Ch. 8: In A World of My Own…

December 16, 2009 at 5:16 pm | Posted in Generation 2 | 4 Comments

Previous: Heigh-HOE





SHIT (literally)


I think the color orange is a bad omen, or something. It’s always either Gracey or Reginald who is fucking things up. >:(

Gracey: “Ughh, I with the nargleth would thop making the TV threen all fuzzy, it maketh it harder to watch Thar Trek.”

The what, Looney Lovegood?

Gracey: “The nargleth. You know – The thingth that like to hang around the mithletoe?”

Oh, oh yeahhh. You mean the things that don’t fucking exist.

ANYWAYS, Alice got arrested (again), and she wanted to file a complaint to City Hall for “the corruption of job advancement.”

At first I didn’t think City Hall would fall for that bullshit…

But then I remembered that they are all politicians, and they make up that kind of bull for a living.

Alice: “Ignorance is bliss.”

No, it’s a stick stuck up every politician’s ass.

Gracey, what are you doing?

Gracey: “The communicator in my pocket made thome thrange beeping thoundth. I think it might be Captain Kirk calling for help! The Tharthip Enterprithe could be in grave danger!”

Communicator…? You mean your cell phone?!

Gracey: “No, the communicator, thilly girl.”

Watch it, Lispy Mc’Lispton, or I might chop off your tongue so you won’t be able to use your communicator to communicate with fucking William Shatner.

SO, Brianna brought home a friend from school the other day, and he was a real dick to Alice. Hey – she might be a pain-in-the-ass, but she’s my pain-in-the-ass, and I’m the only one who can criticize her horrendous taste in home decor and get away with it…

… So I decided a little payback was in order.

Dick: “Holy FUCK. Could you stop pegging the goddamn ball at me?! I think that one just hit my spleen!… You know, now that I think about it, I am feeling a little faint…”

Alice: /very aggravated sigh “Well maybe if you tried catching the ball with your hands and not your spleen, we wouldn’t have an issue… HEY! GET YOUR WEAK ASS OFF OF MY LAWN. IF YOU’RE GOING TO BLEED, DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE. YOU’RE STAINING MY GRASS.”

Brianna, you look constipated.

Brianna: /Rolls eyes “I’m not constipated, stupid, I’m just thinking.”


Brianna: “Har har. Humor. Anyways, I have the sudden urge to draw something tragic… As if someone close to me is dying…”

Oh, yeah, well, that would be understandable since your mother just killed your boyfriend.

Brianna: “SHE WHAT?

Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a little about the “murdering your boyfriend” bit… But leaving him lying outside in a puddle of his own blood is practically the same thing, so it’s all good.


SO, seeing as their shit house caused this spiraling whirl of horse-assery, I decided to remodel it.

Okay, that was a lie. The horse-assery was funny and good entertainment, but the house was making me fucking blind it was so goddamn ugly.

It’s a pretty basic house setup because I suck at making houses (in case you couldn’t tell from their previous homestead.)

There are only two rooms, which means that Bri and Gracey have to share a room even though they, like, hate each others’ guts.

But on the bright side, Reginald just maxed out his cooking skill, so hopefully he will make it to the top of the culinary career, WHICH MEANS more moniesssssssssssssssssssssssssss! :D

Speaking of money, Alice is a hooker now.

Alice: “I am not! It’s my work uniform!”

… Yeah, I gathered that.

Alice: “NO, I meant that it’s my work uniform for my criminal job.”

Prostitution is illegal.

Alice: “… I fucking hate you.”

So, while everyone was at work/school/street corner, I decided to do some people watching, and I found this guy.

Look at how godawful his face is. Do you see it? It’s like God sent me an early Christmas present… 6 months ago (because that’s when this actually happened.)

His name is LaShawn Breckenridge, son of womanizer Hal Breckenridge. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a perfect example of things going terribly wrong. Who would have expected that the son of sexy, masculine Hal Breckenridge would come out looking like a gorilla’s ass? Kudos to you EA for FAILING at genetics.

ANYWAYS, if you didn’t already gather from just looking at him, LaShawn is going to be Brianna’s baby daddy-husband-thing.

… It’s too bad Bri has other ideas.

I’d like you to note how he is starting at her chest.

Dick: *Says distractedly* “Black… yeah, sure… It’s a nice color…”

Dick: “You know what else is black? This room right here. See? This one with the bed in it?”

Bri: “Oh, yah. I really like beds. I have one at home.  I sleep with my brother in it.”

Dick: “… You sleep with your brother???

I’m really glad Bri is a dumbass.

Takes after her mother.


But I think it’s because this is right after REGINALD REACHED THE TOP OF THE CULINARY CAREER.


Reginald, I love you, and you are awesome.

Reg: “Awww, thanks! Does that mean we can celebrate with a tea party?!”


And I will end this chapter with Gracey talking to a rubber duck because he has no friends.

ALSO, I might write a bonus chapter-thing today because I have absolutely nothing to do. YAYSIES!

… On a side note – Can you tell that I was really pissed writing this chapter? I think this is the most I have ever typed the word “fuck.”


Next: Poor Unfortunate Souls



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  1. Fuck no, I didn’t realize how often you used the word fuck.

    Did you use the word fuck alot? Because I didn’t fucking notice.

    But, I DID like the chapter. =)

  2. I like your story, but the swearing is a bit unecessary and annoying. And it doesn’t make you cool. So maybe stop it a bit, cos you seem as though you have some anger problems. Might wanna get them sorted out? :/

    • Thank you for giving my story a go, but if you don’t want to read swear words, then I suggest that you stop reading it. Mind you, I don’t have anger problems, but I am human, and I do get frustrated and stressed out. However, instead of lashing out on my friends and family, I do it on my sims. My legacy story is somewhat of a medium to where I can channel my anger. I know that I could keep a journal, but I don’t like them. I feel as though writing down events that upset you just make them more permanent, for you can always go back and read your entries and relive them. And really, who wants to do that? To me it’s kind of a self-inflicted mind-torture. No offense intended to those who do keep journals, if it works for them, then great. They don’t work for me, but this legacy does. And the swearing helps. My apologies, but “Alice is a meany-head” just isn’t as effective as “Alice is a (sorry) fucking bitch.” Once again, thank you for reading and for leaving a comment, but if you don’t like my… um, “style”, then find another legacy with a writing style that you do like, because I’m not going to stop.

  3. I can’t write the word F U C K.

    F u c k.

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