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!
I’m never using Photobucket again, and after this update I’m putting a big ad at the end of every update telling you not to use Photobucket either.
Until I get bored with it.
Edit: I got bored with it.
I’d remind you what happened last time in the Pine Valley Chronicles, but for that to happen, you would have to have actually read it.
Not that I’m complaining or anything, but how come nobody around here seems to wear clothing very much anymore?
Cameron: Because nudity sets you free?
Pff, bullshit. All nudity does is require you to host your pics on two separate sites.
Cameron: Remember that time when I got dozens of people killed and faced no consequences?
Andrew: We need to start thinking up some new inside jokes.
Andrew: And also you could at least say “good morning” before reminding me my wife is an untried war criminal.
Cameron: Well, good morning anyway.
Andrew: How could it not be good, now that my mind is filled with thoughts of genocide?
Cameron: I see they’re still no match for thoughts of science.
Andrew: It’s more that thoughts of genocide are a logical segue into thoughts of science. You can’t make a clone without cracking a few fetuses!
Andrew: It’s so hot that you didn’t throw up or run away just now.
I’m glad you’re happy together, because finding either of you another mate would be a real bitch of a job.
Cameron: So, why are you so romantic so early in the morning?
Andrew: I’m buttering you up so you’ll clean the filthy sink in our bathroom.
Cameron: BECAUSE IT’S NOT LIKE I’M PREGNANT OR ANYTHING
Andrew: Your skin is absolutely glowing! I always thought that was a myth.
Cameron: It’s not the pregnancy, it’s the isotopes in the cleaning solution. That sink really was filthy.
Cameron: Um, help?
Cameron: Clothes just appeared on me. That can’t be a good sign.
Oh no! The clothes Borg are attacking! I thought they were still in the Delta quadrant!
If somebody did something like that in my game these days, the next pic would be of their crumpled corpse at the bottom of the stairs.
Cameron: We shouldn’t have cured my zombiism! I bet this fucker would just plop right out if my genitals were still hanging out like hoses on a fuel plane!
I’ll give you full points for that clever and original metaphor, but please… after the last chapter, I really do have a really low tolerance for oh-my-god-gross right now.
Cameron: WELL EXCUSE ME IF I GIVE THIS CLAWING CROTCH CRAWLER MORE OF MY ATTENTION THAN YOUR PRECIOUS SENSIBILITIES
Hey, another good one! You’re on a roll!
Cameron: Oh shit I’m wearing pants now how’s it gonna come out
Andrew: I don’t know how much more of this I can take!
Yeah, things sure do look dicey from where you’re standing.
Cameron: Holy shit! This baby had a whole set of adult casual clothes packed in there with him! No wonder it hurt so much on the way out!
Andrew: We’re sure this kid is mine, right? It couldn’t be, like… Don’s, or something, could it? I don’t know how zombie reproduction works.
Baby Boy: .oO(THE WORLD IS SCARY AND YOUR NOSE IS HUGE)
No, he’s definitely your kid. Say hello to Nathaniel Price-Murphy! Then teach him how to talk so he’ll know what “hello” means.
Incidentally, Nathaniel is the first Sim born into Generation 3! I’d say “so that’s pretty cool” or something, but I already know how Generation 3 goes, and… just… Jesus fucking Christ.
Andrew: He didn’t get your awful grey eyes!
Cameron: Or your dad’s shitty Maxis skintone!
Andrew: Or your stupid bitchy face!
Cameron: Or your overweening sense of self-importance!
Andrew: Hey, that’s not fair. We don’t know that yet!
Andrew: I can’t believe he doesn’t have any defects.
Well, other than his parents…
Cameron: Hey, look what I found in my pocket!
Baby Girl: .oO(HOLY SHIT I CAN FLY. I MUST BE A GODDESS.)
Almost, but not quite, so let’s call you Angelica Price-Murphy. I’m sure you’ll thank me by behaving demoniacally.
Cameron: This one got your mom’s skin!
Andrew: Which is also my skin.
Cameron: Yeah, but it doesn’t look so stupid on her.
Andrew: Alright, take your damn picture already. My arm is cramping up, this one must be packing a whole cargo load worth of baby poop or something.
Angelica: .oO(Are you over there, Nathaniel? Can you hear me? Is our psychic twin link functioning yet?
Nathaniel: .oO(I don’t think so, no!)
Andrew: Well, it was nice meeting you. Let me know when you can talk and don’t shit yourself anymore.
Andrew: This science isn’t gonna do itself, you know.
Cameron: Where did you take him? I thought we were going to feed them both.
Andrew: What, that one doesn’t like hamburger?
Cameron: “Effective Parenting, Chapter One. Don’t bug the damn babies. Don’t bug the damn babies. Don’t bug the damn babies. Don’t bug the damn babies. Don’t bug the damn babies.“
I wish that one had been a bestseller…
Since William and Andrew and company almost seem to have leapt from babyhood to worldwide infamy, I’m gonna make a concerted effort to keep track of these new kids.
That is, unless they stay this fucking boring for much longer…
Cameron: This one says not to lecture the babies if they shit themselves.
Andrew: But then how will they learn?
Cameron: It says babies don’t really learn stuff.
Andrew: THEN WHY ARE WE KEEPING THEM
Andrew: This one says the woman should do most of the child-rearing.
Cameron: Really? Most of the ones I’ve read suggest that both parents should take an active role.
Andrew: That’s because most of the ones you’ve read aren’t ones I just made up to avoid doing any work.
Cameron: Our babies are doomed.
Andrew: Nobody will blame us. Most babies around here are doomed anyway.
Amin: Time for a new job.
Why, is your bloodlust subsiding?
Amin: Would you believe, the more promotions you get in the military, the less people you actually get to personally kill?
Well that hardly seems fair.
Andrew: So, I’m gonna take care of the diapers.
Cameron: And I’m gonna handle most of the feeding.
Amin: And I’m gonna become a Space Pirate.
Amin: But that baby shit sounds cool too, guys.
Andrew: Now I understand why they have elastics in them!
No, there’s nothing to censor on a Sim baby.
I censored it anyway.
Consider it pedophile repellant.
Because pedophiles are repellant.
Andrew: Holy shit, kid. Do you poop flies or something?!
What’s with the can?
Andrew: I was drinking it in the nursery.
You drank a whole Instant Meal in the nursery?
Andrew: No, I drank half an Instant Meal in the nursery, and then Nathaniel was kind enough to fill it up for me again from across the room. I wish my waterworks still worked that well.
You’re not Sullivan…
Butler: My name is Kent Huffman.
That’s a good butler name, but I think I’ll still call you Not Sullivan.
Kent: Good day, Mr. Murphy! Might I interest you in a gourmet meal?
Andrew: Right now you can interest me in pretty much anything that isn’t babies.
Kent: That’s too bad, I was hoping to try out one of Sullivan’s recipes.
Kent: Oh well, I’ve got a backup plan that I know you’ll love.
Kent: It’s a little dish I like to call…
Kent: …”Uncle Huffman’s Request for a Raise.”
Once again, words fail me.
Kent: Right, that’s dinner dealt with. Next task: pest control!
Why do you keep barging in on people?
Melanie: To remind them that I can.
Sounds like somebody misses being a zombie queen.
Melanie: There’s something to be said about winning arguments by eating your opponent’s brains.
Kent: No… no… something’s just not right here.
Kent: There. That’s better.
Angelica: .oO(Look out, Nathaniel! The plastic fences are down, and the B-Rex is coming!)
Nathaniel: .oO(He took my rattle, too. Why’d he take my rattle?)
Kent: This weird noisy plastic poo just will not flush!
Amin: Where are the babies? Didn’t you just have babies?
Cameron: The butler is taking care of them.
Amin: The bu-… oh dear god.
Amin: They use their young as flooring, but I’m the barbarian. Uh-huh.
Amin: It’s okay, little man. Uncle Amin is gonna have a little talk with Uncle Huffman about the ten ways he knows to silently kill a person, and we’ll get this whole thing sorted out.
Kent: I know TV dinners aren’t for everyone, but nobody’s ever threatened to shoot me over it before…
Cameron: Aww, is widdle Angelica-welica hungry?
Angelica: .oO(WIDDLE ANGELICA-WELICA WANTS TO GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!)
Amin: These TV dinners are admittedly pretty good TV dinners.
Kent: Dammit people, you let your dog eat at the table?!
Kent: I jest, of course. No dog could be that ugly. See you tomorrow!
Nathaniel was right, eh? Your nose is huge.
Cameron: I happen to have it on good authority that you’re into big noses.
Let’s just say that if you stood up right now, I might pass out.
Hey Andrew! Are you coming or going?
Andrew: I dunno, what time is it?
I have no idea! Heh, you know what…
Erwin Schrödinger: LEAVE ME ALONE AND GET A NEW JOKE
Amin: Cameron! You’re looking ravishing this evening!
Amin: …and suddenly I want to ravish her. Have you been fucking around with custom content again? I thought I was supposed to be asexual!
Look at yourself, dude. You being asexual would be like a pacifist packing an assault rifle.
Cameron: Uh oh. I guess we need to get a new narrator.
Um… yeah! I bet you he sleeps like a baby, with a nice soothing room like that.
By which I mean he wakes up screaming and shits himself constantly.
Cameron: I don’t wanna go to work.
Yeah, look… I know it’s early, but you’ve really gotta get a move on that Lifetime Want of yours. It’s been so long since we started, none of the readers even remember what it was!
Cameron: Oh, it’s not the hours that bother me, really. I’m mostly a morning person anyway.
Cameron: This is the part I’m not thrilled about.
You’ve never had very good luck with your career outfits, have you?
The rest of us have, but you, not so much.
Cameron: Please don’t look at me.
Andrew: Wasn’t going to. Laser eye surgery experiment went horribly wrong at work today. Somebody took the terminology a little too literally. On a related note I melted your sunglasses. And maybe the butler, I’m not sure.
You’re not worried about laser-eyeing your babies to death?
Andrew: Babies can take care of themselves, dude. They’re the only invincible people in this entire neighbourhood.
I dunno, I think genies are invincible too.
Andrew: Well unless they passed some new legislation that I’m not aware of, genies aren’t people.
Ah, fantastic racism. Marching on it goes.
Andrew: Man! That one was spring-loaded!
Andrew: What? Seriously, kid, what?
Andrew: Is it the baby powder? Are you scared of the baby powder? What?
Hmm. Looks like these kids might need more therapy than is usual around here.
And isn’t that a depressing thought.
Angelica: .oO(Oh, sure. Feed us. Like that makes up for being clutched by your cold dead mechanical MMM WARM MILK)
Andrew: The woman can pick this shit up, she’s not pregnant anymore.
I guess chivalry really is dead.
Andrew: A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles. Structurally, there’s no discernible difference. Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned?
Because you’re quoting Alan Moore, and that’s NEVER a good sign.
What are you doing.
Andrew: Taking baby pictures!
Andrew: With a camera, silly! Duh!
Alright, whatever, what do I know.
It takes a really good photographer to take a blind snapshot of a refrigerator…
…and come up with this. Actually, nah, her eyes are closed. Nice job, AMATEUR.
Andrew: I hate these frilly photo-ordering websites. There ought to be a stripped-down version for us computer-literate intellectual types.
Andrew: Not a word.
Wouldn’t dream of it.
Jihoon Wheeler: Hello? Hello? I’ve got some weird pictures of babies! Are you pedophiles home, or what?!
Says the man holding a baby by the crotch.
Let’s be one of those families that documents their flopping crotch spawn in agonizing detail.
Actually, fuck, nevermind. That sounds too much like my writing strategy for this journal.
Kent: I think I found the problem. When they asked you to log in, they weren’t actually asking you to take a log, and put it into your computer. I can see how that would be confusing for you. Because you’re a robot retard from Mars.
Amin: What?! There’s a robot retard from Mars in this house?! Man! Screw space piracy! I’m gonna become a space slaver, the robot retard market is booming like fuck these days!
Okay, I’m gonna stop it there before my jokes get any more offensively postmodern.
Like there’s another kind of postmodern.
Next time: we return to our usual chapter length, just in time for about a million nudie pictures. Because I love you guys.
And because I hate myself.