The Sharpesvale Chronicles, Chapter 320

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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In which the events of the previous three chapters are mercifully ignored.


Although I can’t say seeing this face as my first pic made me go “Ooh I can’t wait to write this chapter” either.

Joshua: Yeah, fuck you too.

Wren: Will you be needing us today?

Nah, you can knock off early.

Xavier: Back to Central Casting, James.

I assume you were in his thought bubble because he could hear you hollering like a sherpa down there.

Joshua: Do sherpas holler?

Presumably, at all those rich assholes leaving trash on Everest.

Ember: You’re already on the soapbox and I’m not even out of bed yet.

That’s okay, I’m usually in bed until past three myself.

Oh no, the wave of sadness.

That’s actually a really good term, I hope I remember it later.

Actually I’ll probably forget it, then re-compose it.

Ember: My pajamas…

I told you not to use bleach.

Joshua goes off to his job as a Gomez Addams impersonator.

Stephen: It’s me, Stephen. We fucked a hundred years ago.
Ember: Dude, I fucked everybody a hundred years ago. And at least two Stephens.

I have to do this later tonight. There’s a piece of snotty tissue in there that won’t go down.

I thought you’d all want to know that.

Updates as they occur.

Lainey: Hey! You aren’t attractive.
Roger: Fab.

For a moment I forgot that this was one of my prison guards, and I thought the game had randomly chosen a hairstyle that matched the outfit.

I was speechless.

Hey, I think the mailbox might be glitched.

Might be.

Ember: Was it fun skipping all those pics?

Felt a little rush, won’t lie.

Xavier: If you don’t want to write this chapter…

Oh, I do. I just also want to write the next FIVE HUNDRED eventually.

Xavier: How did you get so far behind?

Playing the game occasionally.

Wren: Dude! Don’t get him to stop playing, you idiot!

Wren: Oh. According to this, I’m an idiot too.

YOU’RE A COP

Brooke: I’m a bad cop.

I both love and hate that most of the time some new rando pops up and my brain goes “Oh, that’s Cassiday Das” or whatever.

It’s useful, but fuck. What am I forgetting in favour of that information?

Sharpsevale currently has one thousand, five hundred and seventy-five characters.

Ember: Most of them dead.

Joshua: Feeding the animals?

Ember: Victim-blaming is so hot.

Ember: Man, I wonder what’s in there that dissolves dresses.

The Grim Reaper: WATCH YOUR HEAD.

Ember: Yeah, not ready to go back to happy fun death-land quite yet.
The Grim Reaper: I’LL BE WAITING.

Joshua: Hey there, sport!
Wren: “Sport”?
Joshua: I call everyone that when I don’t know their fucking name.

The Grim Reaper: THAT’S SPORTING OF HIM.
Ember: Did you just crack a joke?
The Grim Reaper: IT’S A NICE DAY. I CAN’T BE IN A GOOD MOOD?

Ember: Good news! We have a Gay Reaper now.
Joshua: I hope that’s just your first crack at a name.

Xavier: We need to talk about how to kill this dude.

Cassidy: Big on killing, your family, huh?

Xavier: We could get a gun! BANG!
Wren: Unfortunately we live in a world where the only people with access to guns are the people who need them.

What a hellhole.

Wren: Hahaha I’m 100% safe at school!

WHAT KIND OF FAIRY LAND DO YOU LIVE IN

TIDE PODS

Joshua: Come pad out the chapter, we’re fading fast.

Jewel: Great, yeah, fuck you too, kid.

I like the little disconnect between the programmers here, where the speech balloons imply the criminal is going to jail, but they’ve clearly been shot to death instead.

It’s like what’s supposed to happen versus what actually happens.

Look, I’m a Canadian in a humanities grad school program, alright? GUESS WHAT MY POLITICAL LEANINGS ARE.

Then again, my Sims don’t really behave in accordance with my own personal morals very often.

Then again again, Sims are about as naturally monogamous as hyenas.

Joshua: Heeheeheehee.
Jewel: Hahahaha.

Joshua: GIRL YOU BUSTY

I just laughed out loud, I’m so ashamed.

Xavier: OH GOD THE PUNNERY

Xavier: YOU’RE A MONSTER

Are you searching for the ideal crying position or something?

Oh no, he’s enlisted an assistant.

Xavier: Night Wrenny.
Wren: Don’t ruin my name parsimony.

I know you’re pregnant, but you’re really letting down the side lately, Ember.

Oh my GOD, are you even the same PERSON.

One beat, two beats, realize there’s a wall mirror, exhale.

Wow, that would be more efficient.

So love is red, but sex is purple.

Heart versus veins?

I eventually stop taking post-coital pictures.

I eventually stop taking a lot of pictures.

And the ones I take, I take better.

I wonder how many people come here and go “ugh, in-game camera,” and leave?

Jewel: And then there’s the ones who object to all the sex and nudity.

Yeah, well those losers can fuck right off anyway.

I mean, look at that thing. It’s fucking hilarious.

Jewel: I don’t disagree.

The word “disagree” came up in the song I’m listening to just as I typed it.

I’m glad, because it gave me something to say underneath these generic romance pictures.

Jewel: You could just skip the pictures.

Done.

Wren: Off to the thought academy!

Still freaky.

That garbage bag looks kinda like the Sorting Hat.

…which is hilariously appropriate, actually.

This was almost the title pic.

Next time: oh, hey! It’s the Sharpes, of this journal’s title’s fame.

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