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!
In which brevity is attempted.
You will come to resent its absence.
Wren: Brevity had better mean “men in their briefs.”
Wren: Working under that assumption, I have selected one.
Nick: Hello, you’ve reached Nick Sharpe-Enriquez. If you are not a woman, please press whatever makes your phone hang up. Beep! I mean, do it at the beep. Beep!
Wren: I think you’ve been indoors too long.
Wren: Or maybe you’re going rich-crazy.
Wren: All rich people go nuts. Known fact.
Wren: Are you excited?
Nick: About what?
Wren: About WHAT? About FIVE HUNDRED CHAPTERS!
Nick: Are we gonna be in the big one?
Wren: Probably not.
Nick: Are things going to change after it?
Wren: Probably not.
Nick: Then I think you have, and have twice said, my answer.
Wren: I love men who let me speak for them.
Nick: Oh, bitches love that?
Wren: …what did you call me?
Wren: Your tongue is going to have to apologize. To my tongue.
Wren: My tongue is my apologies department.
Wren: Do I detect something of a manic tone in today’s writing?
I’ve written a lot of crazy shit today.
You’ll see on Friday.
Nick: My tongue is here! I brought my me with it.
Nick: I am just CRUSHING this nonsensical dialogue angle!
Wren: You know, your dad fucked my mom.
Nick: Yes, but in fairness, my dad and your mom fucked EVERYBODY.
Wren: I propose them as role models.
Nick: I propose us as sequels.
Nick: Butlers die a lot.
Nick: Oh, apparently I’m talking about something else.
Wren: Were those even your memories?
Nick: At this point I think we’re all just accessing one mushy corner of a vast, untamed memory-marsh.
Nick: Because our neighbourhood files are FUUUUUCKED
Nick: We should join them.
Nick: In fuuuuuucking.
Nick: AIR KISS!
Nick: It’s when we both kiss the air.
Wren: Against its will.
Nick: Most human interactions with air are against its will.
Remember: silence, or even a vague rustling of the leaves, a gentle scent of pine on the breeze, is not consent.
Wren: Our creator is a crazy liberal.
Nick: Not crazy because he’s a liberal…
Wren: …or liberal because he’s crazy!
Wren: …right, I forgot, you’re rich.
Nick: Yeah, us rich are the worst.
Wren: I dunno, you’re doing pretty well for myself!
Wren: I look forward to the day when every line of dialogue is self-reflexive nonsense.
Then why are you forestalling it?
Wren: You’re right, I should put my mouth where his dick is.
Nick: We’re amenable!
Wren: I’m surprised you know that word.
Nick: What word? I was speaking in tongues.
Wren: It does taste foreign!
Nick: Is this… like… just your house, now?
Wren: You mean… is it also actually a giant living being, or a theme park, or…?
Wren: Oh, you mean do I live here, alone, surrounded by the detritus of other people’s lives, which I can neither appreciate nor divest myself of? Yeah, haha, that.
Wren: “Divest myself of.”
Yeah, now YOU’RE speaking in tongues.
Wren: Shouldn’t that have been Nick’s line?
Wren: …there’s no more Nick, is there.
Wren: Apparently there was no more that entire day.
Wren: Luckily I have become a creative prodigy via text.
Wren: I shall add it to my other accomplishments.
Wren: Which are mostly all of a kind.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Speaking of kind…
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: You know what would be kind of nice? Fucking you.
Franklin: Fucking right.
Franklin: Is there anything I should know about you?
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Depends on your definition of should.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Actually the answer would be “yes” either way.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: But in lieu of actual information, here is… a frozen rose, I guess.
Franklin: Oh god, that poor thing.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: It’s fine! More ways to hurt yourself on it, now.
Franklin: That IS the defining characteristic of roses!
Franklin: And love.
Franklin: …I’ve heard.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Every rose has its GRABBING YOUR ASS
Franklin: I have NOT heard THAT!
Franklin: But I’m happy to feel it.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Feel and let felt, that’s my motto.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: OH YEAH BABY, FEEL MY FELT
Franklin: Your dress is made of felt?
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: I like the way it used to feel.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: You ARE tripping balls today!
Franklin: Come on, baby, trip my balls.
Oh my god.
I can’t tell if this is Leonard or Oliver.
Which means I can’t give him dialogue.
Which means he can’t help!
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: I mean, if he doesn’t help, he didn’t help. This is all pre-destined.
Franklin: You don’t believe in free will?
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Maybe I did back in 2013, when this is/was HAPPENING
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Please don’t say anything, Schrödinger’s Murphy.
Franklin: Yeah, just sit there and look generic.
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: You know, you were never anybody’s favourite.
Franklin: Not even mine!
Franklin: I still feel like there’s something off here. Are you married, or something?
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: That’s a “no” to “are you married,” and a “yes” to “are you something.“
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: Not that you really needed me to tell you that second one.
Bradleigh: I’m home! What’re we up to?
Bradleigh: Hey, which one are you?
HE’S SWORN TO SECRECY
Bradleigh: I know! We’ll look up the last chapter for this household and see who was sitting there when it ended!
I know! GO FUCK YOURSELF!
Bradleigh: You’re that desperate to get some fuckin’ in this one?
Franklin: Don’t worry!
Beatriz Young the Nice Witch: We’ve got it covered!
I just want to remind you that my last “Next time” said “the bird and the Beatriz.”
As in Wren and Beatriz.
ACKNOWLEDGE MY SUBTLETY
VIA MY UNSUBTLETY
This time next time: the titty on the edge of forever.
This chapter depicts gameplay from 19 February 2013.