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!
In which something new happens.
Something interesting? Boy, you don’t ask for much do you?
And what a lively household it is!
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 BET YOU NEVER EVEN WENT TO JAPAN
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.
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?”
Lance: DON’T TELL ME YOU LEFT IT AT SCHOOL
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?
Lance: CURSE THIS DIMINUTIVE FRAME
Can’t get her to take you seriously?
Lance: WHY WON’T SHE BELIEVE THAT HOBOS INVADED OUR HOUSE
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.