Welcome to the Pine Valley Chronicles, an ongoing neighbourhood story in The Sims 2!
Warning: this journal may contain uncensored nudity, violence, profanity and sexual themes.
Updates on Friday every week!
Bet you thought I was going to disappear again.
Perhaps it would have been better to.
Lora: KISSING MAKES ME SO MAD
I can’t fault you for that, I’ve seen what you have to kiss.
Lora: Hewwo Wance! Do you wuv your mommy? Do you? Because she wuvs you! Yes she does! Yes she doessss!
Daryl: Hello, Lewis. Do you hate your mommy? Do you? Because she’s a condescending bitch! Yes she is! Yes she issss!
Lora: IF YOU’RE GONNA TURN THEM AGAINST ME AT LEAST DO IT WITH BABY TALK
Daryl: Fine, whatever. You handle this.
Daryl: I’m gonna go watch TV.
Kitty: There’s never a good hailstorm when you need one.
I don’t know how you’d even eat an omelette that way.
Lora: I won’t compromise my ideology for material considerations!
Daryl: If I get the extra-large bags, I wonder if Mr. Price will let me put his wife out with the rest of the trash.
Ask him soon, okay?
Like… really soon.
Daryl: Calm down, kid. I’m just gonna suck your soul out through your ear, and absorb your powers. Then you won’t need to cry ever again.
I appreciate your attention to details, Daryl. I really do.
But sometimes I wish you’d take a macro view of things.
Daryl: Hey there, little man! I didn’t know you used cologne!
Daryl: Or is it a new kind of soap you’re using? A new shampoo? Did you start burning incense in your crib when I wasn’t looking? Did you get an oil massage?
Daryl: DID YOU SHIT YOURSELF
Daryl: Just wriggle it out on the carpet, I’ll torch the whole room when you’re done.
There aren’t any rogue secret agents here.
Theresa: There could be. They have a butler.
A useless butler.
Theresa: Exactly! Secret agenting doesn’t exactly synergize with potty training and bottle warming, you know.
Lora: I’ve got an idea. Leave my babies alone forever, and I won’t tell my husband to fire you.
Daryl: Oh my god! I totally didn’t think this would work. I should write a book.
Lora: Alright, now. Let’s do this bitch right.
Lora: …or I could go downstairs and stare at the walls.
Daryl: HOW DID SHE GET CRUMBS IN THERE THROUGH A CLOSED DOOR
Daryl: It’s times like these I wish I was a rogue secret agent.
Sorry Nancy. Close, but no brains.
The Gray Lady of SimCity: I resent that.
Yup, nothing suspicious here.
Dude: Watch out! Foxy chick at fox-o’clock!
No, this is Price o’clock. Fox o’clock used to be just down the road, but now it’s Fox-Murphy o’clock.
And no, I just don’t give a fuck what this guy’s name is right now.
Dude: Alright Dude, you’ve got this! First you snap your fingers, then a flash mob appears and snaps their fingers, and then you get the girl!
Dude: And then one of you dies. Goddammit, West Side Story!
Daryl: You got this?
The Grim Reaper: I GOT THIS.
Stinky Skunk: .oO(A Dream Date flower border? P-U.)
Lora: What kind of a loser has a plaque about how good he is at games?
Lora: That’s like saying “Look at me, I’m eighty pounds overweight and I can’t climb stairs! AHAHAHAHA!
Lora: Whew. I need to sit down.
Daryl: I hate fluidics!
Bradley: Jesus Christ, when did it get so cold out here?
Doesn’t that thing provide any insulation?
Bradley: Mostly it just provides unexpected electric shocks. I spilled Red Bull all over it one night when I was playing World of Warcraft.
Daryl: Keep it to yourself.
Bradley: Hoo baby! We were meant to be together!
Bradley: On a couch.
Lora: Hard day at work, honey?
Bradley: I designed some new downloadable content for Assassin’s Creed 4. It’s a what-if scenario: what if people actually gave a shit about Brazil?
Aaaaaand the joke’s already outdated. That was fast.
Bradley: Mmm… mmmmmm… mmm… mmm? How come your arm tastes like cereal?
Lora: I love it when you tell me about things I was present for. It really makes me feel memorable.
Bradley: Mmmf! Hey, back up, I can’t see your awesome tits now.
Lora: You’d rather ogle me than kiss me?!
Bradley: Are you kidding? Your mouth tastes like fifty omelettes. What have you been doing all day?!
Bradley: Oh, heyyy. There you are. I’ve missed you fellas.
Lora: They were only out of sight for a moment.
Bradley: Yeah, but some bitch was droning on and on the whole time and if felt like a lifetime.
Bradley: HELP HELP MY MOUSTACHE IS RECEDING
Bradley: …that was weird.
Lora: OWWWWW MY ARM IS THROUGH THIS WALLLLLL
Bradley: Aww! You’re singing our song!
Bradley: YOUR HAAAAAAAAIR IS IN THE WAYYYYYY OF YOUR TIIIIIIIITS
Lora: Let’s get you out of that suit and into something more comfortable, honey. Like my vagina.
Bradley: Okay, but give me an hour. This thing has no zipper. Solvents are involved.
Right, dead of winter, perfect time to trim the hedges.
Daryl: Anything to avoid being inside with those people.
Why do you think I’m out here with you?
You’ve still got the gloves on, eh, Brad.
Bradley: They can produce mild electrical shocks. I’m going to put them in her-
YOU STILL OUT THERE DARYL I’M COMING BACK
Dude. Don’t step on the flowers? Are you new or something?
Daryl: Try not putting fragile plants right in front of plants that need constant year-round maintenance? Are you new or something? And anyway don’t you work at a garden centre?
That’s irrelevant. It’s only part-time, and our plants all die before they’d need trimming.
Lora: So I cheated on you.
Lora: I’ll probably do it again.
Daryl: Two babes disgorged in their cribs, and I…
Daryl: …I left them there, to fucking die.
Bradley: …whose turn is it to call the agency this time?
To be honest, this is exactly what I always imagined government employees did every day.
Minus the groping their sisters bit.
No, wait, never mind. Totally.
William: Mm. Daisy, I feel like we were meant to be together.
Daisy: You know what they say, blood is thicker than water.
William: I’m gonna go home before I figure out what you meant by that.
Daisy: Time for some phat pregnant beats!
Daisy: Meaty, beaty, big and bouncy!
Daisy: Man, I could get a Vegas show doing this!
Or a porn shoot.
Daisy: Same difference!
Poppy: OH MY GOD DAISY THIS SHIT MAKES THE UPSTAIRS DISAPPEAR!
Poppy: I wonder if it will work on my crippling emotional issues too.
…man, have I been blowing bubbles?
Actually no. I don’t want this to be the kind of thing my subconscious dreams up.
I know this looks like a random image. But it’s not.
It’s a random joke setup.
Caryl Love: Heyyyy man, you wanna take a cruise on the Caryl Love Boat?
William: Only if it’s got a Caryl Life Boat.
Little bit of overkill, don’t you think?
William: Thankfully, I have a license to overkill!
Daisy: Aren’t you one of those lesbians? I’m not the lesbian one.
Daisy: I’ll pass you over to the lesbian. We can have a lesbian conference call. Except with one of us not being a lesbian. It’s an LGBT-friendly conference call.
Daisy: Hey, whoah, but it’s not LGBTI friendly! The “I” being for “incest.” Although that’s complicated. And I didn’t just say that. And I’ll kill you if you tell anyone. And I didn’t just say that either. But it’s totally true.
Poppy: It’s your own stupid fault, Kea, I told you not to call the house phone.
Sullivan: OH NO, HELLBOUND CUNT-KISSERS!
Daisy: I love a man who knows when to jump to x-rated!
Sullivan: You need x-rated vision to look at the shit you fuckers throw out. Is that a penis? It looks like a penis.
Hey, it’s a trash compactor. And Daisy takes a very liberal view on what constitutes “trash.”
Sullivan: Well I have a very conservative view of SPARKS ON MY FAAAAACE
Daisy: Look, you don’t recognize me, but we had nasty December-February sex once when I was a different person. And it turns out when I’m pregnant I just get weird old man penis cravings. So, you wanna do it on the table? I can hang from the chandelier and you can polish your glasses on my pubic hair.
Sullivan: That sounds like a great idea! I’d love to have a girlfriend!
Sullivan: In the refrigerator.
What, is there a sign on my house that says “Live Lesbian Storage”?
Poppy: Hey Sullivan! What’s cookin’? Tuna? Salmon?
Sullivan: I’m sure I’d remember having raped someone that ugly.
Sullivan: And I’m sure I’d have killed them afterward, too.
Sullivan: Get the fuck out. I’ve got cleaning to do.
Daisy: Nothing in this room needs cleaning.
Sullivan: And that is the only cleaning I’m willing to do.
Sullivan: Unless you’ve got some lye soap and some bodies to dissolve. Or just the lye soap, but I charge ten-fifty per body if I have to bring my own from home.
Random running joke!
Except she’s standing still.
Pictured: more interesting things we could be looking at.
Pictured: what we’re looking at instead.
Poppy: Corporate taxes!
Kea: Equal pay for equal work!
Man, you guys really are stoned.
I bet you imagine each log is, like, a severed body part or something.
Daisy: I prefer not to leave anything to the imagination.
Daisy: I love the little blue flame you get when the formaldehyde coating burns off!
Daisy: It’s not roasting in the fires of a well-earned damnation, but it’ll do for now.
Nothing says “cozy” like melting a three-hundred-Simoleon videogame console.
Kea: Do you believe in ghosts, Poppy?
Poppy: Are you kidding? The demographics are so lopsided now, you should be asking ghosts if they believe in us.
Kea: HAHAHA we should fry your sister’s unborn child.
Poppy: Oh, would you look at the time! It’s “for you to go.”
I never figured you for a conformist, Sullivan.
Sullivan: I pretend they’re people’s arms, flailing about as they drown. And then I cut them off.
Presumably while cackling.
Sullivan: Of course not. I’m no monster…
Sullivan: …but I’d totally stomp that little bitch’s Tokyo. By which I mean her va-
OH LOOK AT THAT WE’RE ALMOST OUT OF TIME
Elle: Why did he want to stomp my Vanilla Ice albums?
Alright, that was not any fun. Next time…um… fun?
I’m not putting any money on it, though.