The O'Frenzys 5.1
Last time - Grandslam gave birth to Doobie, who may or may not have some issues, and also blatted out a daughter named Hashcake while demonstrating all the maternal instincts of a housebrick.
Tappity tap tap tap...what's that noise?
That would be Scrabble.
Writing sexy books about chickens again, Scrabs?
"No. It's a mystery thriller about Christ, the Holy Grail, the Knights Templar and the Renaissance genius and restrictive-aerobic-wear designer Leotardo Da Pinci."
Riiiight. Good thing you're rich, because the plagiarism lawsuits must be coming thick and fast.
"Never stopped Dan Browne."
Oh snap.
Meanwhile, over at Chateau Parsnip, Ralph is finally getting her wish of a (vaguely) white wedding.
Scrabble has clearly been taking tips from his late grandfather about how to face entirely the wrong direction at weddings.
Ralph: "Oh Pooh-Bear - I'm so happy!"
Jack, typically, is pre-occupied - threatening the paparazzi.
Ralph, being a Family Sim, was pregnant with twins about an hour after this picture was taken. (You'll get to see Vince and Naboo in a later update, but they really are worth waiting for. Really.)
Grandslam and Wolfgang do what they do best - spend every second of the day attached at the lips.
(Also, spot the Twist in this picture.)
It's getting a bit unhealthy, actually. He doesn't even bother to get dressed - just wanders around in his leopard-print manties swooning over his wife.
See what I mean?
He does this under the pretence of 'art appreciation'. Oddly enough, every painting or sculpture he's contemplating always happens to be within at least two feet of Grandslam's fine green arse. Wolfgang, you really need to get a hobby.
I said a hobby, not a drink problem.
Oh...yes. The children. They have children, although with parents this obsessed with one another you'd be amazed that the little boogers get any attention at all.
You can guess how this ends, can't you?
Yeah. Never gets old.
Hashcake is an amazingly quiet and smiley baby, though. Which is good. She'll need to be sweet and smiley...
Because she's got Baby Jane here for a brother.
"WHY IS NOBODY PAYING ATTENTION TO ME!? I'M PRETTY, GODDAMMIT!!!"
You're...interesting, Doobie. I'll give you that much.
Floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee, mings like a Chinese vase. Oh, he is an ugly child. I'm so proud.
Oh hell - there goes the neighbourhood. It's Sim-Me.
"Ooooh - it looks so big from inside the game! And I have no cellulite! And awesome root-boost!"
Being a Sim is fun. Well, apart from the whole 'Living on Natasha Una's couch' thing. But you know what? I misjudged Natasha. She's a doll. Even if her diet is a disaster.
It's funny, because Scrabble always gave me the most looks to camera, but he makes a beeline for me as if he recognises me.
"You built this house, right? I love this house...but..."
"You want another one, right?"
"Okay, Scrabs - hold onto your haemorroids. I've got something in the pipeline. This new place?"
"I'm thinking Italianate, I'm thinking stucco, I'm thinking fuck-yeah-we're-rich and I'm...somehow so enthused that I have to make this face. Don't ask."
Ah, the joys of making a sim-self. I can say goodbye to cellulite and hello to never having to get my roots retouched, but apparently I can't give myself brains. Yeah, after talking to Scrabble I wandered outside and stood behind a hedge that was between me and Kirk Cameron. Who's Kirk Cameron, you ask? Well, she's sort of a pet of Grandslam's - friesan, big teeth, barfs cake and eats anything that moves. You get the picture.
Sim-Me is almost as dumb as the cowplant's namesake. Almost.
Anyhoo...
Grandslam: "It's your little sister's birthday, Doobie! I'm so glad you came to watch!"
Doobie: "No. I came to ascertain whether she was still here. And I find that she is. Dammit."
Despite Doobie's best attempts to psych his mother out by yelling "SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!!!" in the hopes that she'd brain the baby on the ceiling, little Hashcake grows up without incident. And she is a sweetiepie. Nice points out the wazoo with this one.
Okay, so she's kind of dim, but she's nice. And also somewhat gender confused. While her brother prances around like Bette Davis, Hashcake poofed into a My Little Marlene Dietrich dress-up outfit.
Grandma Isambard can't help but play favourites. Probably because if you tried to cuddle Doobie he'd bite you or something. Evil child.
Incidentally, you can see where Wolfgang got his ravishing beauty from, can't you?
Aww. There he is now. Got a hobby at last, Wolfgang? Good for you.
Actually, that lasted all of five minutes. Or he was at the barre because Grandslam was out of the house. Anyway, he rapidly reverted back to his old stalky ways. See what I mean about him mopping up while she's flooding the shower?
And the worst thing?
That's not all water. *SHUDDER*
Scrabble is still busy, working on another novel. What's this one about, Scrabs?
"It's called Teatime..."
Uh huh?
"It's the tale of a not-very-ugly Plain Girl who moves to a mysterious damp town and falls in love with a teak vampire..."
...um...I hate to tell you this, Scrabble, but I've heard something very similar to this before.
"Yes, I know. It was a bestseller. Which is why I'm writing it."
It doesn't exactly work that...oh, sod it. You can afford the lawsuits.
Poor Hashcake never knew what hit her. There she was, just minding her own business, rehearsing 'Lili Marlene' in a corner of the drawing room...
And Grandpa pounces, clutching a copy of his latest book and with a 'I'm going to read to you and you are going to LIKE it' look in his eyes.
Scrabble: "...and then Hottie Indenial found out her father had bought her a car - and she was very angry because she knew her Dad would only pick out some lamer car and everyone would point and laugh at her. While ignoring her. Which they did every day - ignored her and stared at her...simultaneously. It was very confusing..."
Scrabble: "Blah blah blah...twelve pages of the weather forecast...ah...here we go. This is the part where she meets Nedwob Smullen, the amazing wooden vampire..."
"And then the sun came out and Hottie Indenial could see the Ronseal woodstain ~*~sparkling~*~ all over Nedwob's Godlike teak body and she gasped because he was so angelically beautiful...
...and then he said in a velvety voice as musical and exquisite as a Boccherini minuet - 'Do I ~*~dazzle~*~ you?'..."
Hashcake: *poops*
"No, you're absolutely right. This book is shit. What the hell was I drinking when I wrote this?"
Your guess is as good as mine, Scrabble.
By this point Grandslam was getting a little...tetchy. Started rolling up fears of having any more kids and stuff. If she'd been able to roll a fear of leopard-print manties I'm sure she would - and I would have totally understood. So I figured it would do her good to get out of the house for a bit. Let's face it, when your half-naked husband is following you around mopping up your piss while you're still pissing in the shower...well, I'm pretty sure that's the textbook definition of OMG GIVE YOUR WIFE SOME DAMN SPACE ALREADY YOU CRAZY PERSON.
Welcome to the Kasbah.
"I don't like it."
Shut up, Sharif. Nobody asked you. (And if you got that joke, thank you.)
Okay, so it's not exactly a shithot dance party just yet. These things take time. (Although this is kinda pathetic isn't it? An empty dancefloor and Crumplebottom knitting to the beat.)
And the bartender's a cold bitch. Literally. This is Sister Matick O'Frenzy, the titanium progeny of lifelong virgin and personality car-wreck Tackle O'Frenzy. And therein lies the problem - she has Tackle's personality.
She quit within ten minutes of being hired, claiming she JUST COULDN'T TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMOAR AHMAGAWD!!! I don't know what her beef was - she was well-paid and Grandslam was literally just about to promote her to manager. No idea. Trust Tackle to go and build me a Divabot.
All new Divabot - comes with four realistic bitchfit settings - Miffed, Stroppy, Nail Down The Furniture and Elton John.
So...you know. Yeah. She's not just here for the bubbles...
Okay. Maybe she is.
Doobie: "WHERE THE FUCK IS MUMMY?!!! IWANNABEDTIMESTORY NAAAAAAOOOOOOWWWW!!!"
Hashcake: *poops*
Yes, I can't imagine why she'd want to take a break from such charming kids.
Oh, speaking of Tackle - check this shit out. This is Mary - Tackle's great great niece, or Tackle 2.0 as I keep calling her. I must remember to get some snaps of her at college so you can really appreciate the resemblance. It's pretty spooky.
Grandslam returns from her business trip refreshed...and promptly goes and harrasses Wolfgang. I give up. They're as bad as each other.
Hashcake grows up.
And has her grandmother's nose and Guy the Gorilla's jaw. Hot.
She's also got a pretty epic forehead on her. And she is just the sweetest little kid ever. She's all bouncy bouncy oh-what-a-beautiful morning every day and she's just plain nice. She's also incredibly shy and I don't think I've had a nice, shy O'Frenzy since Cheerie. Personality-wise she's a lot like Cheerie. (And yes, she jumps on beds too. Grrr.)
Isambard is always turning up for Hashcake, which is okay by both of them because grandma is just about Hashcake's favourite person in the world.
And she's a tinkerer! I think that's a first for the O'Frenzys.
It's funny, though, when I look back at the personalities of the various generations - Mackenzie was a multi-purpose Cancer, completely evenly balanced and while you'd think Spaghetti (as the alien kid) would have the extreme personality (which he did), Cheerie also had a totally extreme personality - exceptionally shy and nice. And all her kids had extreme personalities too - Dropkick was an outgoing sweetheart, while Tackle and Scrum were mean and withdrawn. And the Goblin twins were just the same - although they were both completely evil, Twist was a naked hot-tubber while Scrabble pulled 'Who? Me?' faces if you asked him to tell a joke.
These kids are no exception. The nice kid...
...and Doobie, who is always doing something he shouldn't be doing. (He also jumps on beds until I get social worker warnings, crawls into his grandparents bed when I'm not looking and also indulges in that Scrabble & Twist speciality - getting up at 2am and acting like a silly motherfucker all night.)
I should probably mention that by this point the O'Frenzys have what my grandmother used to call "Fuck-You Money," thanks in part to Grandslam's job as an organic stripper ecological guru.
"Bye kids - be good! Don't forget to feed Kirk Cameron!"
Grandslam: "To infinity and beyoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooond!!!"
Kirk Cameron: "I had a hoomin, but I eated it. :("
With Grandslam and her foolish hippy ideals out of the way...
"Yes, I would like to do something stupid that will plunge me into aspirational failure if it all goes disastrously wrong. Yes, that's right - Knowledge Sim...maxed cooking skills. You'll be round for dinner at 5pm? Super."
Damn you, Scrabble. Now go and lock Hotdog in the bathroom before he gets any terrible ideas about cooking for the headmaster.
Oh crap. Houston, we have a problem.
No, Wolfgang - get rid of the old biddy before she gets in the house and sets fire to the fucking kitchen! Never mind that it's snowing again - it's been snowing all winter. You should be used to it by now, you dildo. NOW GET RID OF THE OLD BAT. Last thing you need is a nanny laying monster turds in the toilets, burning cakes and starting fights.
Get rid of her. And tell that son of yours to take off the sugar plum fairy costume and hooker make up.
Even with the compromise of a pink scarf, Doobie was not impressed.
(He actually gagged and sulked when I took away his Shirley Temple curls and fifteen lbs of bad make-up. I laughed.)
Hoshit...
Headmaster: "Oooo. A Popularity Sim!"
"WOOOOO! YOUR SON PLAYS BEAUTIFULLY!!!"
Yes, because that's all we'll let him do. On account of his personality problems Doobie was chained to the piano and ordered not to speak to anyone for the duration of the headmaster's visit.
No, it's far better to leave these things to Miss Congeniality, rather than Captain Sad-Lonely-Nicepoint.
Hashcake: "My name's Hashcake. Mummy says it's medicinal."
Headmaster: "...?"
"Except if you have too much it will make you throw up and your eyes will be all like this."
Scrabble suddenly pulls out the Scary Threatening Shit from nowhere. (I always wondered where Jack got it from. Must have been floating around in the genepool from way back. Maybe Oaf Scrum. Who knows. Either way, I don't think I ever saw Scrabble look meaner.)
Scrabble: "You enjoying that lobster, young man? Enjoying my granddaughter's company? Yeah, you'd better. Have you met Kirk Cameron?"
Headmaster: "Yeshthishlobsterislovelythankyoumrofrenzy...ohpleasegod don't hurt me..."
Hashcake: "And Mummy goes to work on a special invisible bus and she wears leaves on her boobies and her bum...and the bus flies..."
Scrabble: "Delightful child, isn't she?"
Headmaster: *gulp* "Lovely, sir. Really lovely."
Aww...nads. Haven't got the score up high enough.
Hotdog! To the coffee machine!
Wolfgang: "We got a coffee machine?"
Yes. You did. But don't get used to it. Hotdog's already working up an epic case of caffeine jitters. Look at his face! Like he just found an oasis in the desert.
Hotdog: "I was a cop! *glug, glug* Oh, sweet joe...sweet, sweet joe. Ah...my left arm is tingling already...pass the donuts."
Anyway - it worked. After some fifteen minutes chasing the headmaster around the house because he was trying to put his coffee cup down on a table six miles away. Grr. And this is why you're not keeping the espresso machine, Hotdog. Sorry, but you'll make me want to kill you.
Yes, they're the first O'Frenzys to enter private school...and...
Doobie - are you wearing lipgloss?
"It's chapstick. It's cold outside."
Uh. Huh.
And look what strolled by later that afternoon! It's the notorious double-bagger Dora 'Granny' Ottomas, aged down so that her magnificence can be added to the genepool. (You've seen the Ottomas family - and the Ugly is all down to Dora and her pornstashioed son Peter. Samantha Ottomas is actually not that frightful. She just looks like Marisa Bendett.)
Dora is a Family Sim, a Scorpio and she enjoys long walks in the frosty spring air, appropriating free perfume samples and peeing on the floor. Her hobbies include cuddling a floursack baby and she takes a keen interest in setting light to kitchens.
Yeah - she's from the local nuthatch.
Okay, so he's not quite reached puberty and she spends her delusional days singing rock-a-bye-baby to a bag of stoneground, but when have these things been an obstacle to True Love? (And if not true love then at least a highly expeditious marriage. Just ask any crowned head of Europe about their ancestors. Marrying small children to honest-to-God fruitloops was all the rage at one point.)
We're not breeding for wits, thank fuck.
Oh, you think that's worth pulling a face over?
Get out there and meet your possible-future-wife. Marry that and you'd have a perpetual case of I-dun-just-drank-some-soapy-shit face.
She's good, though, Dora. I don't know if it's wise to add a frothing at the mouth nutcase to a genepool already addled by Wolfgang's 'intellect', Scrum's raft of interesting personality disorders and Cheerie's hyperkinetic tendencies, but well...who ever made waves by doing something sensible?
Next day Doobie comes one step closer to hitting that.
What a lucky boy!
Mmm. Pleasingly fish-lipped. I look forward to seeing your ugly mug in college, kid.
He rolls Popularity, which is going to be fairly hilarious seeing as he has one nice point.
Immediately Doobie proves he is his father's son by slipping into something lycra and hitting the bottle.
That night Hotdog uncovers the truth about Doobie's 'natural curls'. You may be sure that hush money was handed over.
Oh dear.
"Oh my God! Victoria Beckham??"
"NO. DEATH."
"Ooops. Sorry."
"IT'S PERFECTLY ALRIGHT. I GET THAT A LOT. WE DO LOOK SIMILAR. EXCEPT THAT I'M ACTUALLY ENTITLED TO CALL MYSELF A FASHION DESIGNER. DORIS HERE IS SPORTING THE LATEST IN MY LINE OF RECYCLABLE GREEN TIKI WEAR. SAY HELLO, DORIS."
Doris: "Hello!" *jiggle jiggle*
Scrabble: "Tits? What part of 'Lifelong Flaming Homosexual' were you people not getting?"
Grandslam was so upset at her father's passing that she stopped throwing rugby balls at her son's head to break down and sob.
For an O'Frenzy, that's practically sackcloth and ashes and rending of garments time. Nothing gets in the way of rugby.
Kid: "Oh my GO-OD, like, get over it lady."
Stonecold bitch walkby-kid is a stonecold bitch.
Bye bye Scrabble O'Frenzy, died age 75 (WTF was up with that? His twin sister Twist lived to be WHYTHEFUCKAREN'TYOUDEADYET years old.)
Scrabble, you and your grandma Cheerie were quite my favourites so far. I'll miss you, your impression of a pez dispenser, your Whut-chu-talkin'-about-Willis dirty looks and your agoraphobic smustle sessions. At least we have your ~*~literary talent~*~ and your shelf full of terrible, terrible books to remember you by.
Doobie: "Uhm...right. Annie Proulx? Pulitzer winner, you say?...no, she's not on my high school booklist...oh, but she is suing us...ahhhh. Gotcha."
Oh, and thanks for the lawsuits, Scrabble.
You plagiarising bastard.
Thanks for reading, Happy St. Paddy's Day and try to be nice to your livers tonight! (And if you can't drink plenty of water.)