

return to bradley's almanac

a boston-based music blog the Sims Torture test originally posted at: http://www.livejournal.com/users/nematoddity/133711.html from a Sims experiment conducted by: http://www.livejournal.com/users/evergrey/

"I guess people actually play this game to make their little sims happy. I'll admit that i did that for awhile, but to be honest, it just got boring. So of course I reverted to my typical gaming pattern of torturing innocents to death.



I start out by creating a random couple. I build them a little room, seen below, with a door. One they've both walked in to check their "home" out, I get rid of the door. As you can see, the room contains the following:



* A ghetto chair

* A fireplace

* A clown painting

Because there's only one chair, directly opposite the clown painting, which Mr. Victim immediately takes, Mrs. Victim quickly becomes annoyed. They have no light, no bathroom, and no food source.

After awhile, a fucking clown appears. I don't know either. Said clown is insanely annoying, however. He can't even reach the sims trapped inside. He just coughs and sobs, jumping through holes in the ground to reappear elsewhere... but never in the little 4-tile room. Everybody loves motherfucking clowns.



Mr. Victim briefly stood up. Here we can see him whimpering, about to piss himself. The clown is weeping and falling into a void up in the corner there, too.

Oh look, one of the neighbours has come to pay a visit! Too bad there's no doorbell, and not a damned thing for her to do! Look how uncomfortable she is! She can't leave though.. not until she's rung the doorbell that doesn't exist! This is a death trap for more than just the two sims contained within The Box...

Mr. Victim has pissed himself, and is crying out for a shower. The clown is still weeping away, joined by our lovely neighbour who is also standing in her own puddle of piss for some inexplicable reason.

Things are going pretty damned far downhill at this point. Neighbour lady has passed out in her own urine, and the sims in The Box are getting pretty damned ripe. They scream & gnash their teeth, begging me, their cruel, heartless deity, to have mercy. I am laughing with much glee. When your life is so crappy that it's almost comic, hope that the gods aren't bored.

I figure at this point that my little victims deserve a break, so I give them the gift of FIRE! Ahh yes, a nice, cheery fire to light up their cage. Whatever could go wrong? Oh SHIT! It's my favourite game -- YOU'RE ON FIRE! (one of dear old Dad's favourite games, too.)

Mrs. Victim is thus far spared from the cleansing flames by standing in the puddle of Mr. Victim's urine. The deceased Mr. Victim. Death is pretty pissed off about there being no door, by the way. You see his hands? I'm pretty sure that's a "what the FUCK?" gesture. Mrs. Victim is yelling and screaming. Maybe she's screaming about the fire, maybe she's screaming about the clown. I, being the closest thing her AI ass has to a deity, am doing my part by slamming a shot of vodka and chortling merrily away.

Meanwhile, the entire neighbourhood is whimpering and standing in puddles of their own urine.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I don't really have to say anything else here, do I?



Man, that newspaper girl is one stone-cold bitch. Everyone wants to leave, but there is NO WAY OUT.

I eventually put a door in for the neighbours because their weeping annoys me, but it doesn't work. I think they all eventually drink some poisoned kool-aid(tm) or something. ...

...

... Uhmmm, what do other girls do with their spare time?" (written by everygrey)

return to bradley's almanac

a boston-based music blog

