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7.2 Forbidden

Well. I just laid out the screenshots for several more chapters and let me tell you, Siesta’s generation is going to be a saga. Today’s update is coming to you in a smaller package so I will feel less daunted by the task ahead.

We find the family in much the state we left them, i.e. total disarray after our resident knight turned out to be robotophile, and our resident robot turned out to be a bitch. Who knew?

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The latest trend is that Siri keeps asking Breandan to “train” her on the ballet bar, which is as unsubtle as it is stupid.

Breandan: Work that plié, you arousing slab of tin!

Siri: This is all I ever wanted!

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7.1 I’m a teapot

Hello, and welcome back to the Langurds! For real this time – no more filler bullshit. If you don’t believe me, take a moment to breathe in the scent of decaying tofu dogs and evaporating brain cells.

Oh yeah, we’re back alright.

Turns out I remember zero things from last generation, but I do know that there was a terrible, awful, very no good heir poll and y’all panic-voted this box-headed fool into leadership. I think we will regret this soon, but for now it’s full steam ahead!

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Commence the celebratory tea! (I hope she showed up on time)

Siesta: Hey Prototype, I’ve been thinking.

Prototype: God help us all.

Siesta: Since I’m in charge and stuff, I’m going to rename you Siri.

Prototype: Pray tell why?

Siesta: Don’t be silly, Siri. You answer my questions, not the other way around!

Prototype: You poor dense soul.

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6.12 Beds Are Burning

Well, here we are at last on July 12th! Happy Birthday Langurds and R.I.P. Sam’s sanity!

I can smell the light at the end of the tunnel (not a typo; caffeine does strange things to your senses) so I’m going to give it my all for these last 13.5 hours. Hopefully without having to cut things in half and without wasting the potential of these screenshots. You are all lovely and supportive and I’m sure it’s only me cracking the whip at this point, but there is no whip more terrifying than the one in my own hands. (Cripes, a few cups of coffee and I’ve turned into Omen?)

Things have been moving pretty fast. Our eldest heir candidate is a teen, our youngest a child, our heiress a middle-aged underachiever, and her ex-husband a corpse.

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Only Rhapsody has yet to get a kick in the pants from Father Time. Of course she’s busking in the park when it hits.

Rhapsody: Thanks for coming to celebrate my birthday with me!

Corren: I didn’t. Where’d your guitar go?

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6.11 Don’t Blame It on the Moonlight

In my haze of exhaustion last night, I completely failed to acknowledge a feat I have not accomplished since Chapter 1.3: two legit updates in one day! Universally recognized as the first sign of the apocalypse, so start hoarding those cans. Given that in Tewl’s day my average post length was a weak 40-45 screenshots, I think I get to claim victory over myself here.

To celebrate that victory, and because everyone begs for this shit on Leisure Day, the Langurds are opening up their glorious yard for entertaining!

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Like any good party, this one begins with a fumbled pizza delivery.

Pizza Girl: Tada! Did some ants order a pizza?

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6.9 Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?

Ah yes, finally—a chapter number to match the Langurds’ maturity level. Just in time for…

lolgoodtimingforcalandquinn

Wink wink, nudge nudge. But of course, that’s a very sore topic around here with our Gen. 6 OTP fresh off a divorce and trying to cobble their lives back together. R.I.P. Quilamity, you had a good run were never going to make it anyway.

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Both parties take some time to focus on themselves, which tbh is basically what they did while married anyway. Calamity spends hers witnessing important milestones.

Cal: Try not to get arrested, okay?

Trance: Sorry Mom, but my coolness is a serious crime.

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6.6 Rockabye Baby

If that title doesn’t tell you we’re getting to the good stuff, then let me tell you right now—we’re getting to the good stuff!

Last time, Gumby finally died but Frieda’s Gold Digger LTW still registered as incomplete. Shit was lost; tables were very nearly flipped. Now we take deep breaths and try to figure out the meaning of this.

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Frieda: Yes hello, I’d like to request a refund on my life.

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