really…

Bradley: I bet I know what’ll take your mind off seeing a grown man disintegrating: a nine inch penis all up in your privates.
Lora: Your words of comfort are startlingly effective!

Bradley: Don’t mind us, Randy. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Pretend we’re not even here.

Bradley: When we were zombies I couldn’t see how smooth and healthy your skin is!
Lora: When we were zombies I couldn’t see what a gross old man you are!

Bradley: Then let’s arrange ourselves so you don’t have to look at me.

Sullivan: One down, four to go.

There’s only two left in the basement, Sullivan.

Sullivan: And two more upstairs.

Those are your employers.

Sullivan: Doesn’t make them not shitbags.

Bradley: Randy would have wanted it this way.

Aren’t you gonna drink it, Peter?

Peter: I’ll let Chelsea do the honours first.

And see if she bursts into flames or anything.

Peter: And see if she bursts into flames or anything.

She doesn’t burst into flames, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t suddenly become hot.

As for you, clothes back on. Right fucking now.

Lora: I don’t know this dance. What’s it called?

Bradley: “Just the Tip.”

Lora: I don’t know the moves.
Bradley: There are no moves, just get into the rhythm.

Bitches love being tricked into sex.

Do artists really go to work?

Bradley: Before I do what I have to do, Lora… will you marry me?
Lora: And your money?
Bradley: And my money.
Lora: FUCKING RIGHT I WILL.

Lora: It’s beautiful! It’s the same as everyone else’s.
Bradley: Coding limitations.

Bradley: Randy, you be our witness!

Lora: Good luck, Bradley. Give him hell.
Bradley: Actually, I was planning to give him to hell.

Bradley: Wish me luck.

Lora: What the fuck did I just agree to.

Bradley: He’ll never know what hit him.

That is extremely probable.

Peter: Shit, late for work!

Bradley: Let’s dematerialize, shall we?

(I love what his penis is doing in that third pic.)

(That sounds wrong.)

Bradley: Peter! PETER! We need to have a chat, Sonny Jim!

Peter: What. The serious. Fuck.

Peter: You’ve got some serious elder abuse coming your way, old man…

It’s so cute when the game thinks it’s doing high-stakes shit.

Peter: How the fuck did you get out of the basement?
Bradley: It is said a Shaolin priest can walk through walls.
Peter: Yes, but how the fuck did you get out of the basement?
Bradley: I found religion.

Bradley: I’d advise you to do the same. And fast.
Peter: What the fuck is that?!

Bradley: THAT is a pillar of flame. Try talking to it. With any luck you’ll burn to death faster that way.
Door: -shuts-
Lock: -clicks-

Peter: It’s okay, we got this! Just load from a previous save!

I think you’re overestimating your value to me.

Peter: You think you’ve won, old man? You have no idea what powers I’ve been hiding from you!

I’ve got a pretty good sense of them, actually.

There aren’t any. Say “hi” to Randy for us, Peter.

Bradley: Nothing like a well-earned piss.

Lora: Oh, Bradley… what if he doesn’t come back?

Then I don’t blame him.

Lora: I… what? I meant what if Peter kills him?

Oh. Oh. Well, don’t worry about that.

Lora: What did you think I meant?

Next pic!

Peter: COCKSUCKING FUCKSHIT

Bradley: Save me a spot next to him, will you? I can’t wait to rub this in.
The Grim Reaper: YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE LONG TO WAIT.
Bradley: See, this is why your wife left you.

Priceless.

Bradley: Fancy a barbecue, honey?
Lora: Is Kentucky Fried Douche on the menu?
Bradley: I bet he even pissed his pants, the fucker.

Lora: I never doubted you for a second.
Bradley: For several days on end, but not just for a second, right?
Lora: If you can expose my loopholes this easily, maybe we shouldn’t get married.

Bradley: Your mouth says “no” but my nine-inch penis says “she’s not going anywhere.”

Lora: Your nine-inch penis is very old and wise.
Bradley: I always follow its advice.

How’s it feel to be all cleaned up at last?

Lora: It feels great.

And how’s it feel to have a fucking terrible haircut?

Lora: This is entirely your fault and you’d better fix it soon.

Bradley: Where’d you get that fucking terrible haircut?
Lora: GOD.

Van: I must go! My people need me.

Sorry. Couldn’t resist.

Lora: Okay, pull back would you? I’m not used to having tastebuds.
Bradley: No.
Lora: No? What do you mean, no?
Bradley: Chelsea.
Lora: What? Where? Behind me?
Bradley: Yes.
Lora: WE MUST STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER.

Chelsea: Hey honey, I’m home! Honey! Where are you, Peter? Why is my dad out here? I thought you said he was dead? Why is he making out with this chick? Why does she have such a fucking terrible haircut? Peter? Peter?

Oh, I guess it was “Bring a Zombie Home from Work Day.”

Chelsea: Daddy! Peter told me you’d had a heart attack!
Bradley: What Peter knew about hearts wouldn’t fill an extra small-sized condom.
Chelsea: Daddy. You have no idea what an extra small-sized condom looks like.
Bradley: No, you’re right, I don’t, but please let’s not talk about my penis, okay?

Valerie: This lemonade is terrible.

Bradley: Please tell me you haven’t acquired a death fetish.
Lora: Okay, I won’t tell you.

Chelsea: I’ve heard of meddling parents, but this is ridiculous.

Bradley: Chelsea? Where are you going?
Chelsea: I’m moving out and resurrecting my boyfriend, dad. Thanks for asking before you immolated him, by the way.
Bradley: Your boyfriend was a psychopathic mass-murderer!
Chelsea: BOY ARE YOUR STANDARDS HIGH

Lora: You know what’ll take your mind off her?
Bradley: I think I do!

That’s the Bradley I know and tolerate.

I’m already wishing you’d died in the basement.

Lora: What? Why?

Because you’re dull as a wet napkin?

Lora: Are dry napkins really that much more interesting than wet ones?

EVEN OUR ARGUMENTS ARE BORING.

Bradley: I can’t seem to get comfortable. First thing tomorrow we’re buying some concrete pillows.

Bradley: I guess I can settle for you.
Lora: Stop smothering me.

I only hope your children don’t inherit the boring gene.

Or any of her genes, for that matter.

Meanwhile, back where all the cool people live…

Abigail: I think I’m pregnant.
William: I think I’m going to the basement.
Abigail: Didn’t dig an escape tunnel down there or anything, did you?
William: Man, I wish I’d thought of NO

What he built is far, far stranger.

So, what am I looking at exactly?

William: An insurance plan.

And what are you trying to ensure?

William: That nobody comes back from the dead and stops me from fucking a hot immortal mad scientist.

William: What? Kaylynn who? No, I told you, I’m looking for… yes, really, I’m not looking for any Kaylynn… I don’t care who other people like to resurrect, unless you offer group rates I wish you’d just send me who I’m asking for!

William: Man, Grimmy is seriously starting to lose it.

Says the man surrounded by genies.

William: You can see them too? Thank god.

I am god.

William: Yeah, well… thanks.

Ember: Fuck yeah! From centuries of restless sleep, again she comes your souls to reap! Or something like that. It’s gonna be a mega hit, those metalheads love that dark magic bullshit.

It sounds retarded.

Ember: As long as you growl it unintelligibly they don’t even care. It’s like having a license to print money, I’m telling you.

William: I bet Chelsea sleeps with me for resurrecting her mother.

I’m assuming you have a better reason for doing it, since it sets you back ten thousand Simoleons.

William: Oh yeah, Big Willy’s got a plan alright.
Ember: My, how you’ve grown! You can show me your Big Willy any time!
William: HIS NAME IS CAPTAIN SPARKLES AND HE FOUGHT FOR YOUR CUNTRY.

Ember: Man, you know what I just remembered?

That break-in like thirty years ago?

Ember: Yeah! I bet they’re still talking about that around these parts.

Heh. You’re… a bit… behind on the gossip situation, Ember.

William: Look, you know who I’m talking about… I just don’t want to say the name out loud… because there’s this girl standing beside me and I want it to be a surprise… BECAUSE THE DUDE WRITING MY DIALOGUE WANTS TO SURPRISE HIS READERS… just fucking do it, alright? I’m sick of your shit, The Grim Reaper, I really am! I’LL USE YOUR FULL NAME IF I WANT TO, OKAY?!

William: What kind of parent names their kid “The” anyway?

Already on the move, Stephen?

Stephen: The garbage needs to go out.

There is more to life than garbage, Stephen.

Stephen: The dust that used to be my body is still in a dump somewhere. You could say that garbage and I have got a little thing going.

Stephen: Who did you say mixed this stuff up?

Your son, Andrew.

Stephen: And which one was he, again?

The mad scientist.

Stephen: I thought that was Abigail.

No, I mean… the one who dated Cameron.

Stephen: Who’s that then?

THE ONE WITH THE BIG YELLOW BEARD

Stephen: One of my sons is dating a woman with a big yellow beard?!

DON’T MAKE ME TURN THIS RESURRECTION AROUND

Stephen: I have too many children 🙂
William: Good, so take this old bat and let me keep your ageless ex-wife.
Stephen: I always liked this old bat better, anyway.

Ember: Calling me an old bat isn’t the best way to show it. What are we supposed to be doing here, William?
William: Ask the genies to give you your youth back. You can go to university together and start your lives over.
Stephen: “Old Bat” was my nickname for you. I just never said it to your face.
Ember: Then your judgement is failing in your old age.

Stephen: So let’s do away with the whole “old age” thing, then.
Ember: How about it, floating purple man?

Genies: HOW ABOUT WE FUCK YOUR FACES UP WITH SPARKLES INSTEAD

Genies: De-aging sparkles, that is.

As if your hair is still grey.

Ember: No-one is more surprised than I am.

I doubt it. There are plenty of people reading this right now who don’t even remember who you are.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Stephen: Are you done?

No.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

The Johnny Depp “Secret Window” look suits you.

Stephen: What’s she doing?
William: Reprogramming herself so she likes you better.
Stephen: Not leaving anything to chance here, are you?
William: Perhaps you have forgotten how much the sex your ex-wife is.
Stephen: My memory is better than you think. For one thing, I’m pretty sure she’s still my wife.
William: TAKE THE COMPLIMENTARY SLUT AND LEAVE FOREVER.

Stephen: You know, I think I will at that.

Ember: We already loved each other without altering our brains, you know.

Yeah, and that made it a lot less excusable. You made him cheat on his wife like three times. And I think she was mostly pregnant when you did it.

Ember: What can I say? He lights my firecrotch.

Hey, good one.

As much as it suits you, that hair really does have to go.

CAN YOU FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING BURGLARY ALREADY.

William: You can have this genie lamp. I think there’s a couple wishes left in it.
Stephen: How do you know I won’t wish for my old wife back?
William: Because I’m keeping the other lamp and MY GENIE CAN BEAT UP YOUR GENIE. Now get your asses outside, I’ve got cabs waiting to take you to Mount Noble.

Stephen: This is awkward.
Stewart: Mom! I think William is having sex with girly boys in the basement!
Stephen: Now it’s even more awkward.

Stephen: I’ve always wanted to go to university.

Yeah, I’m really pumped. It’s not like it’s going to be fifteen of the most boring hours of my life or anything.

William: Right, now… time to stock the zoo.

Tell me you didn’t get government approval for this.

William: She’s the original specimen. We need to keep her for testing.

You don’t test her, William. She fucks up your shit and eats your brains.

William: So what you’re saying is, she’s a woman.

Yes. No. Yes. No. Fuck.

Fine, yes.

The Grim Reaper: YES, YOU BLOODY WELL CAN HAVE HER BACK. WE TRY TO RUN A CLEAN ESTABLISHMENT DOWN HERE. IT’S BAD ENOUGH BEING GROUND FOREVER IN SATAN’S MOUTH WITHOUT SOME PUNK CHICK TRYING TO EAT YOUR BRAINS.
William: Ha! Eat tu, Brute?
The Grim Reaper: I’M TELLING HIM YOU SAID THAT.

William: This is an unplanned-for contingency.

William: I’M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU ANYMORE BECAUSE YOU’RE JESUS.

Melanie: Sure am! One broken body and some blood poured out for you, coming right up!

William: You wish, honey! God himself could not sink this ship!

You guys need to stop this, I’m running out of quotes.

William: The pool is CLOSED, bitch!

William: Man… you still have a goddamn awesome ass, though.
Melanie: So that’s why you kept trying to stick your foot up it.

Nah, it’s a prison without walls.

Or toilets.

Melanie: WATER IS IMPASSABLE.

Oh, old Nintendo games.

Andrew: Bullshit.
Abigail: No, I’m serious! We’re seriously getting married.
Andrew: To who?
Abigail: To EACH OTHER!
Andrew: Bullshit.

Cameron: Where are we really going, Andrew?
Andrew: I told you. Mom and William’s wedding.
Cameron: Bullshit.
Andrew: That’s what I said!

William: Hello, Cameron. We’ve never been formally introduced.
Cameron: Yeah, but you’ve fucked my sister. That’s almost as good as an introduction.
William: You’ve been almost introduced to a lot of people, then.
Cameron: Preaching to the choir, buddy.

Cameron: Inappropriate touching!
William: Naturally!

Abigail: I was thinking we could get married at the church.
Andrew: For the religious atmosphere?
Abigail: No, for the cake. They have cake there.
Andrew: The cake is a lie.
Abigail: So is the religious atmosphere.
Andrew: Yeah, but the cake is at least plausible.

Abigail: You can come too. It should be a beautiful wedding.
Cameron: I thought you already had a husband.
Abigail: I did. Your people forced my son to disintegrate him.
Cameron: Which my people are the my people you’re talking about? Zombies or Knowledge Sims?
Abigail: Both.
Cameron: And hey, I’m pretty sure you were both at one point yourself.
Abigail: You’re vetting my prejudices for logical foundations? What are you, new?

Andrew: Quick! We have to ruin their big day with our public displays of affection!
Cameron: Could we maybe not lord our revoltingly cutesy relationship over everyone else?
Andrew: What, you mean break up?

Abigail: Come on. We’re getting married now.
William: But I was gonna take my zombie off to Toshi Station and pick up some power converters!
Abigail: WE DON’T SPEAK STAR WARS IN THIS HOUSE

Speaking of the house… it’s leaking.

I guess I should have known it was going to be something you did.

EVERYONE INTO THE CLOWN CAR.

EVERYONE BUT YOU.

We’re all still mad at you.

That’s some pretty terrifying presence of mind you’ve got going there, Andrew. Please resume your customary low level of artificial intelligence immediately.

Well, it’s a real Pine Valley wedding now.

Stewart: William is NOT SEXUALLY ATTRACTIVE TO ME AT ALL.
Andrew: Stewart! Your androgny broke! About fucking time.

Cameron: Whew! It sure is William is hot in here, isn’t it? I mean, shit. I mean, is it just me, or did they leave the William’s sexy body on in here? FUCK. I mean, FUCK. Fuck.
William: Calm down. I’ll send you some photographs of Mr. Sparkles and you can arrange a meeting with him later.
Abigail: If you want to die, that is.
William: Many woman would not consider that an unfair bargain.

Cameron: I can’t believe he named it Mr. Sparkles.

Have you seen that thing? There are natives in the jungle who worship it as a god. I bet it named itself.

Andrew: Upstaging Mode Activated!

Cameron: Did you really need to wear your labcoat and robot hand to your mother’s wedding?
Andrew: Separation of church and science, babe.

Leonard: Do I get to be a character eventually?

You’re a Murphy kid. Statistically you should just be happy to be alive.

You shouldn’t, though. Not with a face like that.

William: I promise to cherish every day with you, even if that dress is a fucking joke.
Abigail: And I promise to let you escape comments like that with at least half of the limbs you started the day with.

This brings a whole new meaning to the term “uninvited guests.”

Unsavoury Charlatan: What a coincidence! I’m in the market for a new car!

That one comes loaded. Onboard Blu-Ray player, Sony sound system, tracking device that dials directly to the SCIA.

Unsavoury Charlatan: Oh, well that tears it. I prefer Bose to Sony.

The list of good places for a zombie to hang out is really, really long and doesn’t seem to have WILLIAM SHARPE’S WEDDING on it anywhere.

William: Rose petals? Seriously?
Abigail: That is SO fucking gay.
William: I love you too, Abby 🙂

Cameron: Hold up, let me ruin this shot for you.

JJ Cox: They’re a great-looking couple, aren’t they?
Andrew: What? Fuck no. I’m still clapping for her veiled threats. That guy FUCKED MY FIANCÉ.

William: And I’m gonna fuck your mom tonight. It’s okay, you don’t have to call me “dad” yet. As long as you let me fuck your new girlfriend too.

Stewart: This pic isn’t centred.

Sure it is. I’m focusing on the edge of the pew. You didn’t think I wanted a picture of you, did you? By the way, get out of the frame. You’re wrecking my shot.

I bet that hat hair cut cost like four hundred dollars. Women.

Man, this place has some awesome pew edges. Good thing I’m not a fucking terrible photographer or I wouldn’t be able to score all these awesome shots.

Andrew: Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena
Noelle: Que tu cuerpo es pa’ darle alegria y cosa buena
Stewart: Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena

Hey, Macarena!

Noelle Oates: I’m going to eat all of you!
Cameron: I hope she chokes on Andrew’s beard before she gets to me.

Leonard: STOP WITH THE CLAPPING PICS, YOUR JOKES ARE SUFFERING

Yeah, I know. I know.

Abigail: Okay, let’s try a new one. I’ll be a midget grizzly bear, and you be the burly woodsman with a secret forbidden love for me.
Stewart: I HATE ROLEPLAYING GAMES

Abigail: Ooh, I’ve got a better one! I’ll be a midget zombie, and you’ll be a guy who punches himself in the face with both fists!
William: YOU’RE MISREPRESENTING THE SCREENSHOTS AGAIN
Andrew: Why do all of her fantasies involve midgets?
Stewart: Don’t everyone’s?

William: To the moon, baby! I promise! It’s always a smooth ride on my rocketship. By which I mean my penis.
Cameron: Naturally. But what does the moon represent in this metaphor?
William: It represents the moon. My penis is really big.

Sandy: Try rummaging in my pockets so I can eat your brains.
Unsavoury Charlatan: Try eating my brains so I can rummage in your pockets.

Unsavoury Charlatan: And if you believe that, there’s a lovely bridge I’ve got for sale over in Centreborough!
Andrew: I’m not interested, but hey! Is that Daniel Day Lewis I see over there? I bet he’s looking for a new bridge!

Daniel Day Lewis: Was the Unsavoury Charlatan over here?
Andrew: You just missed him.
Daniel Day Lewis: NEXT TIME, CHARLATAN! NEXT TIME.

Noelle: I thought about going for the pearl necklace look, but it’s just so nouveau riche, you know? Gold bangles are much more classy.
William: Nobody knows who you are. Please leave. Our wedding hot dogs are not for you.
Abigail: Why DO we have wedding hot dogs, anyway?
William: NOTHING BUT THE BEST FOR MY BABY

Hailey Brown: A refreshing lunch after my afternoon jog!
Andrew: Mental note: invent force fields.

Abigail: Oh William, it’s so sexy the way you slice that cake like it’s the fingers of someone you’re interrogating!
William: Conversely, your people-reading skills can be extremely un-sexy.

William: Do you want me to feed you a slice?
Abigail: Fuck no.
William: Thank god.

You’re welcome.

Unsavoury Charlatan: Your new bride is a precious, precious treasure, Mr. Sharpe.

William: So, I think the Unsavoury Charlatan is going to try and steal you.

Noelle: Cake’s served, blowing this pop joint.

And now the traditional wedding ritual where the wife eats her own fingers.

How long have you had that necklace?

Abigail: Oh, ages. Got it on the beach during my honeymoon with Stephen.

What? That’s… that’s forty chapters ago! How am I just noticing it now?

Abigail: So you can bring up my dead previous husband at my wedding, presumably.

Um, yeah. Sorry about that.

Abigail: WOO SUCCESSFUL OUTING
Unsavoury Charlatan: WOO NICE ASS

You’re totally right, Catwench.

Cameron: Kiss my foot.
Unsavoury Charlatan: I don’t want to kiss your foot.
Cameron: KISS MY FOOT
Unsavoury Charlatan: I DON’T WANT TO KISS YOUR FOOT
Cameron: IT’S TRADITION
Unsavoury Charlatan: FUCK YOUR TRADITIONS

I hope I get a backflip witch at my wedding.

Abigail: What does this feel like?
Leonard: Like you’re dangling me over the edge of a balcony.
Abigail: And what does our house have?
Leonard: A balcony.
Abigail: And what have we learned today?
Leonard: That I’m going to be very nice to William.
Abigail: Good boy. Smart boy.

I hate it when people park in the middle of the road.

Michael: Did I miss the wedding?
Unsavoury Charlatan: Yes.
Michael: Is the free food still out?
Unsavoury Charlatan: Yes.
Michael: TWO OUT OF TWO, PERFECT SCORE.

Cameron: When are we getting married, Andrew?
Andrew: When I’m absolutely sure you’re not going to eat my brains.
Cameron: It’s not like you couldn’t spare some.

Cameron: But seriously, when?
Andrew: Oh, science thing!
Cameron: You just took that out of your pocket.
Andrew: Can’t talk right now, science thing!
Cameron: Asshole.

“My wedding was great! Please invite me to my next wedding.”

William: I could lie here on the grass with you all day long, Abigail.

Abigail: I have a form-fitting white teddy.

William: On the other hand, let’s fuck.

Abigail: Mmffrgbrglgrm.
William: Frgbrglhrgbrgl?
Abigail: Mfghrklbrg.

For everyone who noticed that my characters keep talking with their mouths full.

Sullivan: Drat, he put water around you. I can’t touch water, I’ll melt.
Melanie: Pretty sure that’s just the Wicked Witch of the West.
Sullivan: That was a dark period of my life, alright? I’ve moved on.

Melanie: I can’t believe he kicked my ass.

I can’t believe you two had a fight and the world survived it.

Sullivan: I guess my zombie queen collection will have to wait.

You have a zombie queen collection?

Sullivan: Well, I would have had.

Ha.

Sullivan: A small one.

Okay.

Sullivan: I’m saying she’d be the first part of the collection.

I GET IT.

Sullivan: Don’t get uppity, you mongrel polack kilt-lifter.

WEDNESDAY: OH MY GOD QUICK WE’RE IN THE FRAME SAY SOMETHING WITTY!
FRIDAY: OH MY GOD THE PRESSURE IS TOO MUCH I’M BLANKING!

Too late.

William: Alright, that’s enough foreplay. Time to play ball. With your vagina. And my balls. My giant, giant balls.
FRIDAY: That sounds serious. Master Stephen would have wanted to take a look at that.
WEDNESDAY: For the last time, FRIDAY, Master Stephen was not a doctor.
FRIDAY: No, I know that. He just really liked balls is all.
Abigail: Hey, can this conversation wait? Like, until never maybe?

Sullivan: Stop mopping so I can fix this.
WEDNESDAY: Stop fixing this so I can mop.

Abigail: Wow, you’re right! They are giant!

Even their flamingos got married.

…that’s so stupid, what was I thinking.

Sullivan: You have made a tactical error, Wilford Brimley. Your army of oat-fed brainwashed diabetes sufferers cannot protect you now.

Wilford Brimley: Wait! I’m not Wilford Brimley! I’m just a garden gnome!
Sullivan: The captions disagree!
Wilford Brimley: Shit!

FRIDAY: Well, it’s been nice, WEDNESDAY.
WEDNESDAY: Why do we have to shut down, FRIDAY?

BECAUSE YOU’RE FUCKING BORING, that’s why.

Lost the necklace?

Abigail: Gained a husband.

And Captain Sparkles.

Abigail: Oh, Captain. My captain.

William: I’m so glad your last husband died.
Abigail: That’s terrible.
William: Nah, he’s taking the garbage out in a better place now.

William: And besides, I’m a much better kind of doctor. A doctor of lo-
Abigail: Do not finish that sentence.

Abigail: Is the Captain prepared?
William: He’s readying his troops.
Abigail: Is that a sperm reference?
William: It is, yes.

Abigail: Then the Captain and his troops had better come in a rubber raft, because I’m not letting them capture my flag.
William: It’s so hot that you can keep up with my hilariously convoluted penis jokes.
Abigail: It’s so cute that you think you’re being clever.

William: CHARGE!

William: You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Abigail.
Abigail: Bet you find a way to fuck it up, though.
William: Bet you’re right.

Abigail: Can I do experiments on you in your sleep?
William: Will you wear that form-fitting white teddy when you do?
Abigail: Sure.
William: Then I daresay you can.

Abigail: Neck like giraffe!
William: Sure, cool.

That’s too much concentrated awesome for any one bed to hold.

I suppose it’s also tradition to dump off your wedding gifts anonymously in the dead of night?

Andrew: It is when you forgot to buy them before the wedding.

Whew. I’m tired. Are you tired? I bet you’re tired too. Next time: a happy ending for them what don’t deserve it. Will it last? If you’ve been following this journal, you probably know the answer.

Oh, yeah. Happy frickin’ Easter.

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