The Clover County Chronicles, Chapter 225

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 whenever I damn well please!

Click Here for Previous Entries!

In which something new happens.

Something interesting? Boy, you don’t ask for much do you?

And what a lively household it is!

Buncha deadbeats.

Armando: I didn’t know Emoji did deliveries!

I didn’t know monkeys wore clothing!

Armando: I like the apostrophe eyes. That’s a nice touch.

…what are you…?

Armando: Target of opportunity!

Repo Man: ACH MY ARM

The Grey Lady of SimCity: You cannot pass!
Repo Man: That’s what my first grade teacher told me, and which one of us has since died of old age, I ask you?

Repo Man: I shoulda tracked in some mud. It’s those little touches that mark a true professional.


Repo Man: I’m taking all your duplicate books! And all your duplicate shelves too.

Repo Man: And I’m reappropriating all your cultural appropriation!


Repo Man: Don’t worry! This nuclear accelerator is licensed.

Stewart: One of those days, huh.

The Repo Man says: “Steal!”

Noooo! Not Lyndsey’s in/out box!

How ever will she act out Dilbert comics now?!

Repo Man: We don’t talk about Scott Adams anymore.

Armando: You people have the most uninviting house I’ve ever seen.

Armando: It’s like you mean to restrict entry to just the doors, or something.

Armando: As a professional burglar I find it hard not to be offended.

Armando: Holy shit, it’s the Great Treasure Horde of Thror.

Armando: I’m gonna fence this place down to the fences.

Armando: Their shitter is made of fancier material than my dishes.

Armando: Although they do have some nasty water aliasing going on.

Armando: I thought public art galleries didn’t have to pay bills…

Armando: Nope, wait, this is definitely a house. There’s at least half a dozen possessed toys living here.

Armando: I’m afraid to check and see if those swords are real. I don’t want to get all excited over nothing.

Armando: Okay, seriously? Secret agent swords. Maybe picking this place over isn’t such a hot idea after all.

Armando: This looks like the kind of crap a dude would think a chick would want.

I do the best I can with what I have, okay.

Armando: Fuck, two bathrooms?! One for shitting and one for pissing, I bet.

Armando: Did these rich people just get Raptured or something?!

Armando: Ugh, that’s hideous. Reality is much more cartoonish-looking than that. I can’t even make out the individual polygons!

Armando: “I’m sorry we had to sell the ghost ship, but at least we made a few picture frames from its gangplanks!”

Armando: This frame probably cost more than my teeth.

Armando: When you’re rich you just get paintings of all the shit you could easily have if you wanted it.

Armando: Big Jetsons fans, are we?

Armando: This Norman Rockwell shit is way out of style.

Armando: Pff. Like you’ve ever been to Japan.

Armando: Oh, you’re one of those people who buys badly repainted “special edition” shit too, huh?

Armando: This is either an original master, or the rich kid equivalent of a fridge painting.

Armando: You could clothe an entire army of blonde bombsells with these drapes!

Armando: You know you’re too rich when you can afford to match your frames and your wainscotting.

Armando: …and when you can afford to buy just any old shit.

Armando: Yep, just like I thought. Professional nobodies.

Armando: Only rich people brag about how good they are at darts.

Armando: What am I saying?! These people aren’t rich! Anymore.

Armando: Maybe I ought to raid the wardrobe before I flog it. My clothes are so neighbourhood gen.

Armando: …those were women’s clothes. I feel scandalized.

Armando: Huh. Rich lesbians?

Armando: I don’t wanna steal from lesbians, they’re usually pretty cool.

Armando: I would love to see a chick in this thing. Hot.

Armando: Oh no! Morality attack!

Upset about selling this family’s stuff?

Armando: Upset that I ripped off my fence by so much!

Armando: There, that’s the kind of face that doesn’t care if his illegal contacts are happy.

Armando: Now to scrub my fingerprints clean.

Sandy: There’s a red thing just below the frame and I have got to know what it is.

Sandy: Who’s this douchebag?

Armando: Armando Louie, professional thief, at your disposal.
Sandy: Oh, wow! I wouldn’t even know what to do with a disposable thief.

Armanda: I’ll come straight to the point, madam. Join me as I rip off this ridiculously wealthy and suspiciously absent family, and seal the deal with sweet sweet consensual coitus.

Sandy: Cool.

Armando: Okay, so first, let me teach you about fencing.
Sandy: Ooh, swordfighting!
Armando: I can see this is gonna take a while.

Armando: Why is that bus stopping?

Lyndsey: The parrot says “Whatchadoin’?”

Lyndsey: The report card says “Lacks basic linguistic skills.”

Sandy: Where the heck did these little freaks come from?
Lance: This is our house?
Armando: I dislike them already.

Armando: Where are your parents?
Lyndsey: The Slowpoke says “Unhh?”
Armando: And what the fuck is wrong with you?

Lance: My sister only speaks Speak n’ Spell. Lately she’s branched out to Pokémon cries; so far we’re on Gen 2, and the second season of the animé.

Lyndsey: The Hoothoot says “Hooo?”
Armando: Are you asking me who I am?
Lyndsey: The Starmie says “Yah!”
Armando: What the fuck is a Starmie?

Lyndsey: The Hawlucha says “Haw!”

Sandy: Do your parents know where you are?
Lance: I dunno. We can ask them, but you’re gonna need to supply the Ouija board.

Lyndsey: The Onix says “RAAAAWRRRWAAWWRRR”
Armando: You and what army, kid?

Lance: If you’re trying to get rid of us this is a good strategy.

Sandy: I kissed a boy, and I liked it!

Lance: Lyndsey, go get the gun we stole from Mayhew!
Lyndsey: The Slowpoke says “Unhh?”

Armando: These little shits aren’t gonna give us any trouble. But we need new secret identities if we’re gonna live here!
Sandy: I’ve always wanted to be a cute French girl!
Armando: Well, that’s dumb, but okay…

Sandy: I am Jizelle Nouveaux, a viseeting jolie femme from gay SimParis!
Armando: How ’bout that gun, kids?

Lyndsey: The Misdreavus says “Awoooooooooh!”
Lance: That’s not even close.

Armando: Okay, time to use your people words, honey.

Jizelle: Oh mon ami, zeez clothings are trés chic!

Lance: And now we have fake parents. JUST WHEN WE GOT RID OF THE REAL ONES TOO.

Jizelle: Oui oui!

Emily: Who’s that French-lookin’ chick?

Lance: It’s a good thing we have auntie Ember on speed-dial, her number is unlisted. Rock stars think they’re special.

Jizelle: Oh, mine corazon!

That’s Spanish. And you’re missing an accent.

Jizelle: I am meessing more than the one accent…

Lance: Hi Auntie Em. Can you please come save us from the wicked townies of the west?


Can’t get her to take you seriously?


Lance: And also she was all like “we’re not even fucking related, kid.” What a bitch!

Armando: And that’s how you don’t talk like a retard.

Armando: But don’t use that word. It’s mean.

Lyndsey: The retard says-

No, he’s right, that’s mean.

Armando: I might be a thief, but I’m no enemy of the mentally-handicapped.

Lyndsey: .oO(The parrot says) Hello!

I don’t know this kid’s name, and it’s 3:33 in the morning, so I’m not looking it up.

She therefore gets no dialogue.

Lyndsey: .oO(The wind says) Sigh.

What? WHAT? I put a lot of effort into this chapter already, fuck off.

Armando: More like fuck on!


Jizelle: What was zat?
Armando: The regretful sound of us not yet making looooove.

Armando: On all their furniture.
Jizelle: Oh mon beau, you know all zee right tings to zay.

Next time: more of zis.

More of THIS.


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