Day Eighteen

Today, I decided that I might as well develop some of our sims' skills since they're obviously not going to do it themselves. Catriona and Nooreen need logic points, Jack needs charisma points, and Pyke needs to GET FUCKING PROMOTED. WORK HARDER.

Jack, Pyke, and Nooreen have arrived home from their sorry excuse for a night out at the karaoke bar.



Well done, Jack! He had to get it right at some point.

Nooreen waves at the audience, totally breaking the fourth wall. I tell them DON'T LOOK AT THE CAMERA but do they listen?

I take a look at the 'rewards' section to see if the Crombies have somehow managed to unlock anything in their sad existence. Nooreen appears to have gained enough 'influence' to acquire a romantic hot tub. That sounds interesting! Let's put it somewhere!



An extension to the first floor balcony behind Jack's bathroom seems justified for this, I think. I've also placed some portentous pink bear statues at all four corners so if there are any raunchy goings-on in the hot tub, the perpetrators must do so in full sight of The Bears of Judgement. And they will see themselves naked and feel SHAME.



Nooreen and Jack are shattered. Sitting around, drinking, sponge-bathing... it can take the vigour out of you after a while.

They dream of tennis and friendship. Aww...



Catriona returns from work and, of course, starts napping on the bench. Stop doing it, you foolish woman! What's she trying to be, some sort of blue-collar tramp?



By all rights, the Crombies should have died of malnutrition by now. And they're STILL burning food in the microwave. Nooreen's an intern now, so she'll probably be able to tell what everyone's going to die of in later life and when.



Jack will die of loneliness, on an island somewhere. Maybe he'll be lucky and escape on a raft with nothing for company except a brick with a smiley face painted on it. But it will break off and sink in the storms...

TOFFEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

In other words: I don't know who this guy that phoned Jack up is.

'Aw, no!'

'Aren't you happy to hear from me? My name is A. Stranger.'

'Nah, it's just that this phone smells like farts.'

'I'm selling these fine leather jackets...'



'You're not selling music?!'

'No... leather jackets. For wearing.'

'OK. Tell me about these leather jackets.'

'They're fully lined, have a six month guarantee, and come in a large range of sizes...'









...



'Now I want a beach ball.'

CLICK brrrrrrrrrrr...

Meanwhile, Nooreen has just finished having a game of bowls in the recreation room. Out of sheer curiosity, I tell her to go into the photo booth.



This is where the magic happens. I've been given a choice between serious and goofy photos. Let's save best 'til last and go for serious. Nooreen is good at serious.

There is a sudden white flash and I panic - has Nooreen's killer death ray of a stare destroyed the camera equipment?! But no, I should never have feared. I present to you: serious Nooreen.



... well, at least she approves... I suppose...

GOOFY!



She laughs to hide the pain. The pain of her memories. The memories of killing several patients each day because she was promoted from nursing for knowing not to examine llamas and not because she deserved to.

Nooreen will die of crippling guilt. And she knows it.

Anyway, let's get this skill-building on the road. Jack needs some charisma points, let's get him over to the mirror. Practise speech or practise romance... speech or romance... hmm...

We all know it's got to be romance, and let's face it he could do with some help. So far he's indecently assaulted a mop, developed a disturbing relationship with a brick, and fantasises about light bulbs. The man is not right in the head.



Jack puts his smooze on. Ladies, how you could you resist a man like this?

Moving on, Catriona and Nooreen need to develop their logic skills. I think it's time for a chess match.



'What's the fuck with these chairs, how are we supposed to play chess with chairs like these, what the fuck, Catriona, what the fucking fuck?'

'I don't fucking know!'

They don't... they don't want to use the chairs for some reason. I replace them with some different ones which they don't like either. But at least they sit down in them.



Catriona's scowling at Nooreen before the game's even begun! Since Nooreen's playing white, she goes first. So I suppose she IS technically in the lead. Still, Catriona, you might want to tone down on the horrifying brain-damaged squint you've got going there.



'The other day at work I killed seven men, three women, two children, and a squirrel.'

'A squirrel?'

'I could have sworn it was Mr Jameson when I started the rectal exam.'

'I... see...'

...

'I give rectal exams to anyone who beats me at chess. Some might call that sore losing, I call it free and convenient healthcare.'

The game. Is on. And everyone reading just lost it. Bwahahahaha!



'It was a dark and stormy night, and the soldiers were lined up, halberds pointed forwards, shafts pressed against their hips. Despite the terrible noise of thunder as the gods raged far above, they could all hear their own sweat, tricking down tricking down, tricking down... they could hear death. It was in the beating of their hearts and the quick, scared breathing of the men around them. the rain crashed down on their helmets like shining streaks of light in the darkness. They-'

'FUCKING MOVE!'



'You think you're in my head, you think you know me. But you don't. I've got a secret plan.'

Catriona pulls the scowl again.



'Hey... lady. You look very sexy tonight. I am... also... sexy. Maybe we can be sexy together, like in stereo. Then we'd have double sexy. Or... something.'



Jack is the first person to play with the computer console. He's also the first Crombie to turn on the massive television in the living room. I'd express surprise that it had taken eighteen days for anyone to show interest in it, but it's quite indicative of the quality of programmes on nowadays, really.

He's playing SSX 3, that damn skiing game. Don't they have anything else?



'Ah, Radomsky's Football Defence! How could I have fallen for such an obvious trap!'



In a fit of pique, I build a door for easier access to the swimming pool. Maybe that'll encourage them to use it more. Or at all.



She's still trying to look at her own sinuses! I wonder if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction when she made the face or something... I think it's a bug. Her face had better not stay like that.



Jack is more interested in the door. But what does he think? Does he... like it? Pweez?



...

Those had better be tears of joy, Jack. I'm warning you. Asshole.



Free bird! Free biiiiiird!

It probably is, too. I might get rid of the guitar and bass there. Maybe that'll encourage them to use the music room.



Catriona wants to empty her bowels and go to bed, so she ends the game prematurely. She makes a mental note to knee Jack in the bollocks next time she sees him. Only he would have glued tiny plasticine penises to all the bishops.

Nooreen sits, quietly seething for a while before heading over to the spanking new fridge for some dinner. It'll be good to see the Crombies using the new kitchen, 'cos that's what it's there for-



What are you doing.



She wanted to use the microwave. Two floors down. How can someone work so hard to be lazy? And she's set fire to the damn thing again which is just peachy. If I hadn't installed those sprinklers, I'm sure at least one of them would be dead by now. Y'HEAR ME IN THERE?! YOU'D BE NOTHING BUT ASHES!



Oh, thank goodness, Catriona's learned how to smile again. She marks every fire alarm with a lovely smile because she's such a heartwarming gal. The flames engulfing the machinery... the pitter-patter of water hitting the kitchen floor... they're like old friends.



Uh, Catriona, I probably would have chosen NOT to sleep in front of Crombiestock.

Well, this is it folks, we've reached another ignoble milestone.



Catriona is the first of the Crombies to piss themselves. How utterly embarrassing. It just can't get worse than this, can it?



Oh yes it can.

Nooreen's smile is really, very creepy. If you don't believe me, click the image for a large version. She looks like she's thinking 'Hot diggety-damn!'



'I'm gonna save me some of this for later!'



There, there Catriona. Just let it all out. It's nothing to be ashamed of, sometimes you just can't avoid it, you know? Just put it down to experience and move on-



Oh for- Nooreen! Bad Nooreen! Take your lusty eyes off the poor girl!

Catriona will die of utter mortification.



Still jammin'.

Pyke will die due to complications in surgery for removing the massive calluses on her fingers she acquired by playing musical instruments all day.

Hey- Pyke wants a mobile phone again! TO THE CROMBIEMOBILE!



A likely spot.







Pyke has enough time to make some hot dogs before I realise there are no phones here. Back in the car!



You may remember this place from Day Seven. It's where Catriona got her phone, though we didn't stay for long because she was a gnat's eye away from collapsing on the floor with exhaustion. Hopefully Pyke will stay a bit longer. After getting her the phone, I let her do whatever she wants.



'Hi, I'd like your finest cup of hot, murky, bitter-tasting, caffeine. Er, coffee.'



Pyke finishes her cup and settles down to a game of chess. Two games of chess in one day! That's just too out there!

Right now, it looks like she's being thrashed.



'You're too smart for me, Durden!'



The blonde woman Donald was talking to yesterday has decided to join Pyke for a game of chess. I noticed Pyke was vibrating a little and I thought it was a game glitch, but then I realised it was a weird way of showing she was jittering from the caffeine. Blondie, though you can't see it, is as shaky as a politician's promise.

If you're wondering why she's complaining - that's not coffee in there.



Pyke uses dirty distraction tactics to throw off Blondie's concentration.

'Your clothes make you look fat.'

Nice, Pyke, but I think you should go for an amicable conversation about common interests or something. No need to make an enemy out of everyone!



NOT EVERYONE LIKES BRIEFCASES, PYKE.

Like a broken record.



'I don't use briefcases, dear no, I always carry a five-inch thick lead safe. I don't want my clothes to get stolen, after all.'



Here's quite a collection of friends. The white-haired woman is Sheila Cauliflower, the woman with which Scott got his jollies off oh so long ago.

'I played him like a fiddle, and I'd do it again if my teeth didn't keep falling out!'

Nathen and Donald just make horrified gestures. They didn't need to hear that.



This man doesn't like the table apparently.



What the- this granny is insatiable! She's gone senile in her old age!



And incontinent. Pyke sits down after getting some more coffee. The warm aroma of coffee mixing with the reek of fresh piss. Life can't get better than this, huh?



Damn, apparently there's a pair of lips in Pyke's coffee. Service in this place is terrible.



'But what I'd really like to talk to you about is briefcases.'

This is beginning to get a little obsessive.



Ah, I see the problem. This man wants to go to the toilet, but he can't get up because the table's in the way, and he can't scooch round to get up elsewhere because Pyke and the woman in the pink sweater are blocking his exits.

O Man of the Distended Bladder, we salute you as you go down with your ship. God speed.



... Oh dear.



There's no use waving at me with that thing on the end of your arm, Pyke. There's nothing I can do!



Pyke pisses herself. What a sad, sad day this has been for the Crombies. Pyke's pee may have magically teleported to behind the couch, but that's still her piss on the floor. And it's manky. Oh well... let's get you home. What a bleak way to finish the day. I won't let it end like this.



PIXELATED NUDITY!