The Sharpesvale Chronicles, Chapter 304

Welcome to the Sharpesvale 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!

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Lance, a lot.

Roger: Like I need this.

Roger: Come on, man! What the fuck!
Lance: If you don’t like it, stop bringing me bills.

Sunny: It’s so sexy how you browbeat helpless public servants.

Lance: Come make out with me. Apparently I’m great.

Not many things are scarier than having William angry at you.

No, that’s true, having Daisy angry at you is much worse.

All William does is steal your invisible newspapers.

In fact, these notoriously-dangerous people have pretty lame ways of taking revenge, come to think of it.

Lance: It can be like a family reunion! Only it’s just you and me, and we aren’t actually related, and we fuck.

Lance: No, I didn’t hear the car explode, my household wasn’t loaded. I can smell the burned flesh now, though.

Lance: I bet they were trying to blow up the governor instead. Who would want to blow up a TV star? Except, like, Tim Allen or Roseanne Barr or whatever.

Lance: Maybe terrorists are trying to take down our government! That would be so cool.

I had more respect for you when you were evil.

Lance: Why the fuck are there two separate icons for “baby”?

Lance: Anyway my girlfriend’s going to work soon, so you and I can… go to work.

Lance is planning something awful.

Sunny: He’s always planning something awful.

Lance: Hey baby, I’m old enough to consent.

Instant turn-off for some American politicians, I hear.

Lance: Sure, let’s talk about your wedding! That’s something people who aren’t you care about.

I hate this interaction. It’s instantaneous and it takes FOREVER to cancel.


Lance: You look angry.
Sunny: I think angry!

Lance: Feel better?
Sunny: I feel moister, at least!

Lance: She’s leaving, come on over.

You should at least wait until she can’t hear you.

Lance: We’ve been living together for more than a year. She doesn’t hear me at all anymore.

Lance: If I timed this so she runs Ember over I’m gonna be super pissed.

Nah, it’s just Kyle, it’ll be fine.

Perhaps I spoke too soon.

Ember: ♪ Why don’t we do it in the road ♪

Ember: Because we’re definitely gonna do it.

Lance: I don’t know if I have the stamina to get close to her.

Ember: I like a man who takes the garbage out.

Do you like a man who rubs it on his dick?

Ember: I haven’t given that much thought.

Ember: Ew get that garbage dick away from me.

Ember: It’s not actually garbage I like it a lot.
Lance: Haha I know.

Lance: I am also a fan of your sexual characteristics.

Ember: Stop jerking yourself off with my pants.

Ember: That thing is like a can opener.

Lance: Your rejection has stolen the light from my life.

Ember: You’re a dark kind of dude anyway.

Ember: You’re a lot hotter than your dad.
Lance: Well that’s a relief.

Crack spackle.

I don’t understand people who are bad at hugs.

Hugging is the best thing.

Lance: I can think of something better.

Ember: We’re probably thinking of the same thing.

Lance: Your tits are a head magnet.

I would have to agree with that assessment.

Ember: Hey, where are your lights? And your… possessions? Hey where’s all your stuff.

Lance: Your cleavage smells nice.

Ember: We’re thinking of bottling the scent.

Lance: I’ll take a hundred.


Ember: Slow down, kid.
Lance: Nobody who’s touched those tits could still be a kid.

Ember: Hahaha this is gross.

Ember: I like gross.

Ember: It’s like I’ve acquired a poolboy without first having to build a pool!

Lance: I’d be willing to go for a dip.

Ember: I’m dipping! I’m dipping!

Lance: This is my favourite place.

Vicki: Ugh, this is why I never turn my head.

Lance: Would you like to check out my having sex with you collection?

Ember: I’m an enthusiast myself.

Ember: Okay but seriously, where is your stuff.
Lance: Where we’re going we don’t need stuff.

Lance: Only stuffing.

Ember: I do like being stuffed…

Lance: Sixteen wasn’t so sweet, but eighteen is fuckin’ salty!

Ember: Yeah, saltier than I remember, actually.

Lance: I could do this for a few more decades, I guess.

Lance: As long as I never have to put clothes on again.

This position has always baffled me.

I mean it can’t smell great.

Ember: On either end, really.

Lance: Actually it smells like she stuffed some lilacs up in there.


Ember: I brought breathmints.
Lance: Oh thank god.

Lance: I dub thee Anne of Cleaves.

Lance: I’m not looking forward to getting taller. Everything I want is at the exact right height for now.

Sunny’s in the dark, in more ways than one.

Sunny: Oh wow, a pun on my name. Haven’t hear that before.

I hope it doesn’t affect your disposition.

You know, your sun-


Ember: Eh? Eh?

Yep, pretty cool.

Ember: “Pretty cool”?!

How much attraction to my electronic paper dolls do you want me to admit to?

♪ Welcome to Jurassic Park ♪

Lance: What are you doing to my hair?
Ember: Searching for lice.

Sunny: I have a vague craving for a few seconds of human contact.

That’s about as much as I can empathize with, honestly.

Lance: So my girlfriend’s probably home now.
Ember: Don’t call me that.

Sunny: I hear voices.

Me too!

Sunny: I mean, like, not in my head or anything.

Aww. Never mind, then.

Sunny: The door is locked.

Move on to the next one.

Sunny: These aren’t the voids I’m looking for.

Ember: He just said the most romantic thing!

I don’t believe you.

Ember: He’s a very nice guy when you’re not writing him.

Lance: Did I tongue you too deep?

Ember: This had better not be Joshua’s.

My thoughts exactly.

My thoughts inexactly.

Lance: It’s been nice seeing you…
Ember: Wait for it…
Lance: …naked!

Ember: I’ll bill you.

Ember: Take care of yourself, big man.
Lance: I’d rather take care of you.

Lance: In bed.

Ember: You have my number.

Lance: Yeah, it’s sixty-nine.

Lance: I’m in a corrupting mood today.

Lance: What’s your name?
Elle Ngai: Elle.
Lance: That’s not a name, that’s a letter.

Lance: Fuckin’ Maxis morons.

Lance: I prefer people with more indicative names.

Lance: Like “Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock,” for example.

Lance: Hello, is this Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock?
Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock: Yes, this is Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock.

What do you want with Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock?

Lance: Only good things, I assure you.

Lance: How many ways to kill a man do you know? Roughly?

Lance: I’m looking to expand my skillset.

Lance: Years and years of study? Don’t give me that Hogwarts shit!

Seriously? He’s a dick.

Ember: Yes, but what a dick!

Lance: Are you looking for an apprentice, maybe?
Sunny: My man’s looking for a job!

No, he’s looking for a mentor. A job is what Ember gave him last night.

Sunny: Whatever, I don’t need to deal with your shit right now.

Sunny: I need to deal with this shit right now.

Lance: I’m not looking to do a lot of hard, rigorous work here. I’m thinking more along the lines of ancient tome of unfathomable evil, steals my soul and bestows horrible power upon me? Sort of thing?

Lance: Hey! Man! Focus.

Lance: Can we set up a witching hour? For you to witch me?

Meanwhile Vicki hates private school.

Lance: No, no, I’m not looking to take over the world. Just the county!

Lance: I’ll probably kill you eventually, though. That’s what evil warlocks do to their mentors. Just sayin’.

Lance: I’m glad that already occurred to you.



Vicki: Haha look what I done.

Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock: Man, I need a new prescription. I almost missed the off-ramp from the Ninth Circle.

Lance: Master Baity!
Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock: What? No!

What is happening?

Lance: Magic kisses!
Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock: Yeah, dude, seriously. Duh?

Lance: I’ll concede that cheerleaders are magical, but that’s not the kind of magic I meant.

Andrew Baity the Atrociously Evil Warlock: So, what kind of magic did you meant?

Only the best kinds, I’m sure.

Next time: Chelsea Cheats Clover County.

It’s a porno, obviously.

Not like the rest of this story.

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