The Sharpesvale Chronicles, Chapter 422

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 every damn day!

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In which more is not merrier.

Even the camera doesn’t want to go here.

Here’s a handy guide for guessing whether an image in my journal is from the in-game camera or a screenshot utility!

It’s probably a high-res screenshot down-scaled if:
1) It’s not compressed all to shit like a 90s-era jpeg; and/or
2) It’s properly zoomed-in to show the action, or the character, or whatever is supposedly worth documenting; and/or
3) It’s not at a weird aspect ratio, like somebody had to crop out awkward shit at the top or the bottom of the frame because the GODDAMN GAME TAKES SCREENSHOTS THAT INCLUDE THINGS NOT EVEN VISIBLE ON THE SCREEN; and/or
4) There is a naked lady in it.

Naked zombie ladies are unlikely to get this treatment.

Marco: I’m just glad she’s getting some treatment. Who knew the living dead could get so ripe?

Nanette: If you can call this living. Dead.

Marco: Hey, I never promised you a rose garden.
Nanette: And yet it’s been non-stop thorns since I came back!

Chelsea: Oh, good, “Hottie Fatso Rassling” is on.

Oliver: You should enter.

Emma: I got straight enhs.

Emma: I have trapped you! In this enclosed space which I control!
Bethany: *immediately has a panic attack*

Bree: Don’t be a snowflake, Bethany! Be a star.

Sometimes when I type I get all… fancy, like I’m playing the piano for an audience.

Marco: I’ve heard about this. He’s been ranting about random shit whenever nothing important’s going on.

Nanette: Let’s eat some children and shut him up.

Nanette: Never mind! You don’t eat a child like that all at once.

So yeah, I hit the keys with a flourish, and wave my hands. I’m really good at typing, yo. I can type really fast.

Marco: Eat the other one.

Emma: Dick Tracy called, Flattop. He wants your being dead back.

Chelsea: Seriously, he’s a keyboard virtuouso!

Thanks, Chelsea!

Chelsea: I was talking about a literal keyboard virtuoso.

You’re too kind!

Bree: Don’t break the window! That always gets people into trouble in fiction.

Emma: I broke reality instead.

Emma: Is that better?

Emma: It didn’t feel better.

I have one of those mechanical keyboards, I think the regular ones are too squishy. I need some force feedback!

Bree: Alright, we need to start a fight or something.
Emma: No, we don’t.

Marco: You’re funny when you STINK.
Nanette: You stink too!
Marco: That’s not as funny.

Marco: Hahaha! Life is so much better with heatstroke.

Nanette: Roast brains for dinner tonight!

Nanette: Wait! Boiled brains!

Marco: I’m so wet, baby.


Oliver: Sexy ladies and enclosed spaces! Livin’ the dream.

Chelsea: I also am detached from reality.

I should probably de-boner them when they’re not currently attracted to something.

Expect to see it in Chapter 1200 at the very latest.

Emma: And that’s the story of how the Togan Empire took over SimEurope!
Bree: I though there was, like, more than one ancient empire.
Emma: You’ve been getting the boring, real version of history somehow.

I don’t know what to do with this pic.


So yeah, the force feedback on these clickety-clackety keys is really great.

Other keyboards feel so mushy, like they’re encouraging typos. I hate typos! I almost never make them.

Except just now, when I tried to type “never” in the sentence “I almost never make them,” said “never” relating to typos, and I FUCKING TYPED “ENVER”

Chelsea: Do you know any science tricks for making the Maker stop talking?

Nanette: Who makes the Maker? Stop talking.

Nanette: You’re lucky all these burst pipes are here.

Andrew: I’ve still got a hard spot for zombies.

Marco: I feel bad that someone else got that line.
Nanette: It was a good line!

Andrew: Kenya! So good to see you!
Kenya: If you greet me, the zombie will eat me.


Shout out to the terrifying black glitch wall still on the horizon!

Chelsea: Thanks, I hate it.

Marco: You don’t know from hate, lady.

Oliver: Hey bro. What’s that over Chelsea’s head?
Andrew: She cheated on someone.
Chelsea: YOU can’t see it! YOU don’t know!
Andrew: I know YOU.

Chelsea: Everyone else excited to see what bigfoot babies look like?
Oliver: Is terror a form of excitement?
Andrew: Is apprehension?


♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪

Andrew: That’s copyrighted.

No, it’s not. ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪

Chelsea: Pretty sure he’s right.

Pretty sure you’re both wrong. ♪ Happy birthday dear bigfoots ♪

Chelsea: ♪ And you smell like one too! ♪

Bree: ♪ And many more ♪

The copyright expired in-

Oliver: No-one cares.

And later it turned out that it was never properly copyr-

Andrew: No, he’s right, no-one cares.

Well maybe I don’t care about your ugly babies!

Chelsea: And they are ugly, holy shit.

Oliver: This one’s got a wig!

Andrew: My birthdays were better.

Andrew: My family was better.

Andrew: My hair was, and remains, better.

Andrew: Christ, you’re ugly.

Oliver: You type “Christ” a lot for an atheist.

The Christians are too ascared to do it.

Oliver: Which one is this?

Horace or Hector.

Oliver: When will you know?


I don’t know that either.

Andrew: This one is Hector.

How can you tell?

Andrew: He’s hectoring me.

Oh, good!

I’ve been meaning to try out the Uglacy Challenge.

Hannah: Zieg heil!

Look out, she’s a Republican!

Bree: The cake is a TRUTH!

Marco: I keep accidentally almost fucking this wall.

I keep accidentally almost fucking REALITY.

Chelsea: Good news, everyone! What we perceive as physical reality is just a thin membrane over a featureless blue void.

Chelsea: And we’re all going to die alone.

Andrew: As a scientist, I interpret this as legitimately good news! The bit about the Featureless Blue Void, that is. Not the other thing.

Andrew: Wow! The FBV theorists were right all along, huh? I’d better go delete all my tweets trash-talking them.

Andrew: Why don’t you want me to enjoy my cake.

Emma: No.
Bree: Come on.
Emma: No!
Bree: Come ON!

Bree: Fine! You WIN! You aren’t.

Andrew: .oO(Seriously dodged a bullet here.)

Oliver: Just shit straight through your pants. Nobody will know.

Oliver: And don’t expect me to throw it out right away.

Hector: .oO(I shit myself before I was supposed to shit myself.)

Chelsea: I couldn’t find a haircut that hid more of her face.

Hey, Horace turned out alright!

He also turned out to actually be Horace.

Yay me.

Nanette: BOO YOU

Bree: Where is all that dust coming from?
Nanette: IT’S MY SKIN


Bree: Stomp the baby! STOMP THE BABY!

Hannah: .oO(WASH the baby!)

Bree: I’m telling everyone you beat up a girl.

Bree: Like, right this minute. Literally everyone.

Oliver: I’ll just clean up this exploding baby, then.

Hannah: .oO(PEW!)


Marco: If you’re gonna be like THAT, you might as well climb IN.

Hector: .oO(Marco!)
Horace: .oO(Vendachi!)

Marco: .oO(WHAT.)

Nanette: Hey, check it out! I found a poop.

Oliver: I’mma go lose one.

Chelsea: GAH!





Horace: .oO(I found a poop!)

Hannah: .oO(The rabbit says ALL KINDS OF SHIT)

Horace: .oO(Where’s MY toy?)

Go play in traffic.

Alternatively, with that block set.

Oliver: This chapter turned out alright!

It did!

And to think I wrote the previous chapter on the same day, and it was COCKSUCKING GARBAGE

Marco: Obviously you need to stop with the cocksucking.
Nanette: Yeah, that shit’s never gonna be anything but garbage!

Next time: Alec Prince the Incredibly Selfish Tenant.

This chapter depicts gameplay from 11 November 2012 to 1 December 2012.

So I guess it wasn’t very fun gameplay?

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