The Pine Valley Chronicles, Chapter Fifty-Five

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.

Updates on Friday every week!

Click Here for Previous Entries!

Know what’s better than a whole update full of incest? A whole update full of incest with SIXTY NUDE PICS IN IT. They actually outnumber the pics without nudity this time. I hope your cheques are in the mail, guys.

Last time in the Pine Valley Chronicles…

The amount of fun I have doing these papers can hardly be legal.

Ah, Lora. Always hot on the trail of a new way to fail!

Lora: Food goes on counters!

Very good! But does it go in bathrooms?

Lora: Eventually!

Also very good! Now you just need to get the hang of the steps in between.

Bradley: Did you leave these pancakes in the bathroom, honey?
Lora: RRUNGLEUMPHGLUMPHLGRLRNGLRL
Bradley: I guess it was a stupid question, wasn’t it.

Where’s Bradley?

Lora: He went to work.

Oh. Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a while, then.

Lora: Fuck that and fuck you.

Lora: This big pregnant booty’s making a big pregnant booty call!

You know J.R. Ewing?!

I knew the plots on Dallas were insanely convoluted, but this is just ridiculous!

Oh. It’s just Anthony.

Unless that’s what J.R. wants me to think…

Lora: Let’s see if we can’t find the ol’ heart attack trigger!
Anthony: QUICK PLEASE NITROGLYCERIN

Anthony: It shore is pleasin’ to find me a new honey in my old age. Pardner.

I can’t believe I never killed you. In my defense, I thought I had.

Anthony: I didn’t know this here car was a convertible!
Lora: It’s not. The roof just doesn’t have a bottom texture.
Anthony: Fucking Maxis.
Lora: I know, right.

Lora: But now, how about fucking Lora!

Poor Bradley. While he’s at work designing terrible video games, his wife is at home hitting Anthony’s dusty trail.

WooHoo Headline 1: Oh god, it’s freezing out here! I’m gonna die!
WooHoo Headline 2: Quick, get over here! I’m glowing for some reason, maybe it’ll help keep you warm!

Unfortunately, the lifespan of headlines is not particularly long anyway.

Hey, look, it’s Autumn Kauker! Anthony’s more of a winter Kauker, if you get my snowdrift.

Autumn: That was a series of terrible puns.

At least it was a short series.

That’s gotta be hell on the shocks.

Autumn: So just imagine what it does to Anthony’s bones.

Or his boner.

Autumn: I’m gonna leave now.

Okay.

Lora: Okay, get lost. I can only keep one ratty gross old dude at a time, because if you get two of them in an enclosed space the alpha male always ends up killing the other one.

Lora: Well, there’s that theory shot.

What theory?

Lora: I can’t suffocate myself on the bubble blower.

Oh. Well, that’s good.

Lora: IF YOU SAY SO.

What do your coworkers say when you show up looking like that?

Bradley: I don’t see them much. I’m always late, so I get the last tram, and I have to get my HEV suit on and rush down to the Hazardous Materials Laboratory.

That’s not your job. That’s the intro section of Half-Life.

Bradley: You think Valve came up with all that with no inspiration?!

Bradley: Aww, man! I missed the Hazard Course Decathalon again! I really ought to start checking my email at work.

Lora: No, don’t mind me. Do your geek jokes.

They’re not very good geek jokes.

Lora: Do those even exist?

That can’t be comfortable.

Lora: Spend a few years sleeping in a basement full of concrete before you try and tell me what is and what is not comfortable.

I wonder what she dreams about?

Probably being in silenzii’s game instead of mine.

Lora: Ah, woo-hoo!

You can’t do the “I’m pregnant” yell from a seated position!

Lora: And apparently you can’t type the “I’m pregnant” yell without making it sound like “Superman’s Dead” by Our Lady Peace.

One argument at a time, please!

Lora: I felt a kick!

I should hope so, it pushed your belly out by like a foot.

Bradley: Listen to this bit. “During the early years of my career, I was briefly married to a man named Bradley Price. Bradley was a lazy slob who dressed in a silly green suit…” see, she can’t even remember the colour “…and thought he was a game developer.”

Bradley: “After years of loveless marriage, I was freed from my torment by now-notorious serial killer Vicki Sharpe who made me one of her first victims. Bradley quickly moved on…” because she was out fucking random dudes so often I didn’t notice she’d died “…and when I was returned to life I learned he had remarried twice.” Twice! I didn’t marry Brandi! She moved in with beard guy and got herself zombied!

Bradley: “My experience with Vicki, and the memory of the soul-sucking deadness of my marriage to Bradley, helped me get into the right frame of mind to compose the music for the upcoming stage production of Whucked: The Vicki Sharpe Story.

I didn’t know Ember had an autobiography. So, what’s the takeaway from all this?

Bradley: I got my name in a book!

Awesome.

Lora: Just come in through the upstairs bathroom window. Leave your clothes on the counter, next to the plate of sausages and the plate of chef salad, and slip under the covers with me. Bradley’s a heavy sleeper, and he snores so much he won’t hear if we’re quiet.
Anthony: A lot of this plan seems to be predicated on my not being eighty years old.
Lora: I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

Lora: Good day at work?
Bradley: We had a resonance cascade.
Lora: Is that a good thing?
Bradley: That depends on where you stand on alien invasions.

Eh? What happened?

Bradley: We fucked, and then we fell asleep. The only difference is, I figured it made more sense to fall asleep in the bed.

Lora: It’s a mistake anyone could make.

If they’d had half their brains eaten, sure.

Bradley: Are you wearing a new perfume?
Lora: It’s called “Cowboy Musk.”
Bradley: How did you know I have a cowboy fetish?
Lora: With that moustache? It sure was a leap, let me tell you.

Bradley: You’re fucking Anthony Rodriguez, aren’t you.
Lora: I wish you wouldn’t use the cold light of morning to enhance your reasoning processes, it’s really putting a strain on our relationship.

Andrew: Don’t you think you should ease off the bubble blower?
Daisy: If some random bitch was pretending to be you while you pretend to be someone else and you’d just gotten pregnant by a dude with a beard like that, you’d want to get stoned too.

Andrew: Mind if I take a few drags of warm bubbly forgetting-what-you-just-said?
Daisy: On the contrary. I insist.

Poppy: Not bad, needs more cockroach.

Are you having a sympathetic pregnancy, or what?

Andrew’s apparently so bad in bed that forgetting you banged him is an actual Want.

Daisy: I’m sorry you can’t stay longer!
Andrew: I can!
Daisy: Okay, bye!

Daisy: Now, I know I have William’s number in here somewhere…
Andrew: I’m still here.
Daisy: Oh, sorry! Up the stairs, door on your left, door on your right. Bye!

Chelsea: Off sniffing daisies, are you?
William: Unless you know of any other flowers that are looking for a stamen.
Chelsea: Sorry, I got pollinated last night.

Chelsea: I’m thinking you’re about point-one millichelseas. That nose really hurts your score.
Daisy: Shoo! Shoo, sidewalk artist! Shoo!

Daisy: Oh, brother! There thou art!
William: You really ought to quit calling me “brother” and making all these weird family-related jokes. It’s kinda creeping me out.
Daisy: Shit just seems so amateur when there’s no foreshadowing, that’s all.
William: See, there you go again!

Andrew: Hi, Daisy! I brought you these fuh! These fuh! These FUH!

Andrew: These FUCK YOU BOTH IN HELL FOREVER

Daisy: I guess child support’s out of the question now.

Poppy: What’s that shit over your head?
Daisy: It’s a measure of my anarchic success.
Poppy: Cool.

Daisy: May I have this dance?
William: What was Andrew’s problem? Did I just muscle in on another one of his relationships? Because I prefer to do that intentionally, it makes me feel like a tough guy.
Daisy: Think of yourself as Andrew’s personal demon.
William: Can I think of him as my personal punching bag instead? If we’re going to have an adversarial relationship I kinda want to be the protagonist.
Daisy: Whatever floats your giant ego.

Andrew: No point wasting good flowers.

Andrew: Oh, Daisy… I’m temporarily scripted to not hate you.

Daisy: I BARF ON YOUR ARBITRARY FORGIVENESS

William: It’s not really cold in here.
Daisy: I just like setting things on fire.
William: Don’t tell me you’re turning into an arsonist.
Daisy: Nah, I picked my criminal occupation early and I think I made the right choice.

Secret agents! Feared denizens of darkness! Sadistic masters of the underworld!

William: Daisy’s not a secret agent.
Daisy: It wouldn’t be a secret if you knew about it, would it?

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Profession.

Yeah? Could have happened. I don’t know. Death is such a recurring feature of this journal that I used to put the Grim Reaper in the cast list. When I had a cast list.

Do I need a new cast list?

Talking about death makes both of them horny.

Hands up, who’s surprised?

Playing a snowboarding simulator is retarded. Why don’t you just go snowboarding?

Poppy: Playing a life simulator is retarded. Why don’t you just go get-

DON’T ARGUE YOURSELF INTO OBLIVION.

William: I’m impressed, most people can’t get that much in.

She’s been practising with chestnuts.

But I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be some lasting, Joker-esque damage done before the end.

William: I feel like I’ve known you all my life!
Daisy: That’s silly, I’m fourteen years younger than you.
William: That’d be… 25? 26 APV? Wow, you were born the same year as my half-sister!
Daisy: Nonsense. She wasn’t truly born until she cracked her first skull.
William: You sure seem to have her pegged.
Daisy: We’re both square pegs in round holes, she and I.
William: You can’t get a square peg in a round hole.
Daisy: You can if you apply enough force.

Bastards love it when you imply that you’re violent.

William: You get all twitchy when I touch your ass. Have you been seeing Lucas?

A match made in hell.

Daisy: Gimme a second, I’ve gotta do some Kegels and maybe a few squats before I’m limber enough to fit that thing in.

William: Jokes about my dick sure never get old…
Daisy: People always joke about things that they fear.

William: Prepare for RAMMING SPEED!

Daisy: PERHAPS TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE!

It wouldn’t be the first time people had bonded over First Contact jokes.

…hey, I just thought of a new Star Trek porn movie name. Ready for it? “Fist Contact.”

Send your complaints to gruglysims@live.ca.

I like that she’s naked but she’s still wearing her watch. What time is it, Daisy?

Daisy: Cock o’clock!

William: And all’s well!

William: Let’s do this, Captain Sparkles! Time for the big push up through enemy lines!

Daisy: Captain Sparkles is an army captain? I thought he was a sea captain!
William: He’s a semen captain, actually.

Daisy: That’s a great Lucas impression, William, but please don’t continue with it.

Daisy: Wow, you’re still here? I thought comparing you to Lucas would have seen you storming off in a bloody-minded rage or something.
William: I considered it, but then I considered your vagina, and the funny thing about vaginas is that when properly considered they somehow tend to trump pretty much anything.

Lora: -invisible pregnant jackhammer-

William: Ha! Daisy painting! I get it now!
Daisy: I’m guessing the Intelligence career wasn’t your guidance counsellor’s idea?

Lora: -translucent pregnant newspaper stealing-

Daisy: I feel so weightless when I’m with you, like I’m floating… we must be meant for each other!

William: Or maybe there’s a more mundane explanation.

Daisy: Your arms are so big and beefy and strong!
William: Nah, you really are floating. The animation just makes it look like I’m holding you up.

William: How come you keep giving me those appraising looks whenever we’re done screwing?
Daisy: I’m calculating revenge points. I figure each fuck is worth about fifty.
William: Should I ask who you’re getting revenge on by fucking me?
Daisy: You really, really shouldn’t.
William: I trust your judgement.

William: After all, your tits vouch for you. And if there’s anything in this life I really, truly trust, it’s probably tits.

Daisy: -invisible incest vagina-

Poppy: Don’t stop on my account.
William: I couldn’t if I wanted to. Captain Sparkles has his orders, and all communication lines are down.

William: Captain Sparkles is what I call my penis, by the way.
Poppy: Except when the Maker forgets and writes it as “Mr. Sparkles.”

I’m gonna go back and fix that, real soon, I promise.

Poppy: -sings- If I had a million dollars, we wouldn’t have to eat Kraft Dinner!

You have about half a million dollars. So you only half-have to eat Kraft Dinner.

Poppy: Turns out I actually like Kraft Dinner.

Me too. Except that stupid awful whole wheat shit they’re pushing now.

William: Is there a reason you always blow bubbles before we have sex?
Daisy: It’s medical.
William: And what is it supposed to be curing, exactly?
Daisy: Incesty flipper babies. We’re not using protection, you know?
William: These incest jokes are coming so fast and furious that I’m starting to suspect they’re not really jokes.
Daisy: Ha ha, don’t be silly.

Daisy: I just play your sister on TV. And you know that makes you hot, anyway.

William: I love a woman who can describe my incest fantasies in a non-judgemental tone.
Daisy: It’s an artifact of my tempestuous past. If you’d done half the shit I’ve done, you wouldn’t be able to muster up a judgemental tone to save your life.

Daisy: Like this, for example. I’m totally going to hell for this.
William: I wish you’d explain to me why it’s so bad that we’re having sex.
Daisy: Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it. And once you’ve got it, it’ll take decades of psychotherapy to get it back out again.

Poppy: Am I the designated maid here, or something?

Daisy is this household’s only interesting Sim. That means I give you a constant stream of time-consuming grunt work to do so I don’t need to keep making sure you aren’t about to burn the house down or something. And since I know you aren’t doing anything interesting, I don’t have to worry that I’m missing good pics by ignoring you.

Poppy: I think this is why, if other gods exist, they don’t respond to people’s questions.

I think so too.

Daisy: Alright, help me up. I wanna see if we can improve our Chemistry score.
William: A good start would be not dumping your vagina on my hand.
Daisy: A good start for you, maybe.

Daisy: Well?
William: I dunno. It’s not custom enough.

William: Eugh, no. Too dead-ex-girlfriend.

Poppy: Just give up and get stoned, guys. That’s what I do.
William: That has a certain logic to it.
Daisy: A certain stoned lesbian logic.
Poppy: How is lesbian logic different than normal logic?
Daisy: Instead of being attracted to illogics, it’s attracted to other logics.
The English Language: -screams-

Toilet: -screams-

I guess there’s a little Andrewling on the way.

Daisy: Well he’d better stop leaving his shit all over my stomach, or I’m posting an early eviction notice!

William: You might want to try Alka-Seltzer. For your nausea.
Daisy: It’s… not just nausea. I’m having Andrew’s baby.
William:

William: That’ll bring a whole new dimension to our hatefucking!

Brittany: Help. My arm is frozen like this.

How are you still cold?! Are you Nora Fries, or something?!

I’m not linking it, you can use Google as well as I can.

So, why did you just sneak through their entire house?

Brittany: To leave something on the front porch!

Where’s the fucking logic in that?

Brittany: It’s lesbian logic. You wouldn’t understand.

Speaking of things I wouldn’t understand…

And I refuse to even try.

Well, congratulations. You’ve got gene-mail.

Daisy: Ha! But I think gene-mail makes more sense as genetic blackmail, as in “Oh ho, Mr. Mad Scientist, I have secretly impregnated myself with your daughter! Now help me with my evil schemes, or I’ll tell your wife!

Or perhaps gene-mail armour, where you get a bunch of important people’s kids and use them as bodyguards.

Daisy: But you meant, like, getting Andrew’s genes in the mail, right? When you said it initially.

Yeah.

Daisy: Hm. Andrew’s genes. I hadn’t thought of that, really. Andrew’s genes. Like, with his face… and his body… and his facial hair…

Daisy: HURRRRRRRGH MY POOR DOOMED BABY

William: Naturally, if I catch you fucking Andrew again, I’m going to have to kill you both.
Daisy: I’m gonna have such awesome stories to embarass my new kid with when they grow up…
William: Ha! When they grow up. What neighbourhood do you live in?

William: All tuckered out, Daisy? Ready for a night of cuddling?

William: Yeah, me neither.

Daisy: You know, you can’t give the baby your genes by fucking me now.
William: You never know. My genes are pretty goddamn awesome.

Alright, I’m bored with that incest. New incest! Why don’t you go hang out with him, Poppy?

Poppy: What if I don’t want to?

William: Really? He said that?
Poppy: Yeah. Little pieces, all chopped up, in a briefcase, over a bridge, in a river.
William: That sounds pretty harsh.
Poppy: You should hear what he’s planning for Lucas.

Yes indeed. But you’ll see soon enough! Maybe not before I’ve done permanent, lasting damage with his dialogue, but… we’re probably already beyond that point, don’t you think? Next time: William gets laid with someone who isn’t his half-sister.

William: WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN ALL THESE INCEST JOKES TO ME

What, and spoil the grand finale? Pff. Never.

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