The Sharpesvale Chronicles, Chapter 437

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.

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In which it’s all in her head.

Elle: If there’s a hill here, it’s a very small one.

Bambi: There was a hill here, but it’s gone now.

Bambi: We chose the name because “hill” is a word with absolutely no horror connotations whatsoever.

Elle: Yeah, I’ll pass.

Elle: On second thought my feet are cold.

Elle: Are these heated floors?!
Bambi: No, that’s just the heat from the burning souls of the damned in the off-limits basement you’re feeling.
Elle: You shouldn’t joke about that sort of thing in a sanitarium.

Bambi: It is a joke, right?

Yeah, I wasn’t gonna download a ton of CC just to rip off Silent Hill or whatever.

Elle: Speaking of ripping off, they’ll never find all the pieces of this prison outfit.

Bambi: I doubt she’ll like her new one much better.

Elle: As long as it’s not fuckin’ piss-coloured.

Elle: No, you’re right, this is still pretty bad.

Elle: Alright, fix me up.
Bambi: You should get settled in, first.
Elle: My vagina is practically visible. Doesn’t get much more settled than that.

Bambi: I didn’t pick the outfit.

I didn’t have a lot of options.

Elle: Do you have any qualifications?
Bambi: No. But to be fair, nobody does.

Elle: How’d you get this nuthouse approved, then?
Bambi: Congress agreed to spend a tiny amount of money on this tiny asylum so they could pretend it was gun violence-related and they could therefore pretend they were doing something about gun violence other than banning guns.

You know it’s fictional because they were willing to spend even a tiny amount of money on mental health.

But it’s semi-realistic because gun violence is being blamed on mental health instead of ALL THEM FUCKIN’ GUNS and all the racist sexist various-phobic nonsense that’s convincing people to use them OKAY I SHOULD STOP

Before I give myself an aneurysm.

Bambi: You’re kind of a pilot project.
Elle: What happens if I crash?
Bambi: I parachute into a book deal.

Elle: Is this a good time or a bad time to talk about the aliens who live inside my right ear?

Bambi: That’ll be good for at least one journal article!
Elle: …wait, let me check your teeth for tooth gremlins.

Elle: Seriously though, I’m fine. Not crazy at all.
Bambi: The jail will be thrilled to hear that, since you’re the only remaining inmate.

Bambi: That’s the ticket.

Bambi: What’s wrong with your hands?
Elle: I have arthritis?
Bambi: More likely it’s hypoaspirationitis.

Elle: I think the real thing is more likely, honestly.

Elle: Now go away, my stories are on.

Bambi: Our goal here is to transform you into a new person.
Elle: I can be a new person who still watches the old stories!

Elle: What? I can’t hear you.

Elle: Lighten up. A little TV won’t make me any crazier.
Bambi: Says the chick who tuned it to Peppa Pig.


Bambi: Wait, why did I pick a people-oriented profession? I hate people.

Elle: So hey, you wanna fuck?

Elle: You could just say “no.”

Elle: I’m gonna put some porn on.

Elle: Not for me. For the household.

Elle: So, my bathroom has observation mirrors in it.
Bambi: Very observant of you!

Elle: You gonna make a habit of watching me shit?
Bambi: I thought I might make a habit of knowing where you are, since, you know, you murdered somebody.

Bambi: How’s your mental climate today?
Elle: What’s this new bullshit?

Elle: Did you read one book of new-age philosophy and declare yourself a psychiatrist?

Bambi: Yes.

Elle: I’ve got an idea. How’s about you never try to fix me, and we keep this neat house forever?

Elle: Maybe we could get taken out of the gameplay rotation too, so we don’t get murdered randomly.

Bambi: Right, by some costume-wearing maniac with a loaded pillow, for example.

Bambi: My point being you have some problems.

Elle: I would rate my mental climate at, roughly, supernova.

Bambi: Let’s see if we can’t get that down to, at most, pulsar.

Elle: Don’t pretend to know science. It doesn’t work.

Elle: Alright, mental climatologist. Got any brainstorms?

Elle: Before I blow up at you?

Bambi: I thought I’d just be nice to you until it made you normal.

Elle: I’m glad you’re well-meaning, but I might have preferred well-trained.

Elle: What? Speak up.

Bambi: Good moods are contagious! Like the hula.

Elle: Is there a story behind that statement? A non-boring one?

Elle: Wait, is this about how one guy went to Twikkii Island and came back hula-ing, and he spread it around like gonorrhea?

Bambi: He spread it around like the flu. Gonorrhea is an STI.

Elle: Right, it was Stephen Murphy, wasn’t it? Basically unfuckable.

Bambi: He’s been fucked at least eleven times.

Bambi: Hard as that is to believe.

Bambi: Is there a reason you’re giving me the cold shoulder?
Elle: It’s more of a cold backside.

Elle: And cold legside.

Bambi: I can see I have a lot of work to do.
Elle: And I have a lot of not caring to… have.

Elle: You can’t fix me, screw.
Bambi: I’m not a screw anymore.
Elle: No, sorry, I had something caught in my throat. You can’t fix me, screw off.

Bambi: I’m being paid to do this, hard as that might be to believe.

Bambi: I intend to psychobabble you back into shape.

Elle: It was good of you to move me to the countryside and then lock me indoors, thus completely negating the benefits.

Bambi: Yeah, there’s a lot of benefit to you escaping, murdering some farmers and wearing their skins as a makeshift mascot outfit, or whatever you’d do.

Bambi: Oh, you were planning precisely that, huh?

Bambi: There are no farmers, Elle.

Bambi: The farms are purely decorative.

Elle: I do appreciate what you’re doing, Bambi.
Bambi: Really?
Elle: No, but you looked sad.


Elle: Yeah, don’t think this means I won’t be whacking you over the head with a chair leg eventually.

Bambi: Sim mental illness is much easier to solve than real mental illness.

Real mental illness doesn’t usually have a solution. It’s something to mitigate, something to be lived with.

Bambi: Yeah, fuck that for storytelling purposes.

Bambi: This story’s way too dumb for something that nuanced.

Bambi: This story’s more about… zombies and newspaper-thiefs.

And increasingly-good images.

This one’s got a touch of Better Call Saul cinematography.

…no it doesn’t, fuck off with yourself.

So yeah, while Elle lies down and gets up and lies down and gets up and lies down, here’s the rules.

I don’t control Elle, a la the Asylum Challenge.

All I can see is her Aspiration Meter.

If I can get it up to Platinum without ever seeing the actual Wants, she’s cured.

And then I guess I’ll have to find something to do with her?

Wow, she’s still goin’, huh.

Elle: You of all people should understand repetitiveness.

Yeah, my OCD is-

Elle: I meant how repetitive your story is.



Fuck you, then.

Elle: Sure, externalize your problems.

Sure, ignore yours.

Bambi: Anything good on?
Elle: Star Trek: Nemesis.
Bambi: So, no?

Elle: You gonna make me dinner?
Bambi: Wouldn’t be much of an inn without meals!

Bambi: So, how’s the lying down and sitting up treating you?
Elle: It’s a breathing.

Elle: Man, this is my most favouritest show.

Bambi: I am out of my depth.

Elle: I am into her sandwiches.

Bambi: Hmm. If I call in a primary character to help me… which ones are the helping kind, and which ones are the precipitating violence kind?


Precipitating violence.

Bambi: And sex, though!

Bambi: I do like sex.


Bambi: …the fuck am I thinking.

Bambi: I’m a doctor, not a pimp!

You’re not a doctor.


Bambi: But it would totally work.

Elle: Yeah, sex as mental health therapy is a real fab idea.

Bambi: I could fly her to SimJapan for some traditional healing!

You could go find a real psychiatrist.


Elle: Think of anything?
Bambi: Only dumb things.

Bambi: Wanna try them?

Elle: Trying dumb things used to be my only thing, so.

Bambi: I wonder which of us dies at the end of this storyline.

I mean…

Most of you die, at the end of this storyline.

It just won’t be for a very, very long time.

Even longer than it’s taking this beanbag to move.

Elle: …it’s taken like an HOUR.

I went to watch Picard again.

Elle: I don’t know what that is.

That’s because it doesn’t exist when you are.

Elle: This isn’t helping me to become less crazy.

Bambi: Well actually, since this is all happening in 2012 but the dialogue’s being written in 2020… the dialogue can’t hurt!

Bambi: That didn’t make it better, did it .

Elle: Do you think this outfit makes my body look exposed?

Bambi: If there’s one thing I know about horror, it’s that the chick in the hospital gown has the highest chance of survival when shit gets real.
Elle: Now that is comforting!

Bambi: Less comforting: teleporting into a different room through the magic of no intervening images.

Elle: If this is positive reinforcement you’re attempting, I’d like you to pivot towards the negative.

Elle: I’m gonna go wash your compliments off.

Bambi: I worked really hard on those compliments.

Bambi: I think I need a mental health day.

Bambi: So this is why psychiatrists think couches are therapeutic!

Bambi: If I lie down, can I talk to you about my problems?

Sure, I’ll go get a drink.

Bambi: But then who’ll write my dialogue?

If you can’t write your own dialogue, you don’t have your own problems.

Bambi: That sounds like a problem all its own.

Laci: How’s the nutbag doing?
Bambi: I thought Neil was with you.

Laci: That’s not funny.
Bambi: It wasn’t a joke, you ableist.

Bambi: Corrective officer, correct thyself.

Elle: There’s really not much difference between this and wearing that fetish outfit.


Elle: LOL

Bambi: Where’d your clothes go?
Elle: I stuffed them up my cooter.

Elle: You might want to look away while I retrieve them.

Bambi: That was anatomically instructive!

Bambi: Crazy is one thing. Disrespecting hardwood floors is entirely another.

So, how’s your Aspiration?

Elle: Feels more like an Expiration.



Elle: Brr, it looks cold inside!

Elle: Hahaha, I should be in a real hospital.


In many ways the SimNation is a close analogue to the United States.

Hey, if I’m still gonna perv on my Sims, I might as well do it artfully.

…this entire place reminds me of the Spencer Mansion.

Yeah, there’s only, like, four beds in here, fill your boots.

What an almost-good lighting engine this game has.

Bambi: You were already playing it eight years past release.

Yeah, the fact that it still works eight years after that is almost shocking.

So Picard keeps killing its guest stars.

Elle: Wow, you must be one of the writers.

I’d probably write continuity porn if I was a Star Trek writer.

Instead of just porn.

I write so much porn.

She’s a real Simerican, alright.

She’d rather throw out a plate and thrust her arm into an undifferentiated mass of garbage than do the dishes.

Bambi: And then smell the arm! Don’t forget smelling the arm.

Man, a box elder bug flew into my indoor bug zapper the other day.

You haven’t regretted your senses until you’ve smelled cooked bug.

Bambi: Thank god my nightmares aren’t olfactory.

Elle: Yeah, you’d have to move in here with me if they were.

Bambi: So, is this household sustainable or is there a fiery death in my future?


Bambi: I’m not gonna think about that response too hard.

Bambi: Dear Diary: the Maker keeps almost spoiling Star Trek: Picard.

Bambi: Luckily I am not a nerd and do not care.

I hate spoilers.

Bambi: But isn’t this whole journal a series of spoilers for your books?

I prefer to think of it as a series of leaked scripts.

Bambi: Dear Mr. Secretary: I would like to requisition some gaming equipment, because my patient has no hobbies and that’s definitely nuts.

Bambi: I would also like a teddy bear, because crazy people love talking to and through teddy bears.

Bambi: A gun that shoots clothing onto people would also be nice.

Bambi: P.S. Please stop sending that android to collect the mail, she’s freaking my patient out.

Elle: Just knowing she’s out there is too much.

Spare a thought for the artist who spent some time drawing a Sim vagina.

♪ In the land of the pig, the butcher is king ♪

Elle: I was a COW.

Bambi: “Was”?

Bambi: Fuck you.

Look who’s learning how to frame images!

Only took him two years.

Only took me EIGHT YEARS to show you.

Bambi: ♪ Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily ♪

Bambi: ♪ Life’s a fucking nightmare ♪

Elle: More like a spritemare.

Elle: Alright, waiter, I’m done.

Elle: Not a waiter? Don’t dress like one.

Elle: Let’s watch some Star Trek.

In 2012? There weren’t any new shows on.

But! In a few months, the worst movie they ever made will come out!

So that’s something to look forward to.

Next time: paradise pregnancy.

So that’s something to look forward to.

This chapter depicts gameplay from 16 December 2012.

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