Sim’s Story

Like a bajillion other people, I picked up The Sims 2 recently. This is a “people simulator” kind of game where you create your little family members, build their house, and run their lives. And like most people, I started off with a quaint little family named “the McMarfs”. They lived. They learned. They bought expensive electronics.

After a while, though, things got kind of boring. Some little voice started whispering in my ear that I should take a walk on the wild side. I should create a sim that was anything but pleasant. Someone who did NOT want to get along and get ahead.

So I did, just for yucks. Below is his diary, which turned out to be a little weirder than I expected.

Day 1

It has been a fortnight since my manservant Stewart and I were banished from the Mother Land, cast off like lowly detritus and sent to this God-forsaken land. Oh, how the wretched inhabitants of this pox-ridden “Pleasantville” cause my stomach to roil. But soon they too shall learn to bend their knees to the terror that I, Baron Von Strufett, can bring to their pathetic little lives. These peasants have no pitchforks! They have no torches! They have only …exquisite taste in decorations. And affordable housing. They will rue the day!

Having smuggled several bars of gold through the use of Manservant Stewart’s various body cavities, wealth was not to be a trifling concern for genius such as mine. I immediately erected a stone castle, its papacies as hard and unyielding as my very own determination to bring ruin to those who oppose me. In the top I constructed a dank prison cell, replete with …dankness. And two small windows through which my enemies could see the blue sky and despair. Also, I built a kitchenette downstairs.

No sooner had I slammed closed the steel gates of my new abode did a party of miscreants appear on my doorstep, bearing greetings and good cheer, determined to welcome me to the neighborhood despite the dank moat I had ordered Manservant Stewart to dig around the castle. Storming with black fury at such an outrageous interruption to my machinations, I descended upon the petulant visitors. But while I accosted their ringleader –a vapid and horse-brained vagabond by the name of “Alex”– the other two slipped past my flanks like quicksilver, charging straight into the heart of my dark abode. One son of a whore activated on my television while the other harlot –gods be my witness– befouled my toilet without a word of remorse.

Such impertinence! Such arrogance! Oh, they will pay. They will ALL PAY! Feeling my brow bend and my jaw clench, I closed the door behind them and joined their party of the damned.

Observing my new guests’ proclivity for moving their bowels, I hastily ensconced the toilet atop the north tower, leaving it enticingly against the wall opposite the prison’s only entrance. There it sat like the proverbial cask of Amontillado. Now that the trap was set and the bait was placed, these fools needed only the slightest provocation to prance into its jaws. So capuchinos all around!

Sure enough, one of the pathetic wretches soon set down her capuchino cup and ascended the tower in search of a place to spray her vile, liquid offal. I followed my prey as she made her way up into the topmost tower of the castle. I toyed with her a bit first, but as soon as her young, pale buttocks made contact with the seat, I sprang my trap, slamming down a stone wall and blocking off all escape.

Grinning, I bade good night to my other guests, wishing them a pleasant evening and encouraging them to return whenever they liked. No, I had not seen the friend they had arrived with. Perchance she had slipped away while they were partaking of my excellent lunch meat sandwiches. Toodeloo. Good morrow.

Day 2

I had an omelet today. Nay, not any omelet, but the finest omelet to ever grace my delicate bone china! When I awoke this morning my very SOUL cried out for this culinary indulgence, and I could not deny it. After the last fluffy golden morsel passed my sneering lips I felt, strangely, 500 points better.

Day 3

The wench in the tower has finally expired, leaving nothing but a puddle of fluid and an urn. Fortunately, I captured her exquisite misery for all eternity by training my budding artistic talent upon her in her final hours. Who knew that a Von Strufett has such talents? I needed only the proper muse, it seems. A songbird perched in a cage hewn out of cold stone! BWWAHAHAHA!

Day 4

I have procured the services of a local peasant girl to clean my castle, as such menial tasks are beneath me and my manservant Stewart is kept busy taking these “foto-graphs”. The girl is, no doubt, some daughter of a whore, but knowing when to bide my time and keep my schemes secret I decided to buy the trollop’s silence by lining her pockets. She acquiesced, taking the money and leaving as quickly as she dared.

Day 5

Another fly has entered my lair. I spied her walking along the pay leading up to my castle, pausing to gape at its imposing facade. In an instant I was upon her, weaving deft cords of conversation to ensnare her and draw her into my abode. Sensing her playfulness when the cur tried to tickle me, I decided to line my trap with what the local peasants refer to as “a pin ball machine.”

Within minutes, the north tower had another guest.

This one I also toyed with, painting her picture as she ranted and railed against the coming night. To further enflame her passions, I bared my own body, wearing only the skimpiest of evil underwear as I worked. “Behold my dark nipples!” I cried out to her through the observation window. “Behold them! Black as the final punctuation marks to your life’s short tale!”

And now, I must make porkchops. For some reason. They will, I am assured, be …porkchops of the damned.

Published by