Welcome to the Clover County 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, and sometimes on Tuesdays!
STILL ON SCHEDULE.
On schedule for what?
I almost forgot to upload this, so no damn paper for you.
Jerome: I fucking suck!
Jerome: I can smell it!
Jerome: I don’t deserve you!
Penny: I know.
Penny: I hope you clock out soon.
Jerome: I’ve wasted my life.
Penny: You’ve wasted mine too.
Jerome: Bring a gun home from work today.
Jerome: I might swing by on your lunch hour, and you can get me shot by some street gangs.
Jerome: Or maybe I could shoot your boss, and commit death by cop!
Penny: Hey! Hey. Cut that out. I like his brand of pathetic better when you’re not puppetmastering him.
Fine. Suit yourself.
We’ll do this instead.
Penny: I TAKE IT BACK
Penny: I TAKE IT BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK
Jerome: I do not fucking suck.
Let’s see how your kid turns out before we call it.
Penny: Alright, punk. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.
Shiloh Newcastle: .oO(You take your job too seriously.)
Hmm. I’ll suspend your execution until she hits adulthood, Jerome. Then we’ll see.
Unless the opportunity presents itself for you to snuff it.
Which it will.
Jerome: Contractual immortality!
Penny: If you consider signing contracts with the devil a good idea.
Jerome: …it says here that deities aren’t proper subjects of law.
And that goes double for deities contracting with people who don’t exist!
Penny: It says here that kids like to be talked to!
Yeah! In, what, like… the introduction, I’m guessing?
Penny: That’s all I’m gonna read. I’m not really into this whole “parenting” thing. Anyway, I bet you can hire people to talk to your kids.
You can! They’re called televisions.
Penny: This sounds like too much work. I’ll let Jerome handle it.
Good plan! Crib death is hard to prove.
Jerome: Christ, they need food too?! When do these things start paying for themselves?
My family is still waiting.
Penny: The book says raising a child is just like tending to a plant!
That sounds like good advice!
Penny: So I guess I’m gonna cut bits off and spray her sometimes.
That sounds like good advice.
FUCK YOUR PORCH.
Penny: I didn’t have any baby powder, so this is baking soda.
I don’t think that works the same way.
Penny: If it cuts the smell, it’s good enough.
Jerome: I’m a good parent now!
You’ve been reading Dr. Spock, huh?
Jerome: Yeah! Apparently as long as you work really hard at it, it is possible to reunite the Vulcans and the Romulans!
I’m guessing you pissed off the bookstore clerk at some point.
Jerome: I’ve been thinking. We should send Shiloh to private school!
Penny: Shiloh is zero.
Jerome: You’d better hope she didn’t hear you say that.
Amar: Kill them both.
If I give you Stephen’s number, will you both promise to stop bugging me about that?
Jerome: I’m gonna give a talk at work about parenting. Because I’m an expert now.
You’re, what, an architect? Yeah, among your peers, you probably are.
I’M LOOKING AT YOU, FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT.
This has been another installment of “Phrases Never Before Typed.”
Amar: Kill them both, and kill me too.
Jerome: And it’s important not to let them watch violent movies, unless they’re movies you want to watch. Because there’s no point scarring them if you’re not even gonna enjoy it.
Jerome: He’s right. You are fucked.
ALL THREE OF YOU ARE.
Shiloh: .oO(I HAVE TO PEE)
Jerome: She wants to pick out china patterns!
Jerome: BOO! STUPID! IMPLAUSIBLE!
Jerome: SHOW US YOUR TITS
Penny: Apparently the secret to children is pacifiers.
It would definitely make it harder to take their rebellious phase seriously.
Penny: Hey big guy, wanna fool around?
Jerome: We still haven’t found those missing pieces from “Mousetrap.”
Penny: I meant, as in sex.
Jerome: Awesome! Those credits I was just watching really turned me on.
Jerome: My neck just broke!
Penny: My secret fetish!
God, I hope that only took me a few seconds.
I really don’t want to think I actually pondered that.
Jerome: I’m smart and awesome.
Jerome: God, it wouldn’t even look impressive as a poo.
Jerome: I wouldn’t mind it so much if she wouldn’t keep making that “Oh, Jerome! I didn’t notice you come in” joke when we make love.
Jerome: Would you say there’s still romance in our relationship, Penny?
Penny: For one of us, at least!
Jerome: I bet she means something that isn’t cheating on me.
Kent: Every day I think “Maybe the name on the mailbox will be different, and they both will have died a gory, fiery death.”
Michael: EVERYONE ELSE FIRST.
Michael: Well well well! It says here there’s a shack with a broken car in it for sale in downtown Centreborough!
Michael: Yeah! It says it’s a haven for druggies and prostitutes!
Michael: I hear Kendra’s been hanging out in a place like that recently.
Michael: So I’m sold.
Michael: You think this is over, you slatternly backstabber?
Michael: I’m gonna turn your palace of sin into a respectable bookstore!
If you’re mad at your ex-wife, then why is your thought bubble showing that zombie who kicked your ass?
Michael: BECAUSE ALL WOMEN ARE THE SAME REALLY
Boy. Sure has… a lot of character.
Hey, nice job! Now it has no character! Say, do you do work in Toronto?
Michael: I’m gonna take this town by storm, just as soon as they all learn to read.
Michael: Until then, at least I can do my skipping without my pregnant cow of a wife falling over all the time.
Emily: Is this a gay gym and bookstore?
Emily: I never would have thought of putting a bookstore behind the stadium! Because that’s stupid.
Michael: Speaking of stupid, you look like a Stephanie Meyer kind of woman.
Emily: OH MY GOD TEAM EDWARD OR TEAM JACOB
Heath: Is there a team where we use those books to light Mormons on fire?
Michael: Do you wanna be coach, or can I?
Michael: Nicholas Sparks books are on the other shelf.
Lydia: I’m not looking for Nicholas Sparks.
Michael: Of course you are, you’ve got tits.
Michael: I won’t tell anyone, if you let me stare at your ass.
Michael: Ohhh yeah, gettin’ it for free.
Lydia: Personalized service!
Emily: Can you ogle me too? I’ll buy whatever she’s buying!
Michael: This is definitely a sustainable business model.
Emily: Do you know the prostitute who used to hang around here?
Michael: That’s no prostitute, that’s my wife! Ex-wife.
Emily: I don’t think you understand that joke.
Michael: I don’t think you understand what a slut my ex-wife is.
Michael: I hope she dies.
Lydia: Sexual harassment and death threats are one thing, but slow cashiering is just beyond the pale.
Lydia: Can you hurry it up? I’m late for my nothing ever.
Michael: The money just isn’t doing it for me the way it used to.
Lydia: Because you miss Kendra?
Michael: No, because I can’t use it to lord over her anymore.
Michael: Also apparently I’m an idiot now?
Heath: Apparently you are.
Heath: Shit, who drew all over my wrists?!
Emily: Why are you having so much trouble handling that money?
Michael: I’m a modern businessman, ma’am. I only understand imaginary computer money.
Jan: If you think about it, all our money is imaginary computer money.
Emily: KEEP YOUR EXISTENTIALISM IN THE PHILOSOPHY SECTION
No. Didn’t happen. Go away.
Michael: Can you not be back here?
Chloe: I can’t not not be back here!
Michael: I need a taser.
Michael: Put your head right here. I need something to stop the drawer when it opens.
Jerome: Shit! I’m black!
Michael: Will you sue me if I come on to you? You’re a lawyer, right?
Ember: Yes, I’m a lawyer. So I won’t sue you unless there’s money in it.
Michael: So hey, if I was married to a chick, and she cheated on me, so I kicked her out and took all her stuff, and left her to raise our child alone as a prostitute in a dirt shack, would that be cool?
Ember: Absolutely! We’re talking about the Victorian era, though, right? Otherwise I need to call the cops.
Michael: I’ll give you this free redhead sex slave with a purchase of §100 or more!
Ember: Offer void where prohibited. And it’s prohibited unless you’re a solid seven inches.
Ryan Rusewicz: I’m not here looking for romance.
Ryan: I mean, I am, but, like, in a book.
Amin: I hope they don’t kick me out if they discover I’m not gay!
Deborah: I don’t think jump roping is an appropriate synergy with bookselling.
Michael: Look. Deborah. When life gives you books and jump ropes…
Michael: …you make bookjumpropemonade. And nobody wants that, but that’s too bad.
Amin: So your business model is to bore people with your books until they exercise?
Michael: I dunno. Maybe it’s to sell people books until they make themselves stinky.
Michael: At least this way the bathroom doesn’t smell any worse than the rest of the place.
NO. DIDN’T HAPPEN. GO AWAY.
Michael: Business is booming!
Michael: This is a bookstore, not a library.
Shh! I’m tired of hearing you talk.
Lainey Bertino: Do you have any Anne Rice books?
Michael: No, because it’s not the nineties anymore.
Hailey: WELL IT SHOULD BE
Victor: Is there a police discount?
Michael: All Glenn Beck books, half off!
Victor: You stock Glenn Beck books?
Michael: Fuck no.
Hailey: Ugh! With whipped cream, no less?
Michael: Hey, you knew what you were wearing when you left the house.
Michael: I refuse to believe you don’t know anything about body rub parlours.
Hailey: It’s been nice talking to you. I’m going to go talk to that cop now.
Michael: You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever talked to him before.
Victor: Keep the change! The protection racket’s paying well this week.
Michael: You know, the mayor is jumping rope right over there.
Irfan: Mayors need protection too!
Victor: Oh, Nerissa… I knew you still loved me! I still love you too, even though your head is flat and round.
Michael: Give me all your money and I’ll give you shitty books!
Mrs. Crumplebottom: Disgraceful.
Yeah, it’s a shack. I needed somewhere to put his Energizer.
Mrs. Crumplebottom: I’m referring to books.
Mrs. Crumplebottom: Back in my day, we only needed one book!
Mrs. Crumplebottom: And The Great Gatsby is still relevant today, goshdarnit!
Mrs. Crumplebottom: I’m surprised they have a trash can, considering all the trash they package and sell!
Oh, that’s a display case, actually. It’s got Eragon and its sequels in it.
Michael: The Great Gatsby? Really?
Nancy: I want to know what kind of skirt goes with my haircut.
Michael: Alright, everybody out!
Nobody can hear you. You’re upstairs.
Michael: I know. This way I can fine them for loitering!
Michael: Anyone not out of here in five seconds owes me a blowjob! Or its equivalent cash value, which frankly I’d prefer.
Michael: It’s a cowplant-eat-dog world out there. A man’s gotta eat.
Why don’t you just eat the cowplant dog milk?
Michael: That’s different. That’s drinking.
Kendra: Gonna steal your truck!
Michael: It’s insured.
This looks like fun.
Poppy: When someone calls you “Poppy” it’s no big surprise that everyone wants to pollinate you. They should have named me “Dickmulcher.”
That won’t go anywhere.
Michael: Dude, it you used your precognicence on all hobbies, you’d see the same thing.
I really gotta paint those Warhammer goblins.
Michael: But you know what? Yeah. Fuck this thing.
Kent: That’s one fine, womanly ass you’ve got there Mr. Whittaker! What’s your secret?
Michael: Is daddy’s little tax credit gonna make the fiscal year? Is he? Is he?!
Michael: He’d fucking better or it’s name-brand smart milk for him.
Michael: We ruin people’s lives.
Poppy: People ruin my life! Like Don Macarevich.
Michael: Who’s that?
Poppy: I don’t know.
Poppy: But I think it has something to do with Cameron Price!
Michael: I didn’t know you knew her!
Poppy: I don’t.
Poppy: All my memories are fucked up. I remember losing a bunch of friends, and then a lot of fire, and then Daisy bringing me back.
Michael: Well, she said you were in a car crash.
Poppy: But why was that car crash preceded by losing a bunch of friends?
Michael: Maybe they saw it coming, and wanted to save money on cards and flowers?
Poppy: Or maybe my sister is totally full of shit.
Michael: Our prenup doesn’t have a divorce clause relating to mistaken identity, does it?!
Michael: The old “I’m not who I thought I was, give me half your house” trick. I should have known.
Poppy: Nah, that’s not how I’d get you. Remember, daddy’s little tax credit’s middle name is “child support.”
Yeah, that’s how I feel when women talk about their kids.
Kent: I forget why I did this.
Michael: I think we need a new butler. You’re weird and creepy.
Kent: I couldn’t ask for a finer testimonial!
Poppy: Grats on making enemies with a man who can dislocate his own spine.
Michael: If that was a comic book supervillain, he’d barely get a one-issue arc.
Poppy: What about “Owns a Bookstore Man”?
Michael: Actually that’s a real thing, I’m self-publishing.
Kent: Who wants salmonella?
Poppy: So the entire neighbourhood’s been taking bets on when you’ll dump me and get engaged to a newer model.
Michael: Man, can I get in on that action?! I’ve got some hot insider tips!
Poppy: You missed a pretty decent feel-good-moment opportunity there.
Michael: No way! Talking about making money always makes me feel good!
Michael: Anyway you’ll probably live longer than me, and you can have all my money once I’m dead.
Poppy: Not the best thing to say to a pregnant woman you’re arguing with…
Poppy: Anyway, aren’t you at all interested in finding out how I really died?
Michael: Not unless there’s a movie deal in it. In which case I want a finder’s fee.
Kent: This looked too good for you slobs.
Kent: Luckily my class of slobbery is higher.
Michael: At five hundred dollars a day, this dude is highway slobbery!
I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN.
Poppy: Next time you feel a pun coming on, go bang a prostitute instead. The fallout will be gentler for you.
Michael: So, do you wanna discuss what we want for breakfast?
Kent: Not in the slightest!
Kent: It’s gonna be burned, whatever it is.
Michael: Make it your ass, then.
Kent: Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’ve never even eaten before!
That must be how Kate Moss feels.
Kent: I even had a very specific Fear about this happening!
So why did you intentionally realize it?
Kent: Auditions for Fear Factor are starting up again soon.
Kent: So now I’m not afraid of getting fat eating bugs!
That’s not why eating bugs is supposed to be scary.
Kent: Sure it is! Other than that, bugs are just gross. And it’s not called Gross Factor!
No. This is.
But it has its virtues, nevertheless.
Poppy: OWWWWW MY GUTS JUST EXTRUDED UNDERWEAR ONTO ME
Poppy: MY DERMIS LAYER IS GENERATING CLOTH
Michael: So go downstairs, get a loom, open a sweatshop and let me sleep.
Michael: Seriously, you women complain about every. Little. Thing.
Congratulations, it’s a homunculus!
Veronica Whittaker: .oO(Technically, you’re not wrong.)
Michael: Technically, she’s hot wrong!
Poppy: Dude, I will cut you.
Poppy: Look, she’s got… nobody’s hair! And… nobody’s eyes!
Michael: She’s got my skin, though!
Poppy: Did I just give birth to your love child with some other woman?!
Michael: Anybody else hearing the X-Files theme right now?
I always am.
It’s totally unrelated, though.
Poppy: Who the hell am I?
You’re Daisy’s sister.
Poppy: But who am I other than that?
As far as I’m concerned, nobody.
Michael: You made it in under the wire, kiddo. I might even put a few cents from your baby bonus into an education account! I’ll plunder it later, and pretend I feel bad.
Michael: It must be so terrible to have morals.
Michael: …you know who she reminds me of?
William Sharpe, and his sisters?
Michael: What? No, Shirley Temple. First chance we get, kid, you’re taking dancing lessons. I want a blockbuster musical before you’re twelve.
Veronica: .oO(Put some fucking clothes on!)
Poppy: Virginia… Virginia!
Michael: Can you not sing John Denver in your sleep?!
Kendra: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
Michael: I bet she lights the porch on fire for your sweet sixteen!
Michael: What fresh hell is this?!
Michael: NOT IT.
Poppy: NOT… goddammit!
Next time: we start blitzing minor households.
By popular demand!