The Clover County Chronicles, Chapter… SHIT… 186!

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.

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I just discovered that I never finished Chapter 185.





Getting younger by the minute.

Brooke: Make this face.
Oliver: Okay?
Brooke: No, like I’m doing. Prettier.

Clay: There’s nothing wrong with my face, is there?
Abigail: Don’t ask a geneticist about genetics if you don’t want your heart broken.

Clay: I wasn’t listening, but I assume the answer was “no.”

Clay: Hey, pretty lady.
Oliver: SHE’S MINE
Brooke: Wow! Two different kinds of anachronistic chauvinism, both for me!

Oliver: Your chest bumps are nice.

Oliver: Clay’s working on his chest bumps now.

Got a name for your book yet?

Abigail: “The Science of Science.”

That doesn’t make any sense.

Abigail: Spoken like a non-scientist.

Abigail: I had to take an online course in Sciencology to write this. And there wasn’t one, so I had to do some research and teach it to myself.

I’d be worried about accidentally getting a Scientology course.

Abigail: Yeah, that was a wasted month. Although the stuff about volcanoes and aliens was pretty cool.

Brooke: You can let go when he’s gone.

Brooke: Seriously though, the things dudes do to get fit.
Oliver: I know, right?
Brooke: Do those things.

Brooke: Did it just notice your stomach?

Abigail: It’s a real breakthrough, realizing nobody who reads your work is as smart as you.

Kelly: I get all my law information from the paper.

Ah, the “My Cousin Vinny” approach.


Brooke: All this rain feels like slobber down my neck.
Oliver: It’s not all rain.

Brooke: Well, then, let’s put that slobber to good use!

Oliver: Your lips taste like cherry.
Brooke: I made out with some ice cream earlier.

Brooke: I know, right?! Gold.

Oliver: You made out alright.

Clay: .oO(There’s no way that jet fuel could have vaporized the plane.)

Clay: .oO(I need to get laid.)

That’s the sex rug.

Brooke: Would you use the sex rug with me if I asked?
Oliver: I might ask you first…

Oliver: Because yes, I would do the sex with you.
Brooke: All of the sex?
Oliver: All of the sex I know of, at least.

Oliver: Which is mostly just kissing.

Oliver: I can’t see anything. Tree’s in the way.
Brooke: This only needs to be romantic from my perspective.

Abigail: There. Rewrote the basic rules of science as we know it! Not bad for an afternoon.

Abigail: Now watch me throw my shoulder out.

Abigail: Now my arm’s stuck in “BUT WAIT!” mode forever. WHICH IS AWESOME.


Abigail: You knew that thing had a two-stroke motor in it! We were about due for the first stroke.

Clay: I refuse to admit that anything is wrong with me.
Abigail: And that’s why women live longer.

In fairness, you live longer because you’re immortal and he won’t live much longer because I hate him.

Now what are you doing.

Abigail: Constructing a miniaturized manufactory.

In your garbage compactor.

Abigail: It’s already have-stocked with raw material! Some of it very raw.

I typed “have” instead of “half.”

And I think that’s weird.

So I didn’t fix it.

Also weird.

This Guy: I brought your stupid book I guess.

Clay: Someone’s at the door.
Abigail: I’m up to my armpits in garbage, Clay.
Clay: Dare I turn around?

Clay: How about I do a little dance while you work?
Abigail: It’ll speed me up, that’s for certain.

Clay: When you get an electric shock, the only cure is MORE ELECTRIC SHOCK.

Oliver: You get the feeling the Maker forgot us out here?
Brooke: I blame the Oliver factor.

Oliver: Time was, people considered me a main character.
Brooke: Real people, or the ones in your head with you?

Oliver: I like how you just say whatever you’re thinking.
Brooke: I’m gonna run for President.

Oliver: Ew, on the Republican ticket?
Brooke: You know a better way to self-destruct the conservative machine?

Clay: I’ve got an idea!
Abigail: Oh, pray do tell.
Clay: You could do something that doesn’t involve garbage.

Abigail: I’ve got some heavy-duty science in mind and I need certain equipment.
Clay: All I’m saying is that if you’re not making Mr. Fusion I’m gonna be hella disappointed.

Oliver: That’s the constellation Amatores, the Lovers.
Brooke: Pretty sure that’s just Victus, the Loser.

Abigail: That’s that. Now to just set the program, and extract the form-wrappable polymer nanoconstruct!

Abigail: You can’t see it, but it’s a thin film over my entire body right now.
Clay: Like the revulsion I’m feeling at that description?

Abigail: Yes, I like it very much!
Clay: Ha ha.

Clay: Can’t you set up your nanny polly formy-wormy out here?
Abigail: When you reach my age you get a keen sense of the dramatic.

Abigail: And good science is all about good drama.

That is one hot drama!

Clay: Please tell me you can fuck with that on.

Clay: Because my body is ready.

Abigail: Sorry buddy, this suit doesn’t interface with older models.

Abigail: It provides support, too!

LIke you need it.

Abigail: Right, but the illusion might make some ugly chicks feel better.

Abigail: Okay, next project!

“The Pants of Ants”?

Abigail: Go fuck yourself.

Clay: I’M SO TORN! I mean, ripped.
Abigail: Ha. Ha.
Clay: I’m Rip Torn! No seriously my stomach is what is happening to my stomach.
Abigail: Nobody cares.
Clay: Is it okay if I put my dick in your hat?

Clay: I’m just saying it would make me feel manly.

Brooke: I can’t believe we’re making jokes about hat crimes.

I typed “were” instead of “we’re.”

So I fixed it.

Because that’s awful.

Oliver: I can’t believe we’re doing wordplay with hate crimes.

Oliver: I can’t believe that my girlfriend is so hot I can’t see this naked dude at all!
Clay: I can’t believe it either, but your girlfriend sure gives me a woody.

Clay: You deserved to hear that, you liittle perv.

Oliver: Punch your dick off next time.

Clay: Ooh yeah baby, put that down there.
Brooke: If this seems phallic to you, you’ve got body image problems.

Oliver: It’s hard not to in a house with you.

Brooke: It’s okay that you’re dumpy and plain, Oliver. I see what really matters.
Oliver: My kind heart?
Brooke: Your mom’s collection of ray guns.

Oliver: Ridin’ the nepotism special all the way to Poon Town.

Brooke: If my body is the country, Poon Town would be more like Poon Megalopolis. Comparatively speaking.

Brooke: You know, assuming this metaphor needs to go any further.

Okay, so what’s it really called?

Abigail: It’s about nature. Guess.



Room makeoveyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwnnnnn.

I’m not even joking. Full-on oscitation going on right now.

Clay: Testify, brother.

Abigail: “The Nature of Nature.”


And that one’s not half bad, really.

Abigail: If it’s not half bad, which single word offends you?

You ever think about marketing that suit?

Abigail: There’s some people I just never want to see delineated this precisely.

Some Maxis Sims can pass for non-Maxis Sims. Their friends will likely shun them as class traitors, though.

..and some non-Maxis Sims are probably still doomed when the purge comes.

Six hundred chapters from now.

Brooke: Please explain what that mirror’s doing.
Oliver:NO! MY EYES!

Oliver: I wanna give you a BIG HUG!
Brooke: I’m happy with just the sentiment.

Brooke: So is your mom big into astronomy?
Oliver: We used to have “Your Mom is So Damn Smart” nights in our house. She’d take us outside and name the stars.

Oliver: As in, find new ones and give them actual names.

Oliver: My favourite is the one she named after Andrew’s first bowel movement.

Brooke: That’s enough of you for now.

I really couldn’t agree more.

Next time: what this time was supposed to be.


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